Bringing the Mountain to Mohammed

It is Labor Day, and I have had really not much of a summer. Admittedly, that was by choice. I started a new business this year–the Astoria Bookshop opened its doors on August 21st!–and it’s the kind of enterprise that doesn’t really allow for picnics in Central Park or weekends spent at the shore. Thankfully, I’ve been too happily busy with work and customers to dwell on my lack of a tan, or the fact that I didn’t swim in the ocean even once this year.

Even so, Connie and I decided that we needed a bit of an end-of-summer feast. So we are having catfish tacos with cabbage slaw, fresh tomatoes, and ricotta salata, with tinto verano and stuffed clams.

These are not just any clams, though. These are Clams Tomasso, my dad’s (superior) rendition of clams casino, one of the first dishes I learned to cook as a child. They are tightly bound up with my conception of summer. Until tonight, I had never made them anywhere except the kitchen at my family’s house at the Jersey shore. But I decided that if I can’t get myself there, then I can bring a little piece of the shore to the Upper East Side.

Start with a bunch of cherrystones. These are usually the largest variety available. Scrub them and stream them open, and hope you didn’t get any duds. Each whole clam makes about one stuffed clam, so think about how many people you’re feeding and that will let you know how many to buy.

When they are all open and cool enough to handle, cut out the meat and put it in the food processor. Pulse together with some roughly chopped onion and bell pepper, plus a little garlic, a couple handfuls of breadcrumbs, some olive oil, and any seasonings that seem appropriate (cayenne, old bay, or whatever you like). Our usual ratio is 18 clams to one pepper and one onion, but do it up the way you like it. Just don’t go too heavy on the breadcrumbs or it will taste like a cheap crabcake.

Once everything is to your liking, break the clam shells in half and spoon the mixture into them. You’ll probably only need half of them, depending on how much or little you bulked up the filing. Top each one with a small piece of bacon and bake on a cookie sheet at 350F for 25-30 minutes.

Finish under the broiler for another 5. Be sure to let them cool slightly before digging in.

These clams are ideally eaten in your neighbor’s front yard while drinking wine from a plastic glass with a fish on it and watching the sunset over the bay. But in a pinch, your couch will do.

Degrees of Separation

I love it when I stumble across recipes that require just exactly what I have in my fridge. This Persian saffron-spiced stew is not technically one of those, but it’s pretty damn close. 

Eats Well with Others is a blog by another member of my CSA. She is in the big leagues as far as food blogging goes. She writes guest posts on Marcus Samuelsson’s website. Her superior photography skills have gotten her past the velvet ropes of Tastespotting. And I’m pretty sure people who are not related to her read her blog. But most importantly to me, she writes about the food she makes using exactly the same things as are in my own fridge. In this case, the recipe was already a meatless adaptation of a recipe from Healthy Cooking for the Jewish Home: 200 Recipes for Eating Well on Holidays and Every Day, which had been written up on a couple of OTHER food blogs. Already several degrees removed from the original, I’ve altered it again by skipping the pasta & swapping lentils for the split peas (because I didn’t have any split peas), which I cooked very simply, just adding a little salt at the end.

Then onto the veggies. The onion gets sauteed in a little olive oil, and then in goes the chopped spinach right on top. 

Once it’s wilted, add the diced eggplant and bell peppers, plus salt & pepper. 

Once the eggplant is starting to get soft, add chopped tomatoes, cinnamon, and saffron. Go easy on the saffron, and not just because it’s wicked expensive–the flavor can easily overpower whatever else is in a dish, taking it from delicate to metallic before you know it.

Then mix in tomato paste that’s been diluted in hot water, and the lentils (drained). Squeeze some lemon juice on top and serve in soup bowls, drizzle on a little good olive oil, and eat with some bread. Ideally a focaccia that’s got some goat cheese on it or something, just so you don’t find yourself accidentally eating another vegan meal.

As noted in the original recipe, this would probably be great with pasta, too, but I liked it just as a summer stew. Filling, but not heavy at all.

A Yankee Looks South

I am really, really not southern. I was raised in the suburbs of Philadelphia by parents who had grown up further north along the eastern seaboard. Okra was not a part of my vocabulary, let alone my diet. Nonetheless, when the optional okra was consistently all gone by the time I arrived at Lenox Hill to collect my share, I was a little miffed. The farmer’s note about the okra was that they used to grow it in large quantities, and it always ended up in the swap box, so they stopped. But now okra seemed to be experiencing a revival of sorts, because the smallish bag they sent (“take it if you like”) was disappearing immediately, thwarting some of our dinner plans. Eventually, the farmer got hip to the situation and changed the instructions to “take it if you like–no more than 3 pieces.” Which I did. 

J. is a genuine southerner (by blood, and now also by residence). Her advice, when I asked what to do with okra, was to make gumbo. So after 2 weeks of purposely choosing very large pieces, I had just enough to make a variation on Paula Deen’s gumbo, her recommended starting place. 

According to J., in order to count as gumbo, the dish must have sausage, shrimp, okra, and onions. The roux is important, too, but those ingredients are the bare minimum. So I raided my fridge & freezer, bought a few extra things at the Italian market, and did my best. Personally, I’m very happy with the results, though I’ve yet to share them with a known gumbo authority, so a real verdict is still to come.

First, I browned some sliced andouille sausage in vegetable oil. 

After removing the meat to a plate, I added some lard to the remaining oil, and some flour, and stirred over low heat until the roux was nicely browned. I was a little afraid that I was burning it, but it turned out ok.

The instructions are to let the roux cool before continuing, and while I don’t entirely understand why that’s necessary, I followed Ms. Deen’s advice. I let it sit while I chopped some vegetables, and then turned back on the heat and added the rest of the lard, an onion, a lot of minced garlic, a bell pepper, and a stash of chopped celery I had in the freezer. 

Then some Worcestershire sauce (I won’t tell you how long that bottle has been hiding in my kitchen), a big handful of chopped parsley, and some crushed red pepper, because a little spice sounded like a good idea. (C. is slowly influencing my cooking, even when she’s not in the kitchen.)

That was followed by four cups of vegetable stock (brought to a simmer in a separate pot), and the sausage. I brought the gumbo to a boil, then let it cook, covered, for about 45 minutes. I took that time to run out and get shrimp and white rice.

Then I added the chopped tomato and sliced okra. Next time I will probably slice the okra thinner, in addition to seeking out smaller pieces. This simmered for another hour, which was plenty of time to make the rice, and watch an episode of True Blood to get myself in a southern mood.

I decided that rather than cook the shrimp separately, I’d add it at this point, and cover for another minute or two–just long enough for it to cook through. Then it was just a matter of adding the chopped scallions (and theoretically some more parsley if I hadn’t used up my entire stash already).

Serve in soup bowls, with a big spoonful of white rice.

As I said, I declared this a success. It does make me wonder, though, why so much of southern cuisine involves dishes that must simmer or braise for hours and hours. I would think that a climate that allows for a very long growing season and sweltering summers would drive people to a raw foods diet, just to keep the kitchen as cool as possible. Not that I’m complaining about the existence of gumbo, mind you. 

Yankee Gumbo
adapted from Paula Deen

1/4 c vegetable oil
12 oz andouille sausage, sliced into 1/4″ rounds
1/2 c flour
5 tablespoons lard
1 large onion, chopped
8 cloves garlic, minced
1 bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
1/4 c Worcestershire sauce
1/4 bunch Italian parsley, chopped
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper (optional)
4 c vegetable stock, simmering
2 medium tomatoes, chopped (about 12 oz)
2 c okra, sliced 1/4″-1/2″ thick
1/2 pound small shrimp, cleaned
4 scallions, sliced

Heat the vegetable oil in a big heavy-bottomed pot (or Dutch oven) over medium heat. Add the sausage rounds and cook until they’re lightly browned. Remove to a plate and turn the heat to low.

Add 2 Tbsp of the lard, and the flour, and cook for 8-10 minutes, stirring constantly, until you have a deep brown roux.

Add the remaining lard, the onion, garlic, bell pepper, and celery. Cook 10 more minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the Worcestershire sauce, parsley, and red pepper. Cook 10 more minutes. Add the stock and the cooked sausage. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat & cover, simmering for 45 minutes.

Add the tomatoes and okra, and cook covered for 1 hour.

Add the shrimp, stir, and cook 1-2 minutes, until the shrimp are cooked through. Turn off the heat and stir in the scallions. Serve with long-grain white rice.

Top Your Own Pizza Party

This past Sunday, L., M., P., and our respective +1s came over for the latest round of Cook Club. We had all semi-tacitly agreed that it would be a more casual affair this time, and for whatever reason, I settled on making pizza. I made a bunch of antipasti/salads, prepped the toppings, made the dough, went a little crazy at Murrays’, and let everyone do their own thing. 

The pre-pizza spread: kidney beans with shallots and parsley; pan-seared shishito peppers; Treviso potato salad (with radicchio, from Lynne Rossetto Kasper); Sweet and Sour Grilled Pumpkin (which I’ve made before); Shredded Collard Greens with Walnuts and Pickled Apples; and sweet-tart salad of basil, sorrel, and apple (also from Rossetto Kasper–this was the star of the show, I think).

Really, though, the point is the pizza. Because of the limited amount of space in my oven, and also in my kitchen, we made our pizzas in pairs. But pizza only takes 10 minutes to cook (which I know to be a fact, from my summer working at Panzone’s) and cheese retains heat better than just about anything, so we all still ate at roughly the same time. I’d made pesto, and tomato sauce (from the many pounds of tomatoes A. and I picked up at Stoneledge), roasted peppers, made “oven-candied” tomatoes, cooked up some sausage, caramelize some onions, and bough pepperoni and mushrooms.

Enough with the preamble. Here are our beautiful creations:

For dessert, we had cookies and ice cream. There had been a request for a repeat of the pink peppercorn ice cream I made back in May, and who am I to deny someone ice cream? It’s a pretty basic vanilla custard base, with the addition of a tablespoon of ground pink peppercorns (separate post to come on that, probably). And then when you make ice cream, you wind up with a lot of unused egg whites–so I was pleased to find a recipe for something called Chocolate Puddle Cookies on 101 Cookbooks that requires a lot of them.

More photos of everything here.

It was, as always, a lovely evening in wonderful company. I am so, so glad that we started Cook Club. I think we could probably be eating take out and drinking box wine (not to knock box wine–there are some really good ones out there) and have just as good a time together, but thankfully, we have the option to have homemade meals with good friends, and who could ask for more than that?

The Farmer in the Orange Feather Boa

A while back, I found this book at my local used bookstore called Farmer John’s Cookbook: The Real Dirt on Vegetables. Farmer John (John Peterson) is featured prominently on the cover, in a straw hat and holding a pitchfork, a la Grant Wood–except that he’s got an orange feather boa around his neck. Maybe I should just show you:

Awesome, right? It seems Farmer John runs a CSA in Illinois, and, like the farm itself (and presumably the farmer HIMself), the book is incredibly hippy-dippy. It’s awesome. There’s all this proselytizing about Rudolph Steiner, and pages about something called anthroposophy, and member-provided recipes. And for someone who loves the politics of Rise Up Singing: The Group Singing Songbook and was over-the-top excited to spend last Saturday picking carrots and raspberries, it’s perfect.

So I made a couple of recipes from it for dinner the other night. The first is called (no kidding) “Bell Peppers Lemonly Dressed and Cumin-esque.” (Hippy-dippy and maybe also trying too hard to be lyrical?) 

Take a few bell peppers–if I were buying them I’d go for red or yellow, but purple will do and have the advantage of being pretty. (Really try to find organic, though, because peppers are one of the veggies that absorbs toxins most easily. So even if you don’t care about the effect of conventional farming on the land, think about yourself.)

Core, slice into strips, and sautee them in a little olive oil.

Set them aside and mix up some lemon juice & olive oil with onion, parsley, cumin, honey, and garlic. Mix up the dressing very well and toss with the cooled peppers. Let them sit as long as you like–the longer the flavors have to mingle, the better this salad is.

Then I decided that I would make Fried Green Tomatoes (with Crispy Cornmeal Crust). I don’t know how it’s possible but I had never had this particular dish before.

Start with some green(ish) tomatoes, and slice them on the thick side (about 1/4″).

Beat up an egg with a little water, and put some cornmeal on a wide plate, mixed with some salt & pepper. Dip the tomato slices in the egg and then the cornmeal, and then fry them, in batches, in 1/4″ of vegetable oil, over high heat. They only take a couple of minutes per side.

Note that I recommend finely ground cornmeal, which I ran out of halfway through cooking, so the ones on the left are with a coarser grind. The flavor was great, but the texture was a little off.

They were great with the tangy sweet peppers, though. And a little cottage cheese on the side. (Mom, I’ve found a brand here that is ALMOST as good as Penn Maid.)

Rainbow Salad

This is one of those recipes where I started looking up ideas for various things I had in the fridge, and magically found something that used ALL of them. “Broccoli, comma, and roasted pepper salad with tomato vinaigrette.” Further proof that things that grow together go together.  Also, considering I had olives on hand as a take-home gift from a recent Cook Club (thanks, L!) and had feta in the fridge from some other random recipe, I didn’t have to buy a thing to make this. So it’s also proof that a well-stocked kitchen is the most essential ingredient for quick and easy cooking. And it’s so very pretty.

First, preheat the oven to 400F and spatchcock the peppers. This is not a term used with vegetables usually, but it’s applicable. Cut in half, remove the core and the seeds, and smoosh them onto the cutting board, so they sort of almost lie flat.

Put them on a baking sheet, cut side down, and brush the skins with olive oil. Bake for 10-20 minutes, until the skins are wrinkled, then transfer them to a bowl and cover it with a plate.

Then, make the vinaigrette. Mash up a clove of garlic with a little salt, and combine it in a bowl with some diced onion (or shallot), red wine vinegar, a little balsamic, and some fresh ground pepper. Let it stand while you dice some tomato and halve and pit some Niçoise or Kalamata olives. Whisk in some olive oil, then add the tomatoes and olives.

Cut up the broccoli into little florets, and cut the stems into chunks about the same size. Blanche in salted water, then strain.

By this time, the roasted peppers should be cool enough to handle. Uncover the bowl and remove the skins. Then cut them into bite-sized pieces.

Then it’s just a matter of combining everything: the peppers, the broccoli, the tomato dressing, and some crumbled feta. Finish it up with some chopped parsley, oregano, and/or marjoram, and taste for salt and pepper.

Count ’em yourself

(The subject line of this post is just for my sister Lindsay. I hope it makes her laugh when she figures it out.)

Remember that pound of tomatillos I got a few weeks ago?

Yeah, I didn’t either. But luckily, they keep well in the fridge for longer than you’d expect. And then I was in Whole Foods the other day and saw a package of posole, aka hominy, which is corn kernels that have been treated in a weak lye solution and then dried out. It is what you grind up to get hominy grits (get it, Linds?). I’d eaten posole once out in Durango. And I vaguely remembered it as one of the recipes that popped up when I was searching for things to do with tomatillos. And I still had half a pound of spicy beef sausage in the freezer. Slowly, dinner was composing itself in my brain.  

The first thing is to husk (de-husk?) the tomatillos and wash off the vague sliminess that remains.

Except no. The actual first thing to do is, the night before (or the morning of), dump the package of hominy into a bowl, cover it with water, and let it sit. Just like soaking beans.

THEN when you are ready to cook, clean the tomatillos, put a big pot over a hot burner, and pan sear the tomatillos on as many sides as you have patience for. They should start to char a bit, then you remove them to a plate.

Drizzle a little vegetable oil in the pan, turn down the heat some, and toss in some crumbled sausage and chopped onions. Cook, stirring, until they both start to brown a little.

Then add in some chopped peppers, one sweet and one hot. (This hot pepper happened to be really more like 2, which was fine with me but I know some people who would not have liked how spicy the finished product was. Which is why some days, I just cook for myself.)

Cook another couple of minutes, and then add in the tomatillos, cut into wedges (doesn’t really matter how thin because they’re all going to break up anyway).

Rinse and drain the hominy, and then add that, too.

Pour in enough water or stock to cover by several inches (the hominy is going to soak up A LOT of water, so add more than you think you need, or else just be prepared to keep adding as it cooks).

Bring it to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, partially covered, for a very long time.

Basically, you’re waiting until the corn pops. Because even treated the way it is, corn kernels will pop when they are hit with enough heat. So when that’s happened, taste for salt, toss in some chopped cilantro, squeeze in a lime, and you’re done.

Posole with Tomatillos and Sausage

1 package hominy
1 lb tomatillos
1/2 lb sausage
1 onion
1 sweet pepper
1 hot pepper
stock of your choice, or water (or a mix)
cilantro
1 lime
salt

Soak the hominy overnight, for about 8 hours. Drain and rinse when you are ready to start cooking.

Heat up a large pot over high heat. Cook the tomatillos, whole, until they are a bit blackened in spots. Remove them and let them cool.

Turn down the heat to medium and add a little vegetable oil to the pan. Add in the sausage, crumbled, and the onion, chopped, and cook, stirring occasionally, 2-3 minutes. Chop up the sweet and hot peppers and add them to the pot. Cook for a few minutes, just until the vegetables start to color. Cut up the tomatillos and add them in.

Add the rinsed hominy and enough water or stock to cover by a few inches. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 1-2 hours (or more), as long as it takes for the corn kernels to “pop.”

Taste for salt, and finish with chopped cilantro and fresh squeezed lime juice.

21st Century Italian

This was supposed to be one of those “let’s throw a bunch of things in a pot and see how it all turns out” meals. I had bought some spicy beef sausage through M.’s CSA, and I had peppers and basil and tomatoes from my own. I bought a pound of penne and figured things would come together just fine one way or another. And then, just looking for a little inspiration, I peeked in Lynne Rossetto Kasper’s book The Italian Country Table: Home Cooking from Italy’s Farmhouse Kitchens, and found/remembered her recipe for Sausage, Peppers, and Shells, which I’d made once before and enjoyed. Further proof that there is nothing new under the sun. Also proof that while I might not be the most creative of cooks, I am adept at finding good recipes written by other people.

So I figured, “Why mess with a good thing?: Or rather, I figured, “This is basically what I was going to do anyway and now I have proof that it is a good thing.” Except that I clearly needed to switch the meat/veg ratio, updating the recipe to a more contemporary way of eating.

Start with some sausage, about 1/2 pound, pierced all over so they don’t explode.

Cook them in a hot dry pan, browning on all sides.

Pour in 2 cups of red wine and 3-4 cups of water (just enough to cover the sausages).

Bring to a boil and simmer for 15-20 minutes, long enough to cook through.

Remove the sausages to a plate, skim off the cooking liquid, and cook it to reduce by about 3/4. Then pour that into a bowl and set aside. Drizzle some olive oil into the pan and add some chopped onion and pepper, and a dried hot pepper.

(It is probably self-evident that this is the night, previously mentioned, when the power was out in my kitchen, hence the unattractive use of a flash. At this point, though, the lights came back on and we all rejoiced.)

While the peppers and onions are cooking, mince up some garlic and tear up some basil leaves.

When the onion is nicely browned, toss those into the pot, along with a little dried oregano, some chopped tomatoes, and the wine/water reduction, and some salt & pepper. Let it all simmer together, long enough for the tomatoes to break up a bit and all the flavors to meld. Finally, dice up the cooked sausage and add that to the pot.

Toss the whole mess together with a pound of cooked pasta. Theoretically you can lengthen the sauce with some of the cooking water from the pasta, but I never, ever, EVER remember to save any. It was fine without it, in any case.

The instructions in the cookbook specifically say that grated parmesan is not necessary with this dish, but if you include some with yours, I won’t tell.

Sausage & Peppers with Penne

1/2 lb sausage
2 c dry red wine
3-4 c water
1 medium red onion, coarsely diced
2 Tbsp olive oil
2 large sweet peppers, cut into 1/2″ dice
1 dried hot pepper
salt and pepper
1 large clove garlic, minced
8 large fresh basil leaves, torn
1/2 tsp dried oregano
1 lb San Marzano tomatoes or equivalent (like a 14 oz can), chopped
1 lb penne (or any shape you like)

Put on a pot of water to boil. Salt it heavily and cook the pasta as instructed on the package. Scoop out a cup of the cooking liquid before you drain the pasta, to add to the sauce at the end.

Pierce the sausage casings all over. Heat a large saucepan over medium-high and cook the sausages until browned on all sides. Then pour in the wine and enough water to cover the meat. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer 15-20 minutes, until the sausage is cooked through. Remove the meat and let the liquid reduce by 3/4. Then pour into a bowl and set aside.

Pour the olive oil into the pan, then add the onion, sweet peppers, and dried pepper. Cook until the onion starts to brown, then add the reduced wine/water, the garlic, basil, dried oregano, and some salt & pepper. Cook until the tomatoes start to break apart and the other vegetables are softened. Chop up the sausage, and then add that to the pot. Cook another few minutes, taste for salt and pepper, and mix with the cooked pasta. Add as much of the cooking liquid as needed to make a sauce-y consistency. Serve with or without grated parmesan.

Yes, we have no okra today

I feel like I’ve been jerked around a little this week, and it’s only Tuesday.  Originally, we were told on Friday that we’d be getting edamame, which I love, but which is not really useful for dinner purposes. Soy beans are like cherry tomatoes, in that they are a great snack, but not really worth the effort to use in a proper recipe. 

Then, we were told Sunday afternoon that the edamame wasn’t quite ready, and we’d be getting peppers and okra (!) instead.  I’ve never cooked with okra, but I had a dear friend coming over for dinner who is a proper southern lady, and I figured that would be a wonderful opportunity to have my maiden voyage.  I found the perfect (though not remotely southern) recipe, from Yotam Ottolenghi’s New Vegetarian blog on the Guardian, for okra with tomato, lemon, and coriander. And I was really excited about it. I have half a dozen of his recipes flagged in my google reader as “to make,” and have yet to take a crack at any of them, in spite of Moody Food’s hearty endorsement of everything Ottolenghi.

And THEN. And then. The okra was not there. Non é arrivato.  Or if it did arrive, it was gone by the time I got to Lenox Hill (it was a “take it if you like” one, not an alotted amount).  But let it not be said that I cannot pivot on a dime when dinner is at stake.  I pouted, for sure, and made a small fuss (I am a youngest child and certain behaviors are expected of me), and then I remembered that I still had nearly a pound of green beans in the fridge from last week.  Okra is a seed pod; green beans are pods.  I don’t always need to rely on The Cook’s Thesaurus to rescue a recipe. 

I made a few other modifications to the recipe, but not many.  I used a dried, hot chili instead of a fresh mild one, and green (sweet) peppers instead of red.  I did manage to find preserved lemon, though (thwarted by Whole Foods, but Kalustyan’s had my back).  I think this recipe proves the axiom that the key to improvisational cooking is having a well-stocked kitchen.  And a CSA is infinitely helpful in that respect.  Also ready access to specialty markets…

Thus, we start with a pile of fresh vegetables and herbs, dried spices, a few preserved items, and some bulgur.

The onion gets sliced into thin half-moons and cooked over medium heat, in olive oil, with the coriander seeds, until soft but not brown.

Then, in go the sweet peppers, the chile, the parsley and some of the cilantro. Let it cook a bit before adding the tomatoes, paprika, salt, agave nectar (or sugar), and some water. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes. 

Meanwhile (my friend C. says any recipe that includes the word “meanwhile” is just not going to happen in her kitchen, but somehow I don’t find it to be a turn off. What else am I going to do while that pot simmers?), the green beans get tossed in a little olive oil and salt and roasted at 400F for 15 minutes. When they’re ready, add them into the pot, with the preserved lemon, the olives, and a bit more of the cilantro.

Stir it up, taste for seasoning, and then finish off with fresh lemon juice, the last of the cilantro, and the chopped mint leaves.  Serve over bulgur, which I cooked in vegetable broth, though water works just as well. Also note that if you are an informal household, the pitting of the olives is not necessary; just be sure to put a little bowl on the table so you and your guest can put the pits somewhere as you eat them.

Ottolenghi-style Green Beans with Tomatoes, Olives, and Lemon
Serves 3, though could be stretched if you don’t completely forget you were also going to make a green salad with pomegranate molasses dressing

4 Tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
2 bell peppers (or other sweet peppers), cut into smallish bites
1 dried red chile, chopped or ripped into pieces
1/3 c flat-leaf parsley, chopped
2 1/2 Tbsp cilantro, chopped
1 lb tomatoes, chopped
1 tsp paprika
1 1/2 tsp agave nectar (or 2 tsp sugar)
Salt
3/4 lb green beans, trimmed
3 Tbsp diced skin of preserved lemon
30 oil-cured black olives, pitted and chopped

1 1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp mint leaves, chopped

1 cup bulgur

Put on a kettle of water, or a pot of the broth of your choice. Rinse the bulgur in a strainer and put it in a heat-proof bowl. When the water/broth comes to a boil, measure out 2 cups and pour it on top. Cover with a plate and let sit until the rest of the meal is ready.
Heat 2 Tbsp of olive oil in a heavy pot over medium heat. Add the onion and coriander and cook, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes.
Set the oven to 400F. Toss the green beans with the other 2 Tbsp of oil, and a little salt. Spread them on a baking sheet and bake 15 minutes.
While that’s cooking, add to the pot the fresh & dried peppers, parsley, and 1 Tbsp of cilantro. Stir and let cook another 5 minutes.
Then add the tomatoes, paprika, salt, sugar, and a cup of water. Cover and simmer 15 minutes.
When the green beans are ready, add them to the pot with the preserved lemon, the olives, and another 1 Tbsp of cilantro. Stir and taste for salt.
Turn off the heat, squeeze in the lemon juice, and garnish with the last of the cilantro and the fresh mint.
Serve over bulgur (which might need to be strained). Some crusty bread goes well with this dish, too.

Bittman to the Rescue

I was out of town from last Thursday until late Monday, and then had a work function (read: booze cruise) (on a boat called the Romantica, captained by a guy who goes by the moniker “Papa Fish”) (seriously) Tuesday night, so it wasn’t until Wednesday that I was able to get back into the kitchen.  And yes, we did cook a bit while we were at Copper, but honestly, cooking on an electric stove just doesn’t do it for me.

Which is maybe how I justified turning the oven to 400F for, oh, an hour or so last night.  (More than that, actually, because I made a peach galette, too.)  Let me remind you that the high temperature recorded in Central Park yesterday was 93F, and even by 8 o’clock, it was still registering at 86F.  Let me also remind you that I don’t let much stand in the way of a recipe I especially want to make.

The recipe, in this case, is Mark Bittman’s Layered Vegetable Torte, which happened to be the Minimalist column yesterday.  Almost suspiciously convenient, no?  That he’d write about a dish that required pretty much exactly what I got in the vegetable box this week?  How could I not make this recipe immediately?  Considering that I’m heading to the shore for the weekend tomorrow, a recipe that used up this many different ingredients was exactly what needed to be made.

First you need a pile of veggies.  It doesn’t actually matter so much what you’ve got on hand, though something squashy is recommended. I had an eggplant, some zucchini, a bulb of fennel, a longish greenish sweet pepper that I can’t remember what it’s called, some scallions and garlic scapes, a few cherry tomatoes, and a veritable bouquet of fresh herbs. 

All the veggies get sliced into pieces about 1/4″ thick, drizzled with olive oil, seasoned with salt and pepper, and roasted at 400F for as long as it takes.  Turn once, after 10 or 15 minutes, and pull them out for good when they’re thoroughly soft.  Alternately, if you’re lucky enough to have a proper grill, that’ll work, too, just don’t tell me about it.  I love my grill pan, but with this quantity of veg, it’s just not big enough to get the job done in a timely manner.  Sigh.  One day, I will have a grill of my own, and a place to put it, and that day will be beautiful.  And you will all be invited over for dinner. (Oh, wait–you’re all already invited over.  So that much at least won’t change.)

I cut the scallions and scapes into pieces about 1″ long and roasted them, too, which in retrospect was maybe not the best idea.  I think it would have worked better if I’d kept them whole and put them in for only the last 10 minutes, which is what I did with the tomatoes. 

Anyway, get out your springform pan and oil it lightly.  You’ll either want to put it on a cookie sheet or wrap it in foil, because if it’s anything like mine, it’s not 100% watertight. Or oil-tight, rather.  Layer the veggies and chopped herbs, and chopped garlic if you’re using it.  Squish the layers together with a spatula, then sprinkle on a couple handfuls of breadcrumbs, and grate a pile of parmesan on top.  Do not skip the “drizzle with about 1 tablespoon oil” step, which is what I inadvertently did. 

Nothing awful will happen, but the cheese won’t brown quite properly without it (after 30 minutes in the oven, still at 400F).

So yes, 30 minutes.  Take it out, let it rest a bit, undo the springform, let it rest a bit more. 

Then slice it up, and serve with maybe some leftover polenta?

Oh, and about that galette: leftover bit of unrolled pie crust in the freezer, 4 peaches (peeled and chopped), juice of half a lime, a bit of honey, a tablespoon of butter cut into bits, wave the magic wand and bake for 40 minutes at 400F.  The sil-pat is essential here (thanks, mom!), or else I just don’t know how to prepare a galette, because the peach juice leaked out all over the place and it would have been a bitch and a half to clean off a cookie sheet.  I think I skimped on the honey, but other than that, it was delicious.