Valentine's Day Dinner: Kale Caesar

I took charge of Valentine’s Day dinner this year.  Sure, we could have gone out, feasted on an overpriced, underwhelming prix fixe menu, crushed between loads of other amorous patrons, but why would I pass up the opportunity to cook an awesome meal to share with the person I love?  It’s so much more personal, so much more intimate, so much more special when you have personally orchestrated a really special evening for an immeasurably special person.  An opportunity to create a memory that we can share down the road, which seems only fair given the number of memories Robbie has bestowed upon me (and the amount of my crazy he's put up with). 

I haven’t been cooking (either for me, or him, or both or us) nearly as much as I’d like to lately, so I took the holiday as an excuse and ran with it, cooking up a storm and, somehow, not being a complete, frazzled mess of a human being when it was actually time to sit down and eat.  Some good advance planning on my part led to a well-orchestrated and well-timed meal that, if I may indulge myself for a moment, was pretty bad ass. 

To say that I like a good kale salad is a vast understatement.  I fucking love a good kale salad.  It’s easy, it’s healthy, it’s versatile and it’s delicious – what’s not to like?  While I typically just massage a bit of lemon and oil into it and let it sit for a few minutes before tacking some other stuff on top, Valentine’s day calls for something a bit more indulgent.  I find Caesar salads to typically be imbalanced; the dressing far too heavy and intense for the delicate romaine beneath.  But kale is a perfect vehicle – it’s heartiness and bite allow it to withstand the onslaught of yolk and garlic, of anchovy and oil.  Frank, a great Italian standby in my neighborhood, makes a fantastic, simple black kale Caesar, but I rarely order it, since I know exactly what goes into Caesar dressing, and despite its virtuous base, it’s not exactly health food.  But this seemed like a great opportunity to recreate it, and get the meal off to an arguably healthy start. 

I searched the interwebs for kale Caesar recipes, finding that, while the ingredients themselves don’t vary too much, the proportions vary widely.  Some dressings call for up to one and a half cups of olive oil, albeit for more salad than I was planning on serving.  That just seemed egregious to me, so I followed a far more wholesome-sounding lead, and went with a recipe I found on Serious Eats.  I made the entire dressing recipe, though used less kale than called for since we were only two (I anticipated leftovers), played around (very) slightly with proportions, and dressed it relatively lightly.  This recipe did not include croutons, but I find them to be an integral aspect of a Caesar, so I threw some well-oiled bread chunks into the oven while I whizzed together the dressing, which came together in minutes.  It was a smart choice for a first course, since I was able to throw it together completely before well in advance of the more complicated main course (which I'll get to in another post). Which is only another reason why kale salads should be embraced: they don’t need to be dressed immediately before serving.  The dressing tenderizes the kale and makes it more palatable, not to mention easier to chew and digest.  Whereas a mixed green salad, for instance, would be a soggy, drippy, inedible mess after a couple of days in the fridge, a kale salad persists, and is no less delicious for it. 

Kale Caesar Salad

Adapted, slightly, from here

Makes 2 generous first-course servings, with leftovers (or, I suppose, three first-course servings)

About 5 one-inch thick slices of bread, preferably slightly stale (I used a European country boule), cut into one inch-ish chunks

1 tablespoon olive oil

Salt to taste

7 ounces kale

2 medium cloves garlic

Kosher salt

2 anchovy fillets, minced (about 1 teaspoon)

1 large egg yolk

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice,
more to taste

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1/4 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese,
more for garnish

Freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

Make the croutons:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.  Place the bread chunks into a bowl large enough to accommodate them, and pour the olive oil over the bread.  Toss the bread to cover with oil, and salt liberally (or to taste).  Spread the bread onto lightly greased or sprayed baking sheet and toast in the oven for 10 minutes, keeping an eye out and shaking the pan as necessary to ensure that they don’t burn.  Remove and allow to cool to room temperature.

Prepare the kale:

Remove the large, thick stems from the center of the kale leaves (easy way to do this is to hold the stalk between your thumb and forefinger and slide your fingers up the stalk, so that the leaves peel away).  If using black kale (also called lacinato or dinosaur kale), you can tear the kale into bite-sized pieces.  If using curly kale or if your kale has a less tender leaf, cut the kale into thin strips by stacking the leaves on top of one another, rolling them tightly, and cutting crosswise.  Place the kale into a large bowl and set aside while you make the dressing.

Make the dressing:

Chop the garlic, sprinkle it with a good pinch of kosher salt, and smash it into a paste with the side of a chef’s knife.  Transfer the paste to a small bowl and add the anchovies (which I also like to smash into a paste before adding to the bowl), the egg yolk, lemon juice and mustard.  Whisk to combine.  Very, VERY slowly, whisking constantly, add the olive oil - first drop by drop, and increasing to a slow stream once the dressing has been emulsified.  Taste and add more Dijon or lemon juice as desired (I added a good amount of Dijon, which I reflected in the above measurements, though I’d venture to say I added more than an additional half teaspoon; I added more lemon as well).

Dress the salad:

Add a few tablespoons of the dressing to the kale bowl, and toss with your hands to coat, massaging the dressing into the leaves a bit.  Add the parmigiano cheese and toss to distribute evenly.  Allow the salad to rest for a few minutes, taste and add more dressing or salt as desired.  Once the salad is dressed to your liking, set it aside until it’s time to serve.  When ready to serve, toss in the croutons (you can add them earlier if you’d like – they won’t get too soggy, but for max crunchiness add them just before plating).  Garnish with a bit more cheese and some fresh ground pepper.  

Sardine and Avocado Sandwich

                            

So, where did we leave off, oh…three months ago? That’s right – that kind-of-sort-of-vegan thing. Well, suffice it to say that my efforts for healthfulness in that journey were not met with success, and for a variety of reasons I have chosen to depart from a mostly-vegan diet. Though many of my meals are still vegan, and I think that it is a truly admirable and healthful way of life, it’s just not right for me, right now. Though I’ve reverted back to my fish and cheese and egg-eating ways (oh runny yolks, how I missed you), I haven’t been as quick to jump back on the totally-omnivorous track, though perhaps that will come. Phew, now that that’s off my chest, we can proceed.

This little meal here I think serves as a wonderful bridge between my last post and what I imagine for those in the future. While fishing practices for certain species have vastly degraded the environment and left certain fish on the verge of extinction, sardines are an exception and a great sustainable choice, as they’re abundant and have high reproductive rates. Not only that, but those little buggers are healthy as hell, boasting awesome amounts of omega-3s and essential proteins, and since sardines are low in the food chain, the mercury levels in sardines are much, much lower than their big-eye tuna brethren. Eat your sardines from a can and you’ll receive an added bonus: the teeny little bones, which can barely be detected, are a great source of calcium. Oh yea, they're cheap too.

Now I realize what I’m proposing may be a bit of a hard sell. But before you balk at the mere idea of sardines, hear me out. Canned tuna is eaten with vim across this country – and I maintain that canned sardines should be too. Though they’ve gotten a bit of a bad rap from their former status as a recession-friendly food (and, fine, their stink), there are many who take great joy in eating them straight from the can with some mustard and crackers. There’s even an entire blog devoted to them. If the idea of straight tin-to-cracker sardine consumption sounds a bit intense for you, let me propose something a bit more dressed-up, which should calm some fears about the fishiness and “ick factor” of sardines. I can find little fault in a meal of sardines, dressed in a mixture of sherry vinegar, lemon and parsley. Add some avocado and delicious bread, and you have an open-faced sandwich that’s pretty damn good all around.

This sandwich idea comes from Alton Brown, who hailed it as his diet savior – and that makes total sense – this is a meal that is balanced, healthy and totally satisfying. And because sardines are oily fish, the sandwich has a certain richness while still feeling virtuous. So go on, embrace the sardine.

Sardine and Avocado Sandwich

Makes 2 open-faced sandwiches
Adapted from Alton Brown

I usually use one tin per two open-faced sandwiches, though bigger appetites may want to use the whole tin; the leftover sardine mix stays well in the fridge and makes the second sandwich a breeze to prepare. I have used both oil- and water-packed sardines with success. If you use water-packed sardines, be sure to add some oil to the mix, about a tablespoon or so will do, though do note that the oil from the tin lends great flavor to the sandwich. I like to add a little bit of Dijon mustard and onion, but both are entirely optional. Alton recommends brushing the bread with the sardine oil before toasting – I think this is unnecessary.

1 tin sardines
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley, additional for garnish
1.5 – 2 teaspoons sherry vinegar (if you don’t have sherry vinegar, substitute lemon juice, but the sherry really does add a very nice touch)
1/8 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, or to taste (optional)
1 tablespoon onion
2 slices of bread (I like using a whole wheat sourdough; try to pick a bread with a good bite, as opposed to sandwich bread)
½ ripe avocado
salt and pepper to taste

If using oil-packed sardines, drain the oil from the tin into a bowl. If using water-packed, drain off and discard the water and add one tablespoon of olive oil to a bowl. Add the parsley, sherry, lemon zest, and, if using, the mustard and onion to the bowl. Add the sardines and mix to combine, mashing a bit if desired. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Set aside for a few minutes to allow the flavors to combine (in the refrigerator if not using for more than an hour).

When you’re ready to assemble, toast the bread. Mash the avocado half in its skin and divide between the two slices of bread, spreading the avocado evenly to cover the bread. Divide the sardine mixture evenly between the two slices of bread, spreading it out over the avocado. Sprinkle sandwiches with additional parsley and finish with a squeeze a lemon. Then, enjoy.

Butter Poached Fish

There are days when I get home from work, usually after I've put in some decent work scouring the internet for some dinner time inspiration, totally psyched to get my hands dirty cooking a labor-intensive meal. Then there are days where I want nothing more than to sit down to a cheese plate with some good bread and butter (which is why I usually find myself with no less than four different cheeses on hand…) and, lately, piles upon piles of radishes.

But then there are those in-between days, when I want something warm, but something that's not going to suck those last few precious drops of energy from my body. Sometimes those days end in eggs, gently poached and piled atop something or other - sometimes green, sometimes grain. But sometimes that just won't do - sometimes I want something that most normal people would consider a proper meal - and for those days, I turn to butter poached fish.

I don't cook a lot of meat at home - not for any particular reason, really. I don't frequently crave it as is, and it seems almost silly to prepare meat when it's just myself I'm feeding. Chicken is easy enough I guess, but chicken is also boring. Since it's easily portioned and any uncooked portions can be frozen and quickly defrosted at a later date, fish is a pretty good choice to prepare for one. It also cooks in a snap. But because of this latter feature, fish is sometimes tricky to prepare properly, since you have to pay such close attention to it as it overcooks so quickly. And if there's one thing that suffers after a day at work, it's my attention span. Poaching the fish in a shallow pool of fat, however, is so forgiving that even my post-work brain can handle it.



This butter poached fish is something I first read about in the Times a little over a year ago. It seemed so simple - too simple, really, so I gave it a try. Not only was it just as easy as advertised, its deliciousness belied its simple roots.

Since pretty much every ingredient can be swapped out for another or changed at your whim, this dish is more concept than recipe, more guidance than anything. Every element can be varied, from the herbs or spices, to the fat in which you're cooking, even the fish itself - none of it's safe from your tinkering. The important thing to remember is to select a firm-fleshed fish, or else you risk having it crumble and disintegrate. It'll still taste good (not that I know from experience or anything), but you won't have the satisfaction of stabbing your fork into those bigger hunks of fish.

Poaching the fish in fat, as opposed to water, not only imparts so much flavor, but ensures that your finished product is going to be moist and, well, buttery. Both fresh herbs and dried work equally well. I've made this with both the dried mint recommended by the Times article and with fresh parsley and dill, both to great effect. And the fat in which you've done the poaching makes an excellent sauce - whether you choose to use it is up to you and your diet. The fish and sauce are wonderful over egg noodles in the winter; for a lighter summer meal, lift the fish out of the pot with a slotted spoon and serve along side some barely cooked vegetables or a barely-dressed salad. So do as you please, and rest easy that you'll enjoy.



Butter Poached Fish
Adapted from Melissa Clark, original recipe here.
Serves 2 well.

Again, this is more guidance than rule, so go crazy. The general idea is about a pound of firm-fleshed fish, about four tablespoons of fat, be they butter or olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic and herbs of your choosing.

One pound firm-fleshed fish, such as halibut, mahi mahi, basa or even salmon. Cod is a bit delicate for this, but if you're careful, it can definitely work.
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon pepper, or to taste
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil*
3-4 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
4-5 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced

1. Season the fish generously all over with salt and pepper. In a medium-size skillet just large enough to fit the fish in a single layer, heat the butter and oil over low heat. Add the fish, dill and 3-4 tablespoons of the parsley, and let cook slowly until the fish begins to turn opaque, about 3 minutes.

2. Stir in garlic and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper, and cook until the garlic is fragrant and the fish is just cooked through, another 3 minutes or so (the heat should be low enough so as not to brown the garlic or fish but high enough to gently cook everything; the cooking time will vary widely with your stove).

3. Taste and add more salt and pepper and a few drops of lemon juice if desired. Stir in the remaining fresh parsley and serve (using a slotted spoon to leave the cooking liquid in the pan if desired).

*I use a mix of butter and olive oil, since I like the taste of butter, but I don't like having to worry if it's going to burn. Even though that's unlikely since we're cooking over such low heat, the olive oil allows me to rest easy that it won't burn, which is a good thing given my aforementioned attention span.

Huevos Rancheros

I've written here before about my tendency to become affixed on certain things for periods of time. Though sometimes protracted, these fixations are ultimately fleeting moments in my greater culinary life. However, from the period until the obsession starts until the craving is fulfilled, those fleeting moments can feel like far, far longer. Once a dish is in my head, I must have it, lest I never move on. Until that food passes through my lips, all other food is sub-par; yea, that foie gras brulee could be sublime, but if it was a cripsy, oozy grilled cheese I wanted, I will not be fully content.


Oftentimes, I can have a version of the dish and move on, but sometimes I need the idealized version of my obsession. Until I have that perfect dish, just as I've built it up in my compulsive, deranged mind, I will not - nay, I cannot move forward.



Lately, huevos rancheros have been the object of my desire. Why? I cannot tell you exactly, but the combination of toothsome, spicy black beans atop corn tortillas, covered with the liquid gold of a just-punctured over-easy egg, speckled with salsa fresca and a smokey, haunting salsa was something I just could not get out of my head.


Usually, huevos rancheros would be something I could very easily put together, in about twenty minutes flat. But popping open a can of beans was just not going to result in my perfect huevos rancheros. No, it couldn't just be any black beans, certainly none from a can would do. It had to be the fresh black beans I had purchased at the Union Square Greenmarket after the Times had touted their freshness and flavor.


What that meant is that my idealized version of the dish was not just something that could be thrown together willy-nilly after getting home from work one night. I couldn't just change out of my dress, grab a can opener, and have dinner ready in twenty minutes (at least the first time). Sure, the shortcut route was one I considered on various occasions when I got home late and tired and really, really wanted those huevos rancheros in my belly. But I never gave in; I just knew, deep down, that only huevos rancheros made with those beans would do. And dried beans, even when they're fresh and don't require overnight soaking, still need quite a while before they become tender enough to eat (at least enjoyably).



But when a cloudy summer Sunday sent me packing back from the Hamptons earlier than anticipated, I knew I had my chance. I had the time to both prepare my beans and turn them into the base for, well, for a lot of things, but immediately for my huevos. [And before I start hearing comments about "well, why didn't you just make the beans when you got home late one night, and then you would have had them ready to use later that week?" - there was no shot in hell that I was not making huevos rancheros as soon as I had spicy, salty, toothsome beans at my disposal, ready to go. That is all.]

And so I rinsed the beans, put them in a pot and added water so that the water level was about an inch over the beans, deciding to forego the "bring to a boil, let soak for one hour and rinse" step in lieu of just allowing them to cook a little bit longer.

Then I made my pico de gallo, chopping up some tomato (mercifully, finally in season, though blighted, tragically), onion, garlic and jalapeno and dousing it with some fresh lime juice as the beans boiled away on the stove.

And before long, I had my huevos rancheros, and they were everything I wanted them to be, and so, so much more. The months (literally, it had been two months spent with huevos on my mind) that I had waited seemed to wash away; all memories of my deprivation gone as I gleefully pricked the jiggly yolk with the tines of my fork, taking far too much pleasure in the destruction of one of nature's more perfect little packages. But I knew, as I watched that canary yellow liquid drizzle down over the beans, over the cheese, that I was going to be able to move on, and happily. I dragged forkful after forkful of those glorious beans through the unctuous cholesterol-laden goodness, relishing in not only the taste of my huevos rancheros, in the wonderful harmony of fresh ingredients, but also in my will power, in my devotion to my huevos ideal. I had not broken down and given in to something that I knew would not please me. I allowed myself to continue building it up, and it was totally, undoubtedly, worth it.



I want to talk about those beans - man, the Times knew what they were talking about. These were the best black beans I had ever eaten. Their texture and taste surpassed any that I had ever eaten from a can, and any that I had made from dry up to that point. While dried beans tend to have a better texture than canned (not to mention that you can control the sodium content and they are not suspended indefinitely in that filmy liquid), it is fully impossible to know just how many days, months, years those bags of Goya Frijoles Negros have spent on the supermarket shelves. I think it's safe to assume it's typically a very, very long while.

While I'd heard so many sing the praises of Rancho Gordo beans, I just could not validate the expense of having pricey beans shipped to me from across the country. But once I saw the Cayuga Organics stand at the Greenmarket, I had my chance to try some fresh beans at a far lower (albeit still higher than supermarket) price. Later in the week, I threw those beans into some tacos, and ok, just ate them out of the tupperware in the fridge. But the point is that the couple of hours it takes to make the beans the first night opens you up to their use in an infinite number of deicious ways later on.

And I can say now, with full conviction, that the freshness certainly makes a difference. The flavor and texture of these beans surpassed anything that I'd made in the past. They were wonderful, and are the new standard against which I will measure all black beans in the future. Sorry, Goya. [Still love ya, though, and I will undoubtedly return to you when tight for time].


Huevos Rancheros

In their simplest, most traditional form, huevos rancheros are just simply cooked eggs over tortillas with a smokey, red salsa, but those were not the huevos of my dreams. The dish is one that is open to interpretation, and can be made to suit your tastes and your whim. Add some guacamole (as I did later in the week), ditch the beans, add more cheese, fry the eggs right on the tortilla, keep them sunny side up, hell, go crazy and scramble them if you really want (not in my house, though). This dish is so easy to tailor to what you want and what you have that I find few times when I would not gladly call it my dinner. And it's healthy, too.

I prepared my beans from dried, boiling them in some water with a clove of garlic, which I'd crushed, about a quarter of an onion, a bay leaf, a few dashes of cumin and a pinch of red pepper. I added salt towards the end of the cooking process. There's a debate in the cooking world about whether salt should be added to beans as they cook. The antis say that the salt will break open the skins of the beans as they cook, and will destroy their shape and texture. Others say that the salt adds flavor, and with no discernable effect on their texture. As I love flavor, especially of the salty sort, I added salt, and my beans were none the worse for wear. I did add the salt as the beans were nearing doneness, though, to ward off any possibility that the skins would be torn to shreds.

I make a quick pico de gallo for one by cutting about a half a tomato and an equal volume of onion into small dice. I add to that a bit less than a clove of finely minced garlic and about a half a jalapeno, with a few of the seeds and the ribs added in for some extra heat. I roughly chop some cilantro and throw that in, add the juice of anywhere from a half to a whole lime, depending on how much juice each half yields, grind over it some salt and pepper, throw it in the fridge while the rest of the meal comes together to let the flavors mingle, and it's ready to go when I need it.

I feel a bit silly even posting a recipe for this, since it is open to endless variations and is so incredibly simple.

Serves 1

2 Corn tortillas
1/2 cup black beans, either prepared from fresh, or canned, rinsed and drained
1 ounce cheese of your choosing (I prefer cotija or a melty, sharp cheese)
Pico de gallo, as desired
Avocado or Guacamole, as desired
Cilantro, as desired
Sour cream, as desired

If not using freshly cooked beans, heat them up in a small pot.

Heat a skillet over medium heat. Add the corn tortillas, and, flipping frequently, allow them to heat through. Feel free to crisp them at the edges if desired. Remove the tortillas to a plate. Pile about 1/4 cup of black beans atop each tortilla.

In the same skillet, add some butter to lightly coat the bottom of the pan and crack in the eggs. Once the whites have set a bit, flip the eggs (or leave them sunny-side up) and allow to cook for about 30 seconds on the other side. Once the eggs are cooked to your liking, slide them out of the skillet onto the piles of black beans. Top with cheese as desired, and add some salsa (I love tomatillo salsa) and add whatever accoutrements you feel like. I love pice de gallo, some sour cream, cilantro, a few slices of avocado and some chopped radishes, which I think add a fresh, bright, peppery crunch to the dish.

Dig in, and enjoy.

Beeting the Heat

Hello? Anyone there? The bar is (mercifully) over, I have moved out of Chicago, and I am back! For my first post back, I wanted to share with you a recipe that was a constant in my kitchen for a decent portion of the last two months.



There are some things that we eat just because they're good for us. There are things that we eat in spite of the fact that they're, um, not as good for us. Then there are things that fall graciously into both categories, allowing us to eat what we truly enjoy, while reducing the guilt factor by just so happening to be something good for you. For me, beets are one of those generous foods - they allow me to enjoy what I'm eating knowing that I'm doing both my palette and my body a great favor. Not-so-recently there was a post on the NY Times Health Blog of the 11 healthiest foods out there that they presumptuously concluded you and I are not eating, and beets were number one. However, the article noted that cooking them tempts out all the antioxidants and nutrients that make them oh-so-good for you.

I don't know about all of you, but not until recently did I even think of eating a beet uncooked. I love beets, more perhaps than most normal people do, but I had always eaten them cooked. It seemed to be such a rough, hulking root that trying to bite into it without cooking would greatly reduce the enjoyment gained from eating it. However, grating the beets provides an excellent solution to this problem. Fine shreds of beets have a wonderfully inviting crunch and pleasant texture, and just taste that much better knowing how much better it is for you.

The following recipe is not as much of a recipe as it is a jumble of delicious things that become only more delicious when thrown haphazardly together and eaten straight out of the mixing bowl, unless - I guess - you wish to share. I found it in Mark Bittman's list of 101 picnic ideas that was published in the Times dining section earlier this summer. Since everything could be made in under 20 minutes it seemed like the natural place for me to turn while studying for the bar. I unfortunately did not have a chance to get to any other ideas on the list*, but this salad is colorful, refreshing, fresh and healthy - everything a summer salad should be.



I should warn, however, that if you choose to eat this as your main course, there is a slight possibility it will make you pee magenta. This happened to me, and it scared the shit out of me, because, you know - who pees magenta? Really? Once I made the beet-magenta pee connection, I did some internet research and discovered that eating beets causes this same reaction in 14% of the population, and is purportedly a sign of an iron-deficient diet. I'm sticking with the fact that only 14% of the population is eating enough beets to have this reaction. I, for one, am proud to call myself a magenta-peeing beet-eater. I am curious as to whether this actually happens to other people, so if you try this salad leave a comment letting me know!

* Note: this salad is, in fact, number ONE on the list of 101 picnic ideas, so some might say that I didn't get anywhere on the list. Some.



Raw Beet Salad with Pistachios and Goat Cheese

These measurements are all approximate. I just added until i liked the way it tasted, which is easy to do when dealing with a salad. I've made this with both soft goat cheese and semi-soft, and both work equally well. I like to add a bit more cheese atop the bowl just so that there is something in there that is not dyed magenta.

This took me just about 20 minutes to make, but will take no more than 5 minutes if made with a food processor. If you're grating by hand, do yourself a favor and wear dark clothes; that garnet-toned juice, gorgeous as it may be, is not as gorgeous when forever stained on your favorite t-shirt.

2-3 medium-sized beets, peeled
Zest of one-half of an orange
Juice of one-half to one orange (depending on your taste and the size of your beets)
1 1/2 teaspoons olive oil
1-2 ounces of goat cheese
1/4-1/2 cup of pistachios, roughly chopped
2-3 tablespoons chopped parsley

Grate beets either with a box grater or in the food processor, being sure to capture all the juice. Add the orange zest, orange juice and olive oil, adjusting to taste.

Add the chopped pistachios and parsley and mix to combine. Crumble the goat cheese over the beets and gently mix to distribute. Sprinkle with some sea salt and freshly cracked pepper to taste, dig in, and enjoy.

In a Moment

Once upon a time, I shunned red meat. It happened a couple of times, for a couple of years at a time. Even during the periods in which I was a veritable carnivore, I never really took to lamb. However, at this exact moment, I cannot even begin to imagine why I would ever do such a ridiculous thing. It was probably because my mother can’t stand it, so I just followed her lead and declared myself against eating this poor little animal. I came to, though, and am I ever happy I did.

Lately I’ve found myself eating lamb more than I possibly could have imagined a mere year ago, no doubt to make up for all the lost time. While a rack of lamb is a nice special treat every once in a while, it is expensive to eat often (and really, just not all that good for you). When I get the hankering for lamb, but don’t want to spend a lot of money or a lot of time making it, I have been turning to a refreshingly simple and delicious recipe.

Lamb and mint are well-known companions, yet for some reason this mint is often turned into a ghastly, terrifying jelly form. Why would somebody do such a thing? Mint has such a great, crisp, clean flavor, once that pairs so excellently with the gaminess of the lamb. Why turn it into a textural malady, into a greenish glop on the side of the plate that will likely (hopefully) go ignored?

Mint is given a proper role in this dish, one that allows the flavor to pop, a lovely complement to the strength of the feta, the subtle kick from the garlic and the earthiness of the lamb. The dish is so simple and effortless that it can be prepared on a moment’s notice, which is quite fortunate for me, since I rarely find myself with more than a moment now this bar exam business is in full swing. Its flavors are so classic and simple that you might find that moment popping up quite often.




Lamb Sausage Patties with Fresh Mint, Feta and Garlic
Molly Wizenberg, Bon Appétit, February 2008

This recipe has really become a sort of go-to for me. I have a feeling the result might be the same for you.

1 1/2 pounds ground lamb (shoulder recommended)
2 large garlic cloves, pressed
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

Place lamb in large bowl. Sprinkle garlic and salt over lamb. Gently toss lamb to blend. Combine feta and mint in small bowl.

Divide lamb into 12 equal mounds. Using damp hands, shape each into ball. Working with 1 ball at a time, poke thumb into center to make a hole. Press 1 teaspoon feta-mint filling into hole. Pinch hole closed, then press ball between palms to flatten into 3/4-inch-thick disk. Repeat with remaining lamb and feta-mint filling. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Transfer to baking sheet. Cover and refrigerate.

Preheat oven to 250°F. Heat olive oil in heavy large skillet over medium heat. Working in 2 batches, cook lamb sausages until browned on both sides and cooked to desired doneness, about 3 minutes per side for medium. Transfer sausages to rimmed baking sheet and place in oven to keep warm. Serve hot and enjoy.

A Sunny Hello

I would like first to apologize for my absence. I just returned from a wonderful week in San Francisco and the Bay Area, a questionably well-deserved break after finals. We ate and ate, and I have many wonderful things to share with you, but I would like to give this past week the attention it deserves, which happens to be a bit more than I can muster up the time and energy to devote right now.

Though I have a backlog of things to share, my trip included, I did want to stop by and share a nice little brunch I made for myself this morning (in about 5 minutes). My no-holds-barred approach to food this past week left me yearning for something healthy and light, yet still filling. And the textures and the flavors seemed befitting of an all-too-cold spring morning; brightness of the salmon and green onion, a perfectly oozing poached egg, accompanied by the heartiness and identifiable graininess of the wild rice. The flavors were bright, the dish was not heavy, but it still had substance and bite thanks to the rice cakes.



Wild Rice Cakes with Smoked Salmon and Poached Eggs

I used leftover rice from my dinner last night; it is SunWest Harvest Medley, a medley of CalMati Brown Rice, Wild Rice, Heirloom Red Rice and Sweet Brown Rice. It has great bite and crunch to it, which is what I love about it. Any substantial rice would work, but I especially like the fact that this has a variety of textures running throughout. The rice cake is a nice healthy alternative to an English muffin – though it has another egg in it, there’s whole grains and protein in there, as opposed to just some measly flour. The cakes would be great topped with salmon and crème fraîche as well, if the addition of more eggs is not to your liking. They’re a great base and are open to infinite adaptations and uses. Try the rice cakes with chorizo and jalapeno inside for a spicy spin and top with fried eggs, for example.

For the Rice Cakes:
1 cup cooked wild rice
1 green onion, white and light green parts only, finely chopped
1 egg, lightly beaten
Pinch dried thyme
Salt
Pepper
1 tablespoon Butter

Assembly:
4 oz smoked salmon
4 eggs
1 T vinegar
Chooped fresh parsley for garnish

Mix rice and green onions in a small bowl. Mix in the egg and season with thyme, salt and pepper. Heat the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Using a 1/4 cup dry scoop, spoon the mixture into four equal-sized mounds in the skillet. Use the back of the dry scoop to flatten each slightly until they resemble pancakes. Cook until lightly browned, about three minutes, and flip to brown the other side.



While the pancakes are cooking, fill another skillet with about 1 1/2 inches of water. Bring it to a boil and add in the vinegar. Reduce to a simmer and crack the eggs, one at a time, near the surface of the water. The fresher your eggs, the better they'll poach.* Cover and allow to simmer for about four minutes, or until the whites are set and the yolks are still runny. If you like your yolks more well-done increase the cooking time until they're cooked to your liking. Remove with a slotted spoon, allowing excess water to drip off.

Neatly arrange an ounce of salmon over each rice cake, then top with a poached egg. Sprinkle with parsley. If desired, a hollandaise sauce would work quite nicely with this, but that's definitely going to up the prep time of this quick meal.

* I learned a neat trick recently to tell whether your eggs are fresh. Fill a glass (wide enough to fit an egg) with water. Gently place your egg in the glass. If it sinks horizontally to the bottom, your egg is very fresh. If it sinks with the tip to the bottom, it is less fresh. If it floats, it is bad and should be tossed. Helpful, no?

In Praise of Salt

I've never really been one for sweets. Savory was always more my bag. I don't know what it is about salt that just calls out to me. It could be because I'm Jewish, but I'm not going to start getting stereotypical here. I'm often singing the praises of sodium, and when I mentioned to my roommate, Emily, that I was thinking of writing an ode to salt for my next entry, she went ahead and wrote the following:

there once was a shaker of salt
i saw it and couldn't find fault
it made things delish
especially fish
i would not put it in a malt

I couldn't have said it better myself.



I first tasted the salty wonder of anchovies over the summer. They just get a really bad rap, much like Brussels sprouts, which I think, sadly is what took me so long to first give them a chance. I never fell for this with Brussels sprouts, but it was probably a combination of their reputation and my history with fish that kept me away. Their mere existence on a pizzeria menu is puzzling to every child; it's just beyond comprehension to a ten year old to put tiny fish fillets on an otherwise perfect piece of pizza. They're a true grown-up taste. I've grown to really, really like anchovies recently - they have a fantastic salty taste without being briny like clams and oysters. The can impart the perfect amount of salt to a dish without overpowering the rest of the ingredients with their fishiness.

I read a tragic tale not that long ago about a culinary jaunt gone horribly awry. A pot of boiling water was dropped on a foot, a painful burn the result. But the pasta Adam made just looked so good, and the ingredients were so simple and straightforward that I could almost taste it. I felt that his enjoyment was slightly (read: probably fully) compromised by the fact that he had been severely injured by the very pasta he was then supposed to enjoy. Adam himself recognized this bias. You wouldn't ask a woman who had been beaten to be on the very jury that was supposed to decide her attacker's guilt, nor would you want a food critic to review a restaurant whose chef he knew was having an affair with his wife. I think you know what I'm getting at here. So I figured I'd give it a go. The bottom line is that the simplicity of the ingredients in this dish seemed that they would impart the perfect amount of saltiness to balance with the heartiness of the pasta and the chickpeas.

Penne with Anchovies and Chickpeas (adapted from the Amateur Gourmet)



The recipe is incredibly easy, and I took Adam's suggestion to add garlic to the sauce. I just took twelve anchovies, mashed them with some salt and two medium-sized cloves of garlic with a fork. Then I added two small stalks of diced celery and the liquid from the can of chickpeas and the sauce was done. It was easy enough. Once the penne was done cooking, I drained it and put it back in the pot with the sauce, the chickpeas, a decent amount of coarsely ground pepper and some parmigianno regianno cheese. The sauce was a bit too liquidy for my taste though, so I turned the heat back on low and let the sauce cook down and thicken up, stirring pretty often. By the time the sauce was to my liking, the anchovies had disintegrated, as anchovies are wont to do, so I finely chopped another one and sprinkled it with some more grated parmigianno on top of the pasta once it was in my bowl.

When all was said and done, I really enjoyed the dish. Cooking the sauce with the pasta was definitely necessary, since it allowed the sauce to adhere to the pasta. If I hadn't done that, the sauce would have all sat idly at the bottom of the bowl - this way it gave flavor to the pasta. I'm not really sure the celery was necessary, but it didn't offend my palate in any way. The anchovies made their presence known with their salty pop, even though they were no longer visible in the sauce. The chickpeas gave the meal substance and are what ultimately made the small bowl I made for myself incredibly filling. The pasta was hearty without being complex. I would make this again in a heartbeat; it's healthy, fast and incredibly cheap to make. It's also delicious, which doesn't really hurt its case. The ingredients are so straightforward and the dish is seasoned with only salt and pepper, so you know exactly what you're getting. And if you're in the mood for something salty, this should hit the spot.

As the Leaves are Changing

One of the benefits of my blogging endeavor is that I now have a reason to buy magazines like Gourmet and Bon Appétit, publications I have coveted for so long on grocery store lines but on which I have never had the will to spend those few dollars. I am just a poor student, after all. My blog is my new baby, my cause, and it places upon me the affirmative duty to broaden my horizons and learn more about the culinary world I have entered. This is one of the main reasons I started this endeavor - I really want to learn. I want to be inspired to try new things. And last week I learned that not all new, exciting things are difficult.

I turned to this month's Bon Appétit for dinner this week, to a simple-sounding yet intriguing dish perfect for an unseasonably warm fall evening. The green of the chutney popped off of the page, serving as a reminder of a summer recently lost. Every once in a while I have a tendency to get a little bit stressed out while cooking, but this dish was amazingly simple - I was handling multiple pans with ease. Maybe it's this new cause I've found - I am no longer making dinner, I'm cooking. I'm doing this because I really, really want to become great at this. I want to learn, but most of all I want to share. This has had a great calming effect on me in the kitchen. I'm doing something I truly love. Now that I've come out and entered this wonderful world of food, I can bask in all of its delicious glory.

Mahi-Mahi with Cilantro Chutney (from Bon Appétit, Volume 52, No. 10)



For the fish:

Cumin, salt, pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
Mahi Mahi - 6 to 8 ounce filets. The chutney is probably enough to liberally sauce 4 filets.

For the chutney:

1 large kiwi, cubed
1 large clove of garlic, peeled
2 teaspoons diced jalepeno
1 cup cilantro, tightly packed
1/4 cup coconut milk

Put all of the the chutney ingredients in a food processor (I used my blender, did the job just fine) and process into a coarse puree. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Sprinkle the fish liberally with salt, pepper and cumin on both sides. I thought I sprinkled mine pretty liberally, but the fish itself came out rather bland, so I would sprinkle very liberally. Heat the oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Saute the fish until opaque, about 5 minutes per side. Spoon chutney over the fish and serve.



I served the fish on top of brown basmati rice with a side of bok choy that I sauteed with shallots, garlic and ginger in sesame oil and then braised in cider vinegar and some soy sauce and water. I really didn't know what I was doing with it, but it worked out alright. In the end, I would have just cut it lengthwise and braised it in two pieces as opposed to chopping and cooking. The chutney is fantastic, incredibly flavorful and the color is really something. I almost felt badly putting the bok choy next to the fish, since it's green had faded in cooking, and it seemed to cruel to taunt it with the color it once had.



It was an almost tropical-feeling dish, conjuring up memories of summer as the leaves turn colors outside. The fish combined with the chutney really well, and would work well as the main elements of a fish taco. The dish is a quick-fix meal with just enough flair and is really, truly simple.

Something from Slightly More than Nothing

This is the second appearance that salmon is making in my posts. I apologize for the lack of diversity, but that's just pretty much all I've been eating lately. It's just that it's pretty novel to me. I am going to tell you this with the full understanding that I may lose your readership because I am insane. But believe me, I could not make this up.

I used to be allergic to all fish. Well, except canned tuna, I guess that processing did something to the fish that enabled me to eat it without the risk of turning into a puffed-up, swollen mess with a rapidly closing throat. Sound miserable? Well, it was. I wasn't allergic to shellfish, so that was a bit of a consolation. As I grew out of other allergies I began to gain some hope that fish would enter my life without causing me pain. And eventually, it did. I was able to eat almost all fish. Except salmon. I'm not really sure why this one fish decided that it hated me. And like many other broken-hearted, I couldn't give up - I just loved it so. Watching the rest of my family eat bagels and lox on weekend morning was tortuous. I yearned for that which I could not have.

The severity of the reaction lessened as I got older, so every once in a while I would coax myself into dealing with the incessant itchiness guaranteed to follow and binge on some salmon. I somehow (don't ask me how, I'm not really sure) figured out that I had the least extreme reaction to the fish when I ate it cooked and cold. Raw didn't work, smoked didn't work, and for some reason when it was hot it still made me itch. I pitched this theory to my parents expecting them to call me crazy, but my mother confirmed that my grandmother indeed had the same exact allergy. So maybe I'm not crazy. Or maybe the rest of my family is just as insane as I am. No matter, I was reassured.

Towards the end of this summer, the summer of gluttony and seafood about which I will likely post in greater detail a little bit down the line, I decided that I had enough. I was going to will my body to eat salmon if it killed me. I just kept eating it in its many forms, which culminated in a veritable gravlox binge at Aquavit, and eventually, I was able to eat it with no reaction at all. Yes, I know, I likely just grew out of it like the other allergies, it just took me longer, but I like to think that I was responsible for tricking my body this time. And so I have been reveling in my newfound salmon normalcy - I have joined the salmon eating population. And I've been eating it with such frequency that I will likely develop a new allergy, but I'll worry about that when that happens. In any event, I'm going to tell you about a pasta dish I made last week, featuring, what else? Salmon.

While in undergrad in Montreal, my friends and I would frequent L'Academie on St. Dennis. Its name was misleading - despite popular belief, it wasn't a culinary school kitchen at all, just a huge three-story restaurant with a guaranteed line snaking out the door on weekends. It had very reliable food, often quite good, and always at a fair price. And it was BYOB, making it that much more attractive to a poor college kid. There was a salmon and mushroom pasta that was on the menu there, and like all other salmon dishes, it taunted me. My friends would order it and I would stare and long for it. It was something so commonplace, yet something forbidden. That is probably why the one of the first things I did when I absolved my salmon allergy was attempt to recreate that dish. I used many shortcuts, mostly because it was easy and I had it all in my kitchen, and that's the secret. One of my roommates in college would make something like this sauce, she would regularly throw the contents of a couple of cans into a pan and eat it happily. I used a couple more ingredients that she used to, but It's a great last-minute, something-from-nothing dish made with things that are already lying around the house.

Pasta with Salmon and Mushrooms



Sorry for the sub-par photo, the light was not cooperating with me that night. There's no real recipe here, just a bunch of stuff I threw together, but I will attempt to capture it as accurately as possible.

I set some thin spaghetti in a pot of boiling water. While it was cooking I started to saute about 8 ounces of white mushrooms, which I purchased cleaned and sliced, in a pat of butter. Once the mushrooms were well on their way and rather soft, I added some garlic and a liberal sprinkling of dried thyme to the pan. I then emptied the cream of mushroom soup into the pan and added about a half of the empty can worth of water and allowed that to start heating. I would have added white wine instead of the water, but I didn't have any on hand.

Once this started looking saucy (ha) I added probably about half a cup of parmegianno cheese into the sauce to thicken it and give it a good saltiness, since I had used reduced sodium soup. With the parmegianno went another tablespoon of butter for richness. I opened up a can of Bumble Bee salmon (cooking salmon is obviously a good option, but it didn't fit into the theme of a quick-fix dinner too well, and the canned stuff actually tasted pretty good and didn't leave the apartment smelling like fish) and flaked it into the sauce. Once that was heated I adjusted the seasoning and added quite a bit of pepper and some more cheese. I mixed it up with the cooked pasta and it was a lovely dinner for two. And all I had to do was throw some stuff in the pan.

Outside of the grating of the cheese, there was really no effort required. I'll never know how close I came to the dish at L'Academie, and one of these days I'll go all out and cook the salmon and make my own sauce from scratch, but until that day, this will do.