Pink of Perfection

Did you ever read that book Stone Soup? I didn’t remember the plot of the story, so I looked it up (the best kind of con — greedy villagers are tricked into sharing supper with hungry soldiers). What I do remember about the book, as is the case with some of my favorite books from childhood, is more a sense. Just as The Runaway Bunny made it safe to hunker down into my bed and fall asleep alone for the night, Stone Soup gave me the feeling that something could come from nothing. I don’t even really remember if this is one of the morals of the book itself, but it is, in any event, a lesson I took away.

Isn’t it sort of amazing the way those picture books of our childhood shape our interests in adulthood? Miss Rumphius solidly informed my desire to make the world a more beautiful place and encouraged my wide independent streak (who could resist the way she strode, pink-cheeked, hands tucked inside a fur muff, into that greenhouse in the dead of winter; or sat, thoughtful and alone in a bedroom painted somewhere between pale lilac and dream-hued blue, the curtains blowing in the sea air).

And I credit Stone Soup, a story I can’t even remember, for my deep love of alchemy recipes. The recipes where the humblest ingredients come together to make something, in the end, far greater than the sum of their parts. You put in this and that in an underwhelmed fashion, and you can hardly believe, 20 minutes later, in what surprising and mysterious ways the world works. From garlic and beans comes something voluptuous.

This meal is peasanty in the best sort of way. The way that is wholesome and honest and unassuming and feels eminently springlike. And perhaps more practically, if you have a husband who has been buying a fresh loaf of sourdough every day, it’s a good way to make use of that fragrant bread.

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Tomato Soup with Poached Eggs” »

Hello, rainy Monday. You are not the stuff that dreams are made of. You don’t contain even an iota of get up and go, and vim and vigor is not your thing. But all the same, here you are. You are good for Chopin and cups of tea sipped out of wedding china, I suppose, and that is no small thing.

The air has just been rife with humidity — and not just the rainy sort — for the past few days. There’s a chill that seeps into your bones and makes you want to light a candle, open the curtains (but keep the windows closed) and read The Wind in the Willows under a white coverlet. It’s the kind of weather that calls for a simple roast chicken by night and clean, honest salads by day. That, to me, is spring. And that’s where today’s recipe comes in.

I was quiet for the past week because I was in Dallas, my mouth full of queso. And when I wasn’t eating queso, I was asking for more hot sauce and fishing at the bottom of the bowl of chips. I simply can’t get enough of those fresh, hot flavors of Mexican food. But I came back, as enamored of those flavors as ever, but feeling a little too puffed up. This is where salads flecked with cilantro, fresh with lime, rounded out by quinoa and black beans save the day. A slice or two of avocado is like the cherry on top.

Continue reading “Black Bean and Tomato Quinoa Salad” »

I feel these days a little bit like the cat’s got my tongue. I hope it hasn’t been terribly noticeable. Maybe it’s just that my mouth’s full of cookies and my attention’s on books. Who knows, really, but for whatever reason, I am suffering from a blogger’s worst nightmare: I just don’t have much to say.

There were the daffodils that I wanted to tell you about, and how glad I am that the sun has come out today after a weekend of gray. And there are these recipes that I make and want to tell you about, like this one-pan pork chop meal that was divine and went straight towards fortifying my plummeting energy reserves. But when it comes to the larger story, the bigger things I often want us to talk about in regards to life and figuring out how to live it with grace, gratitude, and whimsy, I’m afraid I’m frightfully mute. Maybe it’s a necessary moment to have in early spring, like a tree that’s still bare but will soon bear blossoms. I hope that’s the case.

Until the moment when I am full and lush with soft, soft petals, I may only drop in here with purely utilitarian remarks, such as here’s a nice salad to make or don’t you love these vintage plates or this is the dinner you should make tonight. And this is, actually, the dinner you should make tonight. But I look forward to those more meandering and dreamy conversations when the trees come into full bloom. It won’t be long.

Continue reading “Pork Chops with Escarole, Chickpeas and Apples” »

I’ve been having one of those blah weeks. Know that feeling? There’s nothing actually wrong — in fact, besides a scratchy throat that makes me sound at turns like Kathleen Turner, everything’s going quite well — but there’s something that I just can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s this last leg of winter gray or that I need a shot in the arm of get-out-of-town or learn-something-new excitement. Whatever it is, there it is. In fact, just saying it out loud feels like I’ve thrown the ballasts overboard. It’s out there now, hopefully sinking to the bottom of the dark oceanic depths from which it came. Now maybe something fabulous can come and take its place.

This isn’t the kind of psychic ennui that can be undone with a fantastic dinner, but if it were, this recipe would be the cure. I’m filing this one away in the “quick and easy but in line with my fantasy vision of myself” folder. I have always thought of the recipes in How to Cook Everything as little more than utilitarian; this, however, is simple but otherworldly. You pop the sliced potatoes and onions in the oven with nothing more than a bit of olive oil, turning them every 10 minutes until the onions turn languorous and the potatoes become golden and crisp in patches. They you lay the fish on top, drizzle a bit of olive oil over the fillets, and in 8-12 more minutes you have a supper that is wonderously simple but perfect in every way: lush with flavor, and easy but refined, like a woman with a very expensive haircut who wears it in a just-rolled-out-of-bed sort of fashion.

Continue reading “Roast Cod with Potatoes and Onions” »

Can I tell you a secret? This winter I made a discovery born completely out of pure, unadulterated laziness. One of my most abhorred kitchen tasks is peeling butternut squash. I hate the thick skin, the irregular shape. Just writing about it my nose has assumed a position of crinkled-up-in-annoyance. See, I don’t even like to think about it. Which is a shame, really, because I love the stuff once the hard work is done. That is why, when I once saw butternut squash already peeled and chopped in the grocery store, it was the kind of convenience food I could really get behind. When I didn’t see it again, though, I decided to just stop peeling. That’s right. Whether roasting (which Sara Rose convinced me was a-ok) or chopping up for a soup, I just left the skin on. What’s a little bit of extra fiber?

And that, my friends, is the only way I could bring myself to make this vegetarian winter stew. And it’s a good thing I found a work-around, because I really loved this, rich as it is with red lentils and topped with a smattering of chopped peanuts, yogurt, and cilantro. It’s the sort of decadent yet basically healthy food that gets me through winter without consuming a truckload of extra sharp New York State cheddar cheese and 40 gallons of tea.

Come to think of it — holy hey, it’s March! Did you read your Astrologyzone horoscope? Are you hanging in, or so deeply sick of winter that if you have to pull on your tights once more you just might yip?

Continue reading “Winter Squash, Red Lentil, and Chickpea Stew” »

Oh, believe me, I know what you’re thinking. Even the very word seems a little unappetizing. Sar-deeeens. Poor guys, they just don’t have the best PR in the world (or, as I gather, on this side of the pond), and it’s a shame, really. Because if you can get past your initial feelings, you might find that this inexpensive fish — high in protein, iron, calcium and all important omega-3 fatty acids — rather suits you. Or you may be like my friend who, when asked to join me at home for a sardine sandwich after an exceedingly pleasant morning spent writing side-by-side in a coffee shop, could not run away quite fast enough muttering something about ravioli in her freezer. I suppose they’re not for everyone, but all I’m asking is that you try. Where would you be if you had listened to the prevailing sentiments on liver or brussels sprouts? SOL, is where.

I used to splurge on a $9 sandwich that made me feel rather posh in the middle of the workday: marinated anchovies, soft-boiled egg, frisée and country bread. (I belong to the club, by the way, that likes just about anything topped with frisée and an egg). When I saw a recipe for this sardine sandwich in a recent issue of O, I thought it might be able to stand in for that beloved midtown lunch now that I am a work-at-home kind of gal. (Which really, presents a whole slew of problems that we should discuss at a later date, namely, what do you wear that makes you feel 1) not like a schlump in her pajamas at noon but 2) not like an idiot wearing a pencil skirt and blazer in her living room. I have resorted to looking at mommy blogs for guidance on this front, but am more than open to your expertise. End of digression.)

This sandwich was everything I wanted it to be: hearty, healthy, and full of flavor. The exact kind of lunch you want to have when you’ll be too busy to stop for a snack at 4pm; this is the sandwich that sees you straight through to dinner. I also surprised myself at how un-fishy I thought the sardines were. If you can handle canned tuna, you can certainly handle this.

And, last but not least, I was able to make good on my promise to Dayna and investigate some other recipes using sardines. Here are six elegant-sounding recipes that star our beleaguered fish friend:

Continue reading “The Case for Sardines” »

This time of year is so strange, isn’t it? Even hardened pessimists have a glint in their eye of possibility. And yet even the most Sally Sunshine among us can probably not help but be reminded of our past “failings,” rife as this time of year is with talk of resolutions and beginning again. Perhaps we have tried and failed before to change something about ourselves and even if we want to give up the cycle of “New Year, New Me,” the pull of possibility is mighty strong.

Of all the resolutions you’ve shared thus far, I found myself thinking most about is Anne’s: “I am stealing a friend’s resolution to ‘make my body sing.’ This could be going to yoga. Or not. Eating chocolate. Or roasted veggies. Saying yes. Or saying no and reading at home, alone on the couch. It just might be the perfect resolution…”

It might just be, and it seems to hit on the head of what it means to be our best selves: to always be tuned in to what will be best thing for us at any given moment. That necessitates a really developed self-knowledge, as well as some will. A piece of dark chocolate might make my body sing; a bag of drugstore chocolate? Not so much. There is also the matter of what’s best for us not always being the most appealing or easy option. And why can it be so hard to do what what will make us happiest? This is a conundrum I might be struggling with till my dying day.

There are some good choices, though, ones that are nourishing, sustaining, that are easy to make. Like feeling, after one too many glasses of wine last night, that your body would sing were it given a soup filled with dark greens, mellow with earthy flavors and brightened, perhaps, by a squeeze of lemon. You can practically feel the brain cells rebuilding as you lift your spoon and sip.

Continue reading “Leek, Mushroom, and Barley Stew” »

In a marriage of synchronicity and luck, just as I was weary of cooking I found myself a guest at one dining room table after another. The timing couldn’t have been better–the holidays ushered in a handful of invitations just as I was wandering the produce section of our grocery store, fresh out of fresh ideas. So instead of trying to put dinner together each night, we were trunching through fresh snow on our way to plates of creamy lasagnas rich with béchamel, homemade gnocchi, zucchini salads, and enough glasses of champagne and red wine to warm us on our walk back to the subway and onwards toward home.

Just as Brillat-Savarin says, my happiness had been taken charge of and placed in the hands of gifted and generous hosts for as long as I was under their roofs. We ate well, drank well, concocted big ideas for the future, and I reveled in the delights of being the guest. Because perhaps I so enjoy entertaining myself, the tiny touches were not only lost on me, they gave me a wild thrill: someone had done this just for our pleasure! The vintage magazine covers to mark the seating arrangement, the preparation of one guest’s favorite dessert, the candles placed just inside the front door so as to be the first sight of warmth as we step in from the cold.

And now, for a few days at least, before the singing of Auld Lang Syne sets in, we’re back to eating alone. At this point, after all the cheese and chocolate, it feels a bit like a relief. We can return to the quirks and peculiarities of eating solely for our own pleasure. At a dinner party a few months ago, we went around the table with whispered confessions divulging what we like to eat when we eat for one. One woman made herself a bowl of plain, buttered rice. One of my favorite people enjoys a singularly unique dish of sautéed purple cabbage with crushed red pepper, fish sauce, and sour cream. Another friend pairs hummus with fig jam for a sandwich he finds healthier than pb&j. When alone in the kitchen I used to turn to a bowl of couscous topped with a poached egg and eaten with a few cloves of raw garlic for kick (hey, don’t knock it till you try it). Now, though, I like to make a huge salad with crunchy-fresh romaine lettuce with the vegetables of the season–not so much a recipe per se as a longing for bright crisp greens paired with some supporting fellows and eaten luxuriously alone. And what about you — what do you eat when you’re alone? And what will you eat these last low-key days before the next holiday hurrah?

Continue reading “What We Eat When We’re Alone” »