soba gone

We went to Nara during the New Year, which everyone told us not to do. It would be too crowded, they predicted, with people attending to the last rites of the dying year, and it was.

Which is not to say we were sorry we went.

Nara is a great Shinto center, and we fell directly in with the crowds as they worked their way up the mountain, passing shrines and countless lanterns, pushing through people who were pressing against others. Near the top we broke away and wandered the trails, pausing to peer at the faithful in their administrations before the colorful Kagami Mochi -- rice cake and tangerine treats offered up to the gods in exchange for divine favor.

The farther we pressed into the forest the thinner the crowds became until at last we were walking alone -- and feared we might we lost.

As we debated whether we should double back the trees thinned and the trail descended to a public road. There was nothing to the left or to the right, but directly before us there was a small restaurant, with a sign scratched out in English, for lost English speaking tourists like ourselves.

We stepped out of the January chill and into the warmth. I sat on a cushion before the low tea table and ordered cold soba, which I suspect I had had before and knew to be delicious, or else I wouldn’t have ordered cold food on a cold day after a long walk.



The buckwheat noodles were served on a bamboo matt suspended over a plate. The boiled soba had been shocked in a cold water bath just prior to serving, and the design was meant to allow the last of the water to drain off. I dunked the noodles bite by bite into the fish-rich sauce, and knew to wait once the soba was gone for the waitress to come with the cooking water, which she poured into the remnants of the sauce and expected me to drink.

I can’t recall if I did, but I do remember that chocolate cake and the coffee came next. Incongruous, all of it, and absolutely perfect.

serve warm

This will never be
the same simple pie

one gets
for about a thousand drachmas
in Kikitsa's little stone taverna
in Monodendri

up in the Zagohoria
the northwest reaches of Epirus

The flour is different;
the cheese, homemade,
certainly is different;

and the result here
is my humble attempt
to reproduce

perfection.

Diane Kochilas, prefacing her recipe for Tiganopitta Epirou, or Skillet Pie from Epirus, in her cookbook: The Food and Wine of Greece.

I had a pie like the one Kochilas describes, but it was on Crete, not in Epirus, in a little hard-scrabble mountain town called Kato Afrata, a short drive from Chania, which is where it had been recommended to me and my traveling companions.



Or rather: where She had been recommended to us. "She" was Roxani, and she was reputed to make the best cheese pies on the island of Crete.

They were delicious, and fresh, and hot from the skillet. There were spinach pies too, but the cheese were exemplary.

But what I remember about the stop in that little out of the way place where it surprised me anyone could make a living at all running a restaurant, was her Alexander, who ran the restaurant with her. The kindness that coursed between them as they conducted their business and welcomed these American travelers (the only guests just then) and fed them well and smiled to be recommended by their friend in Chania.

The way they endearingly and enduringly (in a way that made me ache) loved one another.



Here's Kochilas' recipe for that cheese pie:

1 cup sifted all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup warm water
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup grated feta cheese

1. In a medium-sized bowl, sift together flour and salt. Make a well in center and add warm water and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Mix until a dough forms and knead in bowl for 5 to 7 minutes, or slightly longer, until dough is smooth and silky to the touch.

2. Divide dough into several balls, and roll out each on a lightly floured surface to a 1/2-inch-thick circle a little smaller than the base of the skillet. Dot with feta, fold into a crescent, and flatten with rolling pin or fingertips to a circle about as large as the base of the skillet. Heat remaining 1/4 cup olive oil in a large heavy skillet. Fry until golden brown, flipping to cook on both sides. Repeat with remaining dough.

3. Serve warm.

roast squab | pigeon rôtis

Combine 3 1/2 ounces sausage meat, generous 1/2 cup chopped bacon, white bread soaked in milk and scant 2/3 cup finely chopped onions to make a stuffing. Spoon the stuffing into the squabs, bard with bacon, tie with string and roast at 425 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes.

Recipe from Ginette Mathiot, Je Sais Cuisiner (English translation), p. 498

Pigeons from Daley Plaza in Chicago's Loop, earlier today.

blue hydrangeas & strawberries marinated in wine

The memory is of my grandmother, dropping a frozen strawberry into a glass of white wine.

Or maybe it was champagne.

Whichever it was it was filled to the brim and she drank it to the bottom, devouring the berry, laughing, alongside my Bompa, who drank -- did he have a glass of the same, or was it one of his martinis? Carefully created, as my father recently reminded me, by gently stirring the gin ("so as not to bruise it") and pouring it into a martini glass that had been prepared with a twist of lemon, expressed around the lip. If there was vermouth at all it was a trace of vapour only, released when he passed the open bottle over the glass like a priest blessing the saved with his smoky incensor.

They drank theirs while I had my root beer float and we watched the Sound of Music curled up on their davenport. (There were no couches in my grandmother's house, but there were three davenports.) When the credits rolled my grandmother sang "Climb Every Mountain", lustily smiling through her song, knowing every word, hitting every note.

They said it would come like this: memories welling up from the dark earth long after it was carefully tamped down. This one was triggered as I tore through the index of Ginette Mathiot's classic I Know How to Cook, recently released in translation by Phaidon, and spotted the strawberry recipe. I was looking for ways to prepare the abundance of celeriac (p. 523), turnips (p. 559), carrots (p. 520) and squash (no squash. squab. but no squash) that I've acquired from my winter CSA share.

I'm pretty sure this is a cry I've been cradling in reserve ever since we drove the distance this last week to Omaha and I stepped into Mr. Hoo's dying grandmother's room, turned off the fierce fluorescent over her head and pulled open the curtains to allow the morning light into the room.

I was startled by the hydrangea bush that stood in the sunlight just beyond the glass: dried, brown, done. Close kin to the blue bush that bloomed bright outside my grandmother's window this last summer, while she made her last ascent.

Strawberries Marinated in Wine
fraises au jus
Scant 4 1/4 cups strawberries
Superfine sugar to taste
1/2 bottle red wine, maraschino liqueur or Champagne, chilled

Prepare several hours in advance. Wash, drain and trim the strawberries and place in a bowl. Add sugar to taste and just cover the fruit with wine, maraschino liqueur or Champagne. Macerate in the refrigerator for several hours before serving.

my first double crust cherry pie ever

my first double crust cherry pie ever
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo

Pray for me.

I may have mentioned that I make mostly -- make that only -- fruit tarts. Never pies. Somewhere I got it into my head that pie crusts are impossibly difficult to make. Somehow I never found tart crusts difficult, but they're a little more sturdy than pie crusts, because they have to stand on their own.

I planned to take the old school route for this piecrust, which was my first, and after consulting with C on her renowned Crisco-crust I pulled out the Joy of Cooking to figure how to create a sweet enough filling from the perfectly ripe sour Michigan pie cherries that I picked up at the farmers' market yesterday.

And then I made of the mistake of checking Saveur to see what they had going on.

Their crust, based on one from The Pie and Pastry Bible which I've heard raves about elsewhere, calls for butter and cream cheese. And vinegar.

No Crisco.

This, as you can imagine, is suspect. Plus there's the issue of the tablespoon of whole cream that's called out as an ingredient but not incorporated anywhere else.

But I went for it, mostly because Saveur has never, not ever, let me down (outside of their website redesign which makes it impossible to find and share recipes but who knows: maybe that's their strategy?) (If it is it's a bad one).

After some three hours of crust making and cherry macerating the pie is now in the oven.

Very soon, we'll know.

hot tomatoes, cold rice and the promise of summer to come

2 large, ripe, firm tomatoes
sea salt
peppercorns at the ready (you will grind them fresh when it’s time)
1.5 cups Arborio rice
8 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, divided + some more for drizzling
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 tbsp chopped Italian parsley leaves
2 tbsp chopped mint leaves (oh yes. stay with me.)
2 tbsp chopped basil leaves
4 anchovies, coarsely chopped (still here?)
3 tbsp bread crumbs (homemade are best, of course) toasted

Halve the tomatoes horizontally and, using your fingers, gently remove some of the seeds to create a series of hollow impressions. Salt the tomatoes and turn them upside down on paper towels to drain for 20 minutes.

Cook the rice in abundant salted boiling water, like pasta, until al dente. Drain well. (I usually strain it in a fine sieve and rinse it under cold water). Transfer the rice to a bowl. Toss the rice in 4 tablespoons of olive oil and season with salt and pepper to taste. Let cool.

In a small bowl combine the garlic, herbs, and anchovies. Moisten with the remaining 4 tablespoons of olive oil. Lightly oil a baking dish large enough to contain the tomatoes without crowding them. Arrange the tomatoes in the baking dish. Stuff the herb mixture into the cavities of the tomatoes. Sprinkle the tomatoes with the bread crumbs and drizzle with a few drops of olive oil. Bake in a preheated 450 oven for 12 minutes, or until the tomatoes begin to soften but well before they lose their shape.

Divide the rice among 4 dinner plates, smoothing the rice so that it forms a bed for each tomato half. Remove the tomatoes from the oven and center a tomato half on each plate of rice.

Take a bite that mingles the hot tomato and the cold rice. Be delighted and amazed.

Serves 4. Unless you get greedy.

Freely adapted from the incomparable Viana La Place’s Verdura.

ave eva

Photo: Playboy, Mexican Edition, December 2008
Posting the recipe for tonight's dinner because how often do you have a chance to slather pasta sauce "the way a whore would make it" (Puttanesca) over angel hair (Capellini)?

Unless you're mired in a post-modern feminist critique, and right now I'd rather eat.

Pasta alla Puttanesca

1/2 cup virgin olive oil

1 can / 2 oz. anchovy fillets, undrained

4 cloves garlic, crushed (or dice 'em like I did)

1 can (35 oz.) plum tomatoes, drained

1 jar (2 1/2 oz.) capers, drained

1 1/2 cups pitted imported black olives, coarsely chopped (kalamatas work)

coarsely ground black pepper, to taste

Place the oil, anchovies, and garlic in a heavy medium-size saucepan. Mash thoroughly to form a paste.

Add the tomatoes, capers, and olives. Stir, and heat to simmering over medium heat. Reduce the heat to low, and simmer, uncovered, for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Season with pepper.

Serve over capellini. I put together a side of kale sauteed in garlic just to make sure we got our greens.

Recipe says serves two, but somehow we two wound up with leftovers.

Via The New Basics

popular girl dip

Posting the dip recipe because all the ink has just about worn off the recipe card that my former mother-in-law passed along to me many many years ago when I was still married to her son.

The dip recipe, modeled after a hot artichoke dip that was served once upon a time (and may well still be) in a pub in Boulder, Colorado, must be preserved because it's the sort of dip that instantly makes one popular at parties where everyone's expected to bring a hot dish.

Just this week I offered it up for a Hanukkah party and received the emailed reply: I LOVE THE ARTICHOKE DIP!!!!

So that's what we'll be bringing.

It's also nearly entirely made up of highly-saturated fats -- which means it'll kill you quick if you consume too much.

But you'll die popular.

1 large can of water-packed artichoke hearts
8 oz. cream cheese (or cheat and use the Neufchatel)
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup sour cream (don't cheat here. there's nothing more horrifying than imitation sour cream.)
1 cup Parmesan cheese
garlic to taste

Cut up artichoke hearts to your liking and mix together in a large bowl with the garlic and saturated goodness.

Bake at 325º for 45 minutes.

Serve with some kind of carbohydrate engineered for dipping. Crunchy French bread works; crackers do too.

to tamale or not tamale

Congratulations! You are now part of the few, the proud, the tamale cooks. You will notice that your life will be instantly different. You will be popular. People will invite you over. As you walk up to a crowd of people, you will hear someone say, "Isn't that the Tamale cook?" Yes folks, your simple life will never be the same. You have arrived. Please remember to be kind to the little people.

From http://www.sonofthesouth.net where I also learned that Goya is the Tamale Queen »

Trying to work up the nerve to make tamales for Christmas. Although to be honest, my tamale friends, I'm not entirely sure I can afford the overhead »

eager for the treat

Like wine, oysters take on characteristics of the terroir, so to speak, in which they are raised; the wildly different tastes result not from biology but from the variant diets, temperatures and salinity offered by the water in which the individual oysters spend their lives.

From Gem of the Ocean in the 20 December issue of the Economist.

Not too long ago I was in the Bay Area and joined a friend for dinner at an unremarkable French something or other in San Jose. He was tasked with reviewing the restaurant: dinner was on the house and the company was stellar so I happily complied.

I can't remember my entree. Duck maybe? I do remember the oysters that came before. They were from Hood Canal on the Olympic Peninsula, where my Aunt has a place, and where the beach is thick with oyster shells thrown back to the beach post-consumption where they then act as wedding beds for future generations of their kin.

I dressed my half-shell and slid it down. I was unprepared for the tears that followed: Brief and salty, like the oyster's own liquor.

The oyster tasted of home; the home I left for Chicago that for a confluence of reasons I was just then acutely missing. Like my own Madeleine the oyster contained all of that: the chill mist, the briny smell of the Puget Sound, the table surrounded by family. Surrounded by friends.

When I was living in Seattle, in the winter months, I would pick up fresh Olympias at the Pike Place Market and serve them up per Patricia Wells' direction for a simple Bordeaux fisherman's meal: oysters on the half-shell, accompanied by hand-seasoned sausage, a green salad, a crunchy loaf of bread, and a humble wine.

I served this meal to my dad once, when he was passing through town, and it may have been that we finished two humble bottles of wine but, whatever the reason, when he pushed back from the table the man who has dined with Jim Morrison at Chicago's Playboy Mansion and devoured ribs with Muddy Waters on Nob Hill said: "That was the best meal I've ever had."

And so I've posted it here for you.

Huîtres et Saucisses
From Patricia Wells' Bistro Cooking

1 dozen oysters, shells well scrubbed under cold running water, shucked
Crushed ice
8 ounces (250 g) bulk pork sausage meat
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves or 1 teaspoon dried
1 teaspoon crushed hot red pepper flakes
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

Place the oysters on a plate of crushed ice. Arrange the oysters balancing them so they do not lose any of their liquid. Cover loosely with aluminum foil and refrigerate. Remove the oysters 10 minutes before serving.

Ed: This would be a good time to prep that salad. Toss just before serving.

In a medium-size bowl, blend the sausage meat with the thyme (herbes de provence is also nice), pepper flakes, and salt. Mix well with your hands to blend thoroughly.

Shape the pork mixture into 4 equal-size round patties about 1/2 inch (1.5 cm) thick.

In a medium-size skillet, cook the patties over medium-high heat until golden brown on the outside and cooked all the way through, about 5 minutes on each side. Drain on paper towels.

Serve the sausages immediately, accompanied by the oysters, slices of buttered, crisp-crusted bread, and chilled white wine Or red. Per your druthers. And don't forget your choice of dressing for the oysters. I dig horseradish, cocktail sauce and Tabasco.

Serves 4.

p.s. title from the walrus and the carpenter, of course »

flan in the pan (say it so it rhymes)

Posting my sister's[1] flan recipe here so I don't misplace it. Company's coming for dinner and I'm going to try to add some strong coffee to the mix to see if I can emulate the flan served by a hotel in Honduras where Mr. Hoo and I stayed near Copan some years back. They shoveled it out of a giant pan and it was so good I had for breakfast the next morning. Wish me luck.

First a note: It's been 15 years since I made this, and I never wrote the recipe down! But the key was milk AND cream, sugar, eggs, vanilla. This should come close. It's from the book written in 1965 called The Complete Book of Mexican Cooking, picked up at a thrift store a few years back:

Flan (Caramel Pudding)

This Spanish dessert, an immense favorite in Mexico, is made either in a large caramelized mold or in individual, caramelized custard cups, so that when the dessert is unmolded it is covered with a caramel glaze.

To caramelize the mold: In a small, heavy saucepan, over moderate heat, boil 1/2 cup granulated sugar with 2 tablespoons of water, stirring constantly until the sugar melts and turns a rich, golden brown. (note from db: do not taste the sugar. very painful. i speak from experience.)

Have ready a 6 cup mold (or 6 custard cups), warmed by standing it in hot water. Pour the caramel into the mold, turning it in all directions so that the caramel covers the bottom and sides. (note from db: I just made sure it covered the bottom, and it worked out fine.)

Ingredients
4 cups milk (I recommend 3 cups whole milk and 1 cup cream or half & half)

3/4 cup sugar
8 eggs, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of salt

Heat the milk until a film shines on top. Remove from heat, and cool.

Beat the sugar gradually into the eggs; add the milk, vanilla extract, and salt. (You can also just throw everything into the Cuisinart or blender). Mix well, and strain into caramelized mold or custard cups. (I never strained my mixture.)

Place in a pan filled with hot water that reaches half the depth of the mold; and bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 1 hour, or until a knife inserted in the custard comes out clean. The water in the pan should not boil. Cool the custard; then chill in the refrigerator.

To unmold, run a knife between the custard and the mold; then place a serving dish upside down over the mold and invert quickly. Serves 6.

[1] aka She who aspired to be a mermaid »

making soup

Good soup takes time. From the moment you decide you want a little soup, to the moment you sit down to enjoy it, a good twenty-four hours or more really should pass if, truly, the first words from your mouth on tasting your soup are: “That’s good soup.”

Which isn't to say it's impossible to toss together a pot of soup in a hurry and have a reasonably sufficient meal. But it takes a day for that soup to mellow into the rich wisdom one expects from a good bowl of soup. So save a little for later.

If it’s chicken soup you want you should first roast a chicken. Since soup is your ultimate goal you’ll need to ensure some leftovers from this first stage of soup making, so if you’re pretty sure your clan will pick the bones of one chicken clean on the first night it's served for dinner, you may want to roast two.

I like this recipe, from The New Basics, but any will do. The goal is to have leftover roast chicken by the time you’re done.

chicken with garlic, lemon, and rosemary
2 heads garlic
1 large onion
1 roasting chicken ( 4 to 4 1/2 pounds) with its giblets
1 teaspoon dried tarragon
salt and cracked pepper to taste
2 lemons, halved (Meyers are magical, if you can find them)
6 small sprigs fresh rosemary
2 tablespoons unsalted butter you can get by with just the olive oil, if you prefer
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup stock (I use veggie bouillon)

Remove the paper-like outer skin from the garlic heads and separate the cloves. Don’t peel, but do clean.

Cube the onion. (Or sliver it, if you prefer.)

Sprinkle the cleared cavity of the rinsed chicken with tarragon and salt and pepper. Place the lemons and the rosemary in the cavity and tie the legs closed if you like (I don’t).

Brown the chicken in the olive oil in a big dutch oven, turning it gently with wooden spoons trying not to break the skin, about 8 minutes on each side. Remove the chicken, scrape up the cooked bits, toss in the onion and garlic and the giblets (but not the liver. saute the liver real quick and give it to the cat. he'll love you for it. Charlie did.). Stir it all up and set the chicken back on top.

Pour on the stock, lower the lid (or seal it up with aluminum foil).

Cook covered for 30 minutes at about 400F / 200C (the recipe calls for 350F / 180C, but I find it comes out more moist if you start it off super hot and the lower it down for the last little while). Then uncover and cook for another hour or so, basting regularly.

Eat it up when it’s good to go, serving it with the pan juices, onions and the garlic cloves, which you can squeeze out of their skins onto french bread. If you thought about it you probably roasted some potatoes or sweet potatoes in the oven at the same time, and tossed up a green salad.

Yum.

Come time to do the dishes leave the dutch oven as is. Discard the lemon and the rosemary and pick off the left over chicken meat and refrigerate it for now -- but not all of it. Leave some on the bones to simmer -- because now you’re going to make some chicken stock.



The remainder is adopted from Jane Brody’s Turkey Carcass Soup -- rigged, really, to accommodate Thanksgiving leftovers. Works either way.

For the stock:

Break the carcass into pieces
Use any pan juices that look palatable

Roughly chop and add:
2 onions
2 ribs of celery unless you intensely dislike celery (I do)
2 carrots
1 turnip
1 leek
1 clove of garlic
bouquet garni of parsley, 1/2 teaspoon thyme and 1 bay leaf (tied up in a cheesecloth)
Enough water to cover the whole mess

Bring to a boil and simmer for 2 to 3 hours. Refrigerate overnight (in the same old dutch oven, if you like) so that you have an opportunity to skim off the fat that rises to the top.

Heat it up and then strain the stock. (Brody suggests picking off the additional meat and removing the bones, pureeing all that remains to freeze and use in future stews. I can’t testify to how successful this might be, because I’ve never tried it.)

Now you’re ready to make the soup. You’ll need:

1 small onion, minced or chopped how you like it
1 clove garlic, minced
a splash of olive oil
1 cup carrots, diced or chopped how you like them (I like larger pieces)
1/2 cup diced celery
1/2 cup chopped mushrooms (or more, if you live with lovers of mushrooms)
1 1/2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon marjoram
6 to 7 cups of the stock you just created
the chicken (or turkey) you saved
1/3 cup raw barley or rice or sub in Manischewitz egg noodles and/or Matzo Balls

Saute the onion and garlic until soft.

Add the carrots, celery and mushrooms, cook down for another five minutes or so.

Add the flour and cook about a minute -- so that it transmogrifies from “floury-mess” to “roux-like thing”.

Add the stock, marjoram and salt and pepper to taste. (If you're using rice or barley add it now. If you're using noodles hold off for a little while yet.)

Simmer for another hour before tossing in the leftover chicken and the noodles. Simmer aggressively for another 10 or 15 minutes to ensure the chicken’s warmed through and the noodles are tender.

If using matzoh balls, follow the steps on the back of the Manischewitz box. (It's a breeze and a treat -- especially if you've never had matzoh balls before.) If you're feeling like a maverick toss on a splash of hot sauce, like Tabasco or Frank's Red Hot. (I'm partial to Frank's.)

A sprinkling of parsley is nice, too.

Enjoy.

chutney

My sister's chutney recipe, which is really Iron Bloomers' recipe, via the magic of the Internet. (Although the haberno swap is all mermaid.)

Because @martingruner is looking to use up a whole mess of apples.

btw? Seriously good on scrambled eggs.

Ingredients

• 2 quarts chopped cored, pared tart apples


• 2 lbs raisins


• 1 cup chopped onion


• 1 cup chopped sweet red pepper


• 4 cups brown sugar


• 3 tablespoons mustard seeds


• 2 tablespoons ground ginger


• 2 teaspoons ground allspice


• 2 teaspoons salt


• 1/2 of a habanero pepper


• 1 garlic clove, crushed


• 1 quart vinegar

Directions
Combine ingredients; simmer until thickened about 1 hour and 15 minutes.

Stir frequently as it thickens to prevent sticking.

Pour boiling hot mixture into hot pint jars leaving 1/4-inch head space.

Adjust caps and then process 10 minutes in boiling water bath.

Note: For milder chutney an additional 1 quart of apples may be added.

unnatural tendencies

Watermelons
Originally uploaded by ~Epoy~

Lazy girl mashup of two recipes that ran recently in Saveur -- the first a Watermelon and Tomato salad, the other a watermelon tossup with feta and kalamatas.

You might prefer the originals (above) -- or if your fridge looks as lean as mine and you have an abundance of CSA produce to use up, you might like it just like this:

two or three sweet to bursting summer tomatoes, cubed into chunks (beefsteak will do ya. if they’re heirloom even better.)

one quarter of a medium sized watermelon, also cubed and deprived of its seeds

slivered red onion, as much as you like (I used about 1/8th of a cup, maybe less)

feta cheese

a small fistful of kalamata olives, halved

the juice of 2 small limes

a splash of olive oil

fine sea salt

cracked pepper

Toss gently.
Serve.
Blog.

chilled chopped lamb chop salad

Just pulled together a salad from leftovers that was an amalgam of ideas from all over: julienned romain from the classic chopped salad; cold rice and sweet corn from a salade Niçoise that I had once in Amboise; a mint vinaigrette adopted from the New Basics cookbook; and a hard-boiled craving for meat on my greens.

It made me happier than I have a right to be, and I wanted to share.

chilled chopped lamb chop salad
serves 2 to 4, depending on your appetites

chilled grilled lamb chops, leftover from last night’s dinner with friends -- as many chops as you need to feed the hungry people at the table (I was working with 5. we bought way too many.) bet this would work with hot, freshly grilled lamb, too.

a vine ripened tomato, chopped

three stems of fresh mint, chopped

one head of romaine lettuce, julienned

1/4 cup rice wine vinegar

olive oil -- 1/2 cup for the vinaigrette; a splash for the rice

2 tablespoons dijon mustard

1 cup arborio rice

1/2 cup sweet corn, frozen (or right off the cob, if you've got it)

salt & pepper

Cook the rice in rapidly boiling water, just like pasta. Toss in some salt and a little bit of olive oil. It should cook up in about 10 or 15 minutes -- sample periodically with a slotted spoon and when it’s *just* shy of al dente toss in the sweet corn.

Continue to boil briefly until both the rice and the corn are just right. Drain in a sieve and spray it down with cold water. (I used the spritzer from the sink, tossing the rice and corn in the sieve to make sure I got it all -- you could probably also submerge it quickly in cold water and then drain.) The goal is to cool the rice down to arrest the cooking.

Drain off the last of the water and toss the corn and rice with a splash of olive oil, salt and pepper, and set it in the fridge to chill for a little while.

Wash, spin and julienne the romaine leaves.

Cube the leftover lamb chops. Give Charlie a few scraps. Listen to him purr.

To make the vinaigrette: Whisk together the dijon and vinegar, then whisk in the olive oil. Add a pinch of sugar, pinch of salt and a sprinkling of fresh cracked pepper. Stir in the chopped mint and tomatoes.

Toss the cubed lamb with the vinaigrette, then toss the lamb with the lettuce, saving a handful of lamb off to the side. You’ll use this to top off the salad.

Divide the lettuce among salad plates. Spoon the cold rice on top of the lettuce, making a small mound in the center.

Top with the remaining lamb and sprinkle with grated parmesan. A sharp soft goat cheese would be nice too.

Eat it up, yum.

a suttonhoo original

sweet pea pasta

The best and hardest thing about spending so much time on the road? Eating in so many restaurants.

The best and hardest thing about coming home again? Making my own meals.

Sometimes takes a few days of take out and quick fixes until I've settled in, the bags are unpacked, and routine has returned like a cat to its sill.

Then it's time to make a mess in the kitchen. Then it's time to come home.

fettuccine with peas, green onions, and mint (really)
serves 4

or, as we call it around here: sweet pea pasta

• small pinch of saffron threads or saffron powder


• 6 tablespoons of unsalted butter at room temp


• 6 green onions or several young red onions, sprouted like scallions trimmed and cut into rings


• salt to taste


• 1 1/2 pounds fresh peas, shelled, or 1 1/2 cups frozen peas (it was a school night: I opted for frozen)


• water


• 3 tablespoons chopped mint leaves


• 3/4 pound fettuccine Manischwitz egg noodles, since it’s just past Passover and they’re raffling them off for cheap at the grocery


• freshly ground black pepper


• freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Soak the saffron in a very small bowl with 2 tbsp hot water while you prepare the sauce.

Combine 4 tbsp of the butter, the green curious red onions, and salt to taste in a medium saute pan. Cook over low heat until the onions are tender. Add the peas and 1/2 cup water, and cook over low heat until the peas are tender, stirring gently from time to time. Stir in the mint and keep warm.

Combine the remaining butter and the saffron water in a warm pasta serving bowl.

Meanwhile cook the fettuccine egg noodles in abundant salted boiling water. Drain when just tender, leaving water dripping from the strands. Place the pasta in the serving dish, add the sauce, and gently toss. Serve sprinkled with pepper and Parmesan cheese.

From Viana La Place’s Verdura, of course.

Images from the bounty that is Flickr and created with Big Huge Labs Mosaic Maker tool:
1. Fatte in casa, 2. Fresh mint, 3. Peas, 4. Scallions in a Sieve

like candy

Schooled
Originally uploaded by Leviathor.

I’m going to ask you to trust me on this one.

Even though the following recipe contains an odd mashup of ingredients -- some of them unlikely (raisins), others seemingly vile (anchovies), in the end it’s all good.

I promise you.

Like candy.

The first time I made Vianna La Place’s Perciatelli with Strong Tastes (subbing in Orecchiette, I admit) my ex- (who wasn’t, yet) and I wolfed it down. Paused briefly. And then agreed that I should make another batch. Which we summarily wolfed down.

Well, maybe a little more slowly the second time.

It’s that easy to make, and it’s that amazing to eat.

Trust me.

Perciatellli ai Sapori Forti
serves 4 to 6

• 1 lb perciatelli, broken into short lengths last night I used a curious, curled maccheroni for the first time. loved it.


• 6 tbs extra-virgin olive oil


• 4 anchovies, chopped to a paste, optional no. not optional. you want these anchovies. you *need* these anchovies.


• 4 tbsp raisins, plumped in warm water


• 6 tbs lightly toasted pine nuts


• 16 pitted oil-cured black olives, cut into large pieces (last night I used kalamatas, but use your faves)


• 6 tbs coarsely chopped Italian parsley (didn’t have any on hand last night. didn’t matter.)


• salt & freshly ground pepper to taste


• Toasted coarse bread crumbs

Cook pasta in abundant salted boiling water. Drain when al dente and reserve a little of the pasta cooking water.

Meanwhile select a saute pan large enough to contain all the cooked pasta. Warm the olive oil and the optional anchovies.

Add the drained pasta and toss. Sprinkle the remaining ingredients, except the bread crumbs, over the pasta, and toss over low heat for about 5 minutes, or until everything is hot and fragrant.

Season with salt and pepper but remember that the olives are salty, as are the anchovies if you use them. (You’re using them. Let’s be sure we agree on this one point. There’s a curious alchemy that occurs when you saute these little creatures. I don’t understand it, but I’m pretty sure it’s what makes this dish what it is.)

Sprinkle the pasta with bread crumbs and toss again.

Serve immediately with a small bowl of bread crumbs at the table.

Faithfully adopted from Vianna La Place’s Verdura, a gift from my sister, aka she of the seasonal greeting cards, for which I will love her forever (among other reasons).

Updated: Forgot the raisins. & the bread crumbs. Added them in. Many thanks to anniemcq for her keen editorial eye.

how 'bout a little bacon?

Because it’s still winter, g*d*it, as much as I want it to be spring. Might as well break out the bacon.

Edna Lewis’ Red Rice

• 5 to 6 slices of BACON (center cut’s good for this one -- little bit lean; whole lot tasty)


• 2/3 cup chopped onions


• 1 tsp dried thyme


• 1 green pepper ick. no. roast a poblano chile. brown paper bag it while it cools. strip off the charred parts and pull out the seeds -- but do it through plastic somehow so you don’t get that chile fire under your fingernails. ick. no.


• 2 small round hot peppers if you do this with a poblano (see above) you’re not going to need these


• 2 cups fresh tomato puree (or canned romas pureed in a hurry. after all it’s still winter: where are you gonna find good fresh tomatoes?)


• 1 tbsp brown sugar


• 2 cups cold water


• 2 cups Carolina or popcorn rice I used a fragrant basmati and it worked beautifully


• 1 cup or more small pieces cooked ham or fish (I used some of the Virginia ham that my sister sent at Christmas time, half of which I kept frozen until now. Yum. but I'm thinking smoked trout might work well in this dish too.)


• salt & fresh ground pepper (sea salt, of course. we’ve talked about this.)

Cut the bacon into 1/2 inch pieces and cook it up in a heavy-bottomed saucepan (I used a Creuset round oven which meant I didn’t have to transfer dishes later.) until crisp. Remove and set aside. Pour off half the bacon fat if you need to -- if you’re using that center-cut bacon you may not have a whole lot to work with, so save it all.

Add the onions, stir and simmer ‘til soft. Toss in the thyme and the poblanos, which by now you’ve sliced into little strips. Mix well and add the tomato puree and brown sugar. Add water and stir in the rice.

Cover and simmer on a low burner until the rice starts to cook -- add the bacon and ham. Stir it up good and set in an oven preheated to 350 degrees and cook for 45 to 60 minutes, until the rice is tender. (If you used a regular saucepan earlier you'll want to transfer it to some kind of casserole now.)

Serves 4, and doesn’t keep too well, so if you’re serving fewer make sure you’re really hungry. Dish is so tasty that overeating is readily induced.


Freely adopted from Edna Lewis’s cookbook: In Pursuit of Flavor, which I picked up a little while back at Monticello. It's loaded with classic Southern-style dishes -- simple, pure and good.


Image: That would be Francis Bacon, of course.

genius: it's what's for dinner.

I’m dazzled! Your genius frightens me!

What Futurist F.T. Marinetti claims the girl said after he cooked her dinner, according to Tony Perrottet in Pornography of the Kitchen.

Marinetti's dishes include: Italian Breasts in the Sunshine, Candied Atmospheric Electricities, Simultaneous Ice Cream and The Excited Pig.

Many thanks to Martin for the link.

bompa's waffles

KEY
plaintext = from the back of the Bisquick box
italics = from my Bompa

2 cups Original Bisquick mix
2 tbsp vegetable oil melted butter
1 1/3 cups milk (best that it's whole milk)
1 egg separated; beat the white into frothy peaks

STIR ingredients until well blended but do it like this: 1) sift the Bisquick into the bowl and 2) make a careful well in the center where you will 3) drop in the egg yolk, break it with your whisk, and initiate the stir before 4) introducing the milk and then, when you've whisked your mixture to be lump free set the whisk aside and 5) carefully, CAREFULLY, fold in the egg white.

POUR onto the center of hot greased waffle iron you'll know it's hot when the light winks out. Do not attempt to make the waffle before the light winks out, even if your granddaughters, still in their PJs, their long skinny legs hanging over the stools that lift them up high over the counter where you're making the waffles, appear to be terribly, terribly hungry. Famished even. And excited, because they've had your waffles before. (Please Note: Grease the waffle iron with butter. By all means: it must be butter.); close lid.

BAKE about 5 min or until steaming stops. (the steaming must stop. trust no other indicator.) Carefully remove waffle.

To Reheat Heat waffles in toaster until crisp. DO NOT reheat a waffle. Make only what you can eat hot off the iron. Do not warm a waffle in the oven; all waffle eaters must be in attendance when the batter hits the grill.

To EAT Allow the grandchildren to top their own, but after they've gorged on several smeared thick with soft butter and maple syrup, recommend that they just may want to try one like you like yours: saturated with melted butter, topped with a thick even crust of cinnamon sugar.

And you will find that they do.

Optional: Serve with bacon. Maybe some eggs.