4/10: Spring salad, local style (bon appétit, April 2014)

After my recent jelly bean binge, well, praise everything for this month's issue of Bon Appetit: an entire month of appealing recipes featuring asparagus, and peas, and everything fresh and green. If you haven't looked at Bon Appetit, recently, I'd highly recommend taking at least a glance. Under Adam Rapoport's direction, the magazine has gotten a much needed facelift: recipes are more sophisticated without being complicated; there's a great mix of menus for daily meals, special occasions, brunch, and casual entertaining that might make a person feel, well, hell yeah, let's have some people over for dinner; the drinks recipes are fabulous; most of the recipes fall in the category of "pretty-darn-easy-to-prepare," and yet each month there's always a "project,"guaranteed to inspire and challenge your skills; and, overall, the magazine makes cooking look like fun for everyone.

And did I mention easy?

This recipe is an example: a bed of tender pea shoots, gently tossed with thin slices of spring onions and a little vinegar and oil, seasoned with salt and pepper, topped with thick pieces of smoked trout, and served with a dollop of fresh horseradish and sour cream... every single item fresh from the local markets.  Hardly seems like a recipe as much an assemblage of ingredients that work well together, and in fact, as we've discovered around here this week, the combination of horseradish, sour cream and smoked trout makes a terrific filling for omelets and an excellent topping for hashed brown potatos and an egg; and if we'd had any leftover pea shoots, they would have made a delicious garnish. Next time, I'll remember: more pea shoots.

Downfall

My annual indulgence. I've given up Skittles. I've given up Neccos. I've even given up malted milk balls. Jelly beans, though? Once a year, they are completely irresistible. I buy a bag and eat as many as I can between the grocery store and home. And then I throw away the remainder.

By then, quite honestly, all I want is a salad.

3/20: Rebellion, and cake

There's been a bit of a rebellion around here, in case you hadn't noticed: a conflict between commitments and yearnings triggered by a spate of social engagements, unexpected dinner guests, and the desire for more paella in our lives. There is also the fact that M. likes to cook, and I'm finding that when it is my turn to play in the kitchen, making a complicated side dish is not always at the top of my list of things I want to do.

For example, this week, the girl is home, and M. has been cooking. So far there's been shrimp étouffée and, between a binge session scored with Italian opera that resulted in a half dozen pizzas and three trays of homemade tortellini, more tomato sauce than I hope you can imagine. The competition for counter space has been mighty fierce. I snuck in my own version of tomato sauce later in the week -- mine mixed with chicken broth and seasoned with a pinch of cinnamon and a little cayenne --  to top some aushak (phyllo pastries stuffed with thinly sliced green onion and a little spinach) later on in the week. And I think there was one day where we made do without any tomato sauce at all and opted for steak fajitas instead. Salads have been sparse, and vegetables generally ignored. My ideas for trying mee goreng or gado gado were scorned. Scorned. Scoffed. Spurned. Dismissed.


It has taken a toll on my adventuring spirit, and I'm not sure what to make of my goal for the year. Do I revise the purpose of this blog, and simply write about whatever deliciousness captures my eye each week? Or do I continue to use this space to explore Ottolenghi's recipes as it seems reasonable or possible? I'm honestly not sure just how to proceed.

One thing is for certain: a chocolate cake is always an excellent companion for facing down life's perplexing dilemmas. And so I made a chocolate cake, this one based on Dorie Greenspan's Almost Fudge Gateau, with the minor additions of 1/3 cup almond meal, the grated zest from one orange, and a pinch of cayenne. It makes for an even chewier, more brownie-like cake, and I like the way the orange and cayenne perk up the flavor of the chocolate. Around here, everybody likes it that way, too, and that's a bonus. So while I think things over, let's everybody enjoy some cake.

#9: Dates and Turkish Sheep's Cheese Salad

I know. Another salad. How many of these do you have to see? Didn't I promise something more exciting this week? Aren't I already late on delivering on that promise?

Yes. I know.

Somehow when I set up this challenge for myself, I didn't foresee the weeks of winter where getting out of our neighborhood would be close to impossible. Where a trip into town to my usual haunts might entail a 45-minute detour that would exhaust any ambition I ever had to spend any time in the kitchen. Where just when I thought I might have SOME ambition to spend SOME time in the kitchen, both of us here were felled by the cold from hell, leaving us to crankily argue over whose turn it was to go out to the ducks. Where no one was healthy enough to make up the garlic soup we obviously needed. Where not much of anything got done for nearly a week.

That winter. This one. The one that needs to leave. Right away. Spit-spot, out-the-door, and be done with it. That one. Now.

Like wishing is going to make any difference, right?

So when I finally did make it out the door to get groceries, it was just to our local market, more a convenience store than anything else, where you are more likely to find the fixings for pigs in a blanket than you are to find an apple or lettuce still in its prime, so I felt lucky to walk out with anything fresh at all, much less the usual list of exotic ingredients called for in most of the recipes in Plenty.

So, yeah. A salad.

But don't yawn yet. Ottolenghi really knows what he's doing when he puts together greens, and this one proves to be a lovely combination as well.

Building from a bed of spicy arugula leaves, he adds mixed leaves of basil and red chard leaves, slivers of sweet Medjool dates, toasted almonds, and some "lightly salted Turkish sheep's cheese." If that's not available, Ottolenghi recommends buffalo ricotta or buffalo mozzarella, but nothing remotely like that was available, so I opted instead for something posing as Camembert. It worked. Topped with a dressing made from pomegranate molasses*-- a reduction of pomegranate juice and sugar that you can find in the sweetener section of your natural foods store -- and olive oil, it was that perfect mixture of sweetness, crunch, herbal notes, and creamy deliciousness that seems to define every Ottolenghi salad.

A couple of notes:

I'm constantly surprised by the apparently dissonant flavors that Ottolenghi uses in his recipes: here it's the arugula and basil, two strong personalities that I wouldn't have expected to work well together, but somehow do, no doubt thanks to the fruity dressing and the creamy cheese.

Herbs. Ottolenghi uses them generously and brilliantly. Makes me wish I could somehow keep my herb garden going through winter. We do OK with rosemary and occasionally chives, but I've never had much luck getting basil  or parsley to stick around throughout the winter, at least not in enough quantity to be worth cultivating.

Dressings. I've always been a vinegar & oil kind of girl, with the occasional smashed garlic or minced shallot thrown in for variety; when I'm feeling truly adventurous, I might substitute lemon juice for the vinegar. Ottolenghi hasn't yet lured me to the dark side of creamy dressings, but he has shown me the virtues of playing with the acidic components of a dressing. He frequently turns to citrus -- lemons, limes, oranges, and grapefruit -- as a base, toning their stridency with a generous amount of sugar, and sometimes even cooking the juice down into a syrup before adding the rest of the ingredients. It's a great technique for creating vibrant and exciting dressings, and even though I'm not a huge advocate of added sugar, I've got to admit that his dressings have made "that green stuff" an appealing part of the meal. Even for the carnivores in the house. So maybe it's true: a spoonful of sugar really does help the medicine go down.

Next week: Honestly, I don't know. I'm still kind of dragging here. Let me play it by ear for another week or so. Things will get better. I promise.

*BTW I am not advocating this store; just wanted to show you what it looks like -- I paid half this price for it at Whole Foods, and I suspect you could find it for even less at your local co-op or grocery store.

#8: Endive with Roquefort

Bleu-cheese lovers, rejoice ... this one's for you! Slather crisp leaves of bitter endive with an indulgent blend of creme fraiche and your favorite bleu cheese (Roquefort here). Top with warm pine nuts and walnuts freshly toasted in butter and a little salt. Arrange on a platter lined with pretty red leaves of radicchio. Enjoy.

Seriously. This was the easiest recipe yet, and if you are better organized than I, you could probably get this one from the refrigerator to the table in under 10 minutes.

Cautionary Note #1: Maybe this looks like a salad, but it's really just an excuse to eat a lot of bleu cheese with toasty nuts. If you're looking for something with a more amped-up nutritional profile, then plan on something else with dinner. Steamed broccoli, perhaps. Or a baked sweet potato. This recipe? This one is just for fun.

Cautionary Note #2: I made half the recipe (for two people), and if I had stacked the leaves in bundles of six as Ottolenghi describes, there would have been only two bundles to arrange on the plate. I stacked mine in bundles of two or three leaves each, and they seemed completely, utterly, perfectly satisfying. Totally undiminished.

Cautionary Note #3: It is entirely possible that you might not use all of the bleu cheese/creme fraiche mixture in the preparation of this recipe. I trust you all will find some way to avoid wasting even a spoonful of anything this luxurious.

Next week, something a little more complicated: gado-gado (p. 195).

#7: Swiss Chard, Chickpea, and Tamarind Stew

This one started off with so much promise:

Looks good, doesn't it? And really, how could you go wrong with chard and chickpeas, a little tomato, a little onion, some coriander? (The photo is missing the chickpeas, caraway, cilantro, and yogurt called for in the recipe, but they all showed up later and reasonably close to on time.) Ottolenghi recommended it as just the thing to brighten up a gloomy day, and lord knows, we've had some gloomy days around here lately. Seemed worth the try.

And even at the start of the braise, things still looked pretty... and pretty promising:

But what we ended up with looked nearly inedible (thus the tiny tiny monochrome picture):

So, yeah. Kind of meh. Healthy, though, and by the time I'd doctored it up, it was certainly worth eating. Maybe even a little interesting. But compared to the jazzy ensembles of exciting flavors that Ottolenghi has provided in past weeks, this one felt more like the kind of party where all the attendees are holding court in their separate corners... they're all making a lot of noise, but no one's having very much fun. After last week's extravagance, this was kind of a letdown.

Maybe it was the fault of the tamarind paste? Tamarind -- a tropical fruit grown mostly in Africa and South Asia -- is extremely tart. I'm used to it being paired with spicy curries, where its sour flavor brightens the heat and sweetness of the curry spices. Here, though, the very small amount of fragrant coriander that Ottolenghi includes was totally overwhelmed by the tart murkiness of the tamarind.

And those caraway seeds? They sure felt out of place, and it's not at all clear what Ottolenghi was aiming for by including two teaspoons of them. Instead of caraway, I'd add a tablespoon or two of my favorite curry powder (currently Penzey's), maybe a pinch or two of saffron, and possibly a tablespoon or two of Major Grey's Mango Chutney and go for something with a much more definite Indian/South Asian vibe.

As for that teaspoon of tomato paste that left an entire can of the stuff languishing in my refrigerator where it is likely to remain until mold begins to form? Can't see that it helped thicken the stew or boost the tomato flavor.  Next time I'd leave it out entirely.

It took a generous pour of olive oil at the end, as well as some extra help from my shaker of red pepper flakes, and every bit of the allegedly optional yogurt to bring the flavors together. You'll want LOTS of cilantro leaves, or sliced green onions as well.

The verdict: This one was easy to make (a 2 on the Ottolenghi Perceived Exertion Scale), quite serviceable as a weekday meal, not too expensive to try, but so dull that I am not likely to ever make it again.

Am hoping for better results next week when I attempt the nutty endive with Roquefort  (p. 160). See you then!

OT: great deal on A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg

When Gawker (or was it Buzzfeed) came out with its list of all-time favorite food memoirs, it was disappointing to see the omission of Molly Wizenberg's wonderful A Homemade Life, about her journey from graduate school student (French!) to finding her own writing voice, falling in love, starting a restaurant, and navigating the death of her father. Her writing is tender and affectionate, thoughtful and generous... and there are lots of fabulous recipes, as well. And you can get it today for your Kindle (or i-Pad) for just $1.99.

If you're uncertain about making the commitment, then perhaps this interview will inspire you to take the plunge ... you are least in for some interesting reading.