Pink of Perfection

Lately, most people I know have been hunkering down with a big bowl of noodles at least once a week. And rightfully so: the indignities of making our way through the cold and muscling into boots calls for dinner in a bowl, and preferably one that will leave you in a blissed-out carbohydrate haze. Sometimes, though, those of us who do not excel in the ways of moderation end up regretting it afterward. I like to think that if a healthy dose of cruciferous vegetable gets folded in with a wheaty tangle, the same comfort level can still be achieved and the bloated guilt diminished. At least, that’s the idea.

It wasn’t until recently that I began to explore cauliflower’s charms. I’ve always loved it as a crudité, but when it came into my life as a gratin, a soup, and most recently in Sebastian’s off-the-cuff red vegetable curry, I could feel myself falling in love. I doubt that cauliflower will stir the passion nor the vitriol sardines recently did, but that’s okay. Cauliflower is cool — a laid-back, mellow, vegetable that hangs around in the background until you need it to take center stage. It doesn’t need to live in the spotlight, but when it does, it really steals the show. And in a quietly confident way I sort of love.

Continue reading “$5 Dinner: Sweet and Spicy Cauliflower and Penne” »

Though my means may be reduced from the days of whole sides of salmon and a digestif of chocolatey brandy, my love of entertaining has not waned. And why should it? A party can still be a be a kick-up-your-heels affair when guests are served bowls of chili, they just might not be as inspired to don a plaid strapless number, or pair their seductively low-cut red silk with pearls. Serving a dinner that seems a little special requires a bit of scheming, but it’s not impossible. A magician may pull a rabbit from a hat, but a clever hostess can extract 3 courses for 8 people out of $50. Some general tips for a thrifty affair:

• Have your guests bring the wine. When people ask what they can bring, be specific. Guests love assignments! Let them know that the party’s bar will be stocked by the guests and to bring what they want to drink. And no, this does not seem cheap. You’re serving forth a multi-course dinner, you don’t need to quench everyone’s thirst, as well. A bottle or two stowed in the fridge just in case might put worry-wart hostesses at ease (and provides the opportunity to take a nip of something before the guests arrive).
• Go easy on the appetizers. As much as I love cheese — and believe me, I mean I love cheese — people, ahem, have a tendency to overdo it when a creamy wedge of brie is plopped right in front of them as they’re tossing back drinks. You wouldn’t want your lady guests wishing they bought their green off-the-shoulder frock one size large this early in the evening. Pre-dinner nibbles should whet the appetite, not sate it. Olives and cheesy breadsticks always seem to go over well.
• Make vegetables the stars. Instead of relying on a pricey roast to steal the show, put super fresh seasonal vegetables in starring roles in beautiful salads, soups, and side dishes. A $2 head of cauliflower and precious little else can become a delicate and creamy soup that starts the night off on a high note.
• Let the sales guide you. It’s easy to plan a menu when the sky’s the limit — it takes resourcefulness to think about what’s in season and what’s on sale to come up with courses that complement and enhance one another. Think of it as a challenge!

Continue reading “Dinner Party on a Budget” »

Tomatoes

• roasted tomato and cheddar bread from pete bakes
• tomato and corn pie from smitten kitchen
• homemade tomato soup from tammy’s recipes
• smoky scallops with fennel and tomato from the kitchn
• stuffed tomatoes from the wednesday chef
• sweet cherry tomato and sausage bake from jamie oliver (thanks, domestikate!)

Zucchini

• roasted zucchini with green onions, feta, and basil from kalyn’s kitchen
• zucchini bread from 101 cookbooks
• chocolate zucchini cake from simply recipes
• zucchini galette from serious eats
• thai curried zucchini fritters from closet cooking
• pasta with goat cheese, zucchini and summer squash from sassy radish

Green Beans

• green beans with walnut miso sauce from bitten
• pomegranate-glazed green beans and portobellos from karina’s kitchen
• green beans and coconut milk sauce from (our) brazilian home to yours
• balsamic-glazed green beans from one hot stove
• brown butter green beans with almonds from andrea’s recipes
• garlic lemon green beans with toasted breadcrumbs from food, and other musings

As I sit typing this, directly in front of a fan with a glass of ice water at my side, it is hard to imagine that the temperature was ever below 90° and that when it was, I made soup. But stranger things have happened and besides: when vegetables are practically sighing under the weight of their own ripeness and there are more of them than you know what to do with, what else is there to do with them. I loved the idea of opening the freezer door three months hence and grabbing a relic from when the sky was bright and the air was fragrant with growth and living things: the scent of basil, the ripe red tomatoes, frozen in time.

But we ate the reserves within two weeks. Whoops. Guess it’s time to make another pot, just as soon as I can move freely around my apartment without breaking a sweat, I mean, glowing.

First, a word about beans: The dried ones and I are having a moment. So much cheaper than the canned varieties and with a more pleasant texture to boot, cooking up a pot of dried beans is not as much trouble as you think. When you are sitting down to an afternoon with the new Ruth Rendell, just set a pot of beans on to boil. By the time you’re ready for a snack, the beans will be tender. Unlike a pet flying squirrel, they don’t need much tending to.

Continue reading “Basic Beans and Summer Minestrone” »

Who doesn’t have visions of herself floating around the kitchen, adding a little of this, a little of that, and afterward having the kind of dish that wins compliments and admirers. Oh, it was nothing.

In the realm of impromptu, thrown-together meals, I’d call this a winner. Not only is a tart something especially simple to make when you already have half a recipe of pâte brisée hanging out in the freezer, but they have the sort of casually elegant vibe that makes you feel like a woman who really knows how to feed the people in her life in an easy, breezy, gracious sort of way. And isn’t that — plus how to make a house a home, live luxuriously on a budget, and make the most of every day — what we’re all trying to figure out? It’s not simple work, but it’s certainly some of the most important.

Continue reading “Savory Summer Tart” »

If dating is a performance then restaurants are the stage. There are banquettes to slide into, flattering light to make the most of. Not slumped on the couch slurping lo mein, we’re forced to participated in the slight formality of being in public. In other words, we’re on our best behavior and flirting, to boot.

We are presented with a dizzying array of options which, after selecting, magically appears in front of us 10 minutes later. And then, perhaps most seductive of all, someone appears to cart away the dirty dishes and you two get to breeze out the door.

What’s not a turn-on is ordering a glass of wine that costs as much as a bottle, nibbling mediocre food, and walking away, your pockets $50 lighter, and all you have to show for it is an over-stuffed tummy and the need for a nap.

Last week we talked about happy hour at home. This week we’re celebrating the recession-era dinner date at home. Yes, you will still have to do the dishes. But you can dim the lights, pull out your favorite dishes and the cloth napkins, listen to whatever you like, play Trivial Pursuit while you’re eating, and interrupt your artichoke to sway slowly to Frank Sinatra. There are few things sexier than that. And the dishes can wait until tomorrow.

Continue reading “Spring Dinner For Two” »

My favorite job of all time was at a Mediterranean restaurant in St. Paul, Minnesota. A newspaper review aptly called it a “sunny North African outpost” and that’s exactly what it was. A bright place — both in color and energy — rising up from the Midwestern winter in a cloud of saffron, apricots, lavender, and cilantro. The devilishly charming chef-owner made work an absolute delight for me. We talked about food, wine, and France, he gave me dating advice, and at the end of the night on a weekend, if we weren’t dragging ourselves around grumpy and tired, we danced. His food opened up a world of unfamiliar flavors to me — tagines, brik, merguez — and hammered home to my budding tastebuds the art of agrodolce, that delicate marriage of sweet and savory on one plate. Even before I knew the words to say so myself, he taught me that food was about life, and that the act of eating and drinking with your friends is the most bold, celebratory expression there is of being alive.

But he was also a practical man. At the end of the night, he turned to each dishwasher, cook, and server and asked, spoon in hand, “you want shit?” “Shit” was the staff meal, and its preparation was somewhat of a mystery to me (though the result was always delicious), but was basically a mix of leftover vegetables from the night cooked together in a chicken stock and served over saffron-spiked rice or couscous. I usually tried to sneak a spoonful of a sweet-spicy tomato jam or fiery harissa on the sly. For a college girl far from home, it was the closest I came to a home-cooked meal, and it was divine. And then I would climb on top of a counter, count my tips, and eat shit.

This recipe spoke to me not only for nostalgic reasons but for practical ones: With spring not yet totally sprung and winter still threatening behind every blast of air, this is a tenuous time of year. Long thought of as a wardrobe challenge — too damp for wool, too cold light cotton — this pre-spring windup is also a beast to cook for. You want to taste the lightness of fresh spring vegetables to come, but you also want the warmth and comfort of a bowl of something hearty to take the chill of your bones. For this time of year — and truly, for a pantry meal that is bursting with flavors — this is perfect.

Continue reading “Seven Vegetable Couscous with Chunky Onion Harissa” »

There is perhaps nothing more damning than the feeling of being in a rut. Your cookbooks seem banal and overly-familiar, your clothes couldn’t be more boring, your routines — once so comforting and delightful — are just about choking you with their predictability.

The cruelty of ruts is how much of a betrayal they are. You are coasting along, grateful for the quotidian details in your little life, the ones you have so carefully crafted to please you, when suddenly, they turn on you, determined to be the death of the spring in your step.

This happens to me from time to time with cooking (and more often, in life, but we’re getting at the bigger issue by solving smaller problems today). I very much like putting together the weeknight evening meal, a sweet cozy spot in the day, love even more cooking on the weekend. But every once in awhile, nothing could seem more unappealing. Does this ever happen to you? You cannot imagine anything worth setting the chef’s knife to, nor worth the ignition of the stove — it’s all so bland, so predictable, and somehow, since last Tuesday, has lost the ability to transform your mood, your home, your sense of the world and your place in it. Cooking at its best can do all that and more; cooking at its worst, though, is a perfuctory assignment of uninspired proportions that merely keeps us from going to bed with a stomach aching with hunger.

Much like you never know what will send you tail-spinning into a rut, the same can be said of its cure. Its impossible to know when the salve will appear to save, reigniting your delight at the scent of  onions sautéing or the appearance of light filtering through the white linen curtains in your bedroom each morning.

What broke me out of a cooking rut last Thursday was Dutch Girl Cooking, a blog that appeared like a best friend when you are heartbroken — with perfect timing. She told me what to do with the half head of chicory I had kicking around in the produce drawer. Her stamppot was a revelation, opening my eyes again to the wide world of cooking and its unpredictable pairings. Like cooking at its best, it set me right again.

Continue reading “Breaking Out of a Rut” »