Pink of Perfection

Again and again, I fall for the idea of summer vegetables baked together. And each time, when the softened hues emerge from the oven, I know instantly it was a bad idea. It’s like falling for the bow-legged cowboy each time you walk into the bar. You are twenty-one and so stupid, and he will break your heart.

That’s kind of how I feel about tians and ratatouille. The vegetables turn sumptuous and slouched, but I just keep thinking I’d rather have something sturdy and stand-up, like an unbaked tomato on a sandwich or maybe a raw ribboned zucchini salad. Neither of which would have required turning on the oven, my singular goal of these three summer months.

Also, I feel a bit flummoxed about what to serve with this. Polenta always fails me, pasta seems a little boring. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know how to make a meal out of fragrant baked vegeables. Maybe herb-spiked quinoa or bulgur would be nice. But just thinking about that meal makes me feel vaguely unsatisfied, like when the cowboy says goodnight for the final time without a kiss. I’m just hungry for a little more.

Those of you who see the tian light, tell me: what am I missing?

Continue reading “French Friday: Summer Vegetable Tian” »

The bad news is, I killed a plant. A couple weeks ago, I went on a plant buying spree. Green plastic pots filled with pink polka dotted leaves and viney tendrils were two for $5 at the farmer’s market. Then later, walking home from a cafe, a flower shop had a tray of long-armed, spiny aloe plants for sale, and a tall, proud looking green thing. Of course, I had to have them all.

Ever since I visited my friend in Los Angeles in the spring, I have realized that my dream life has a lot more green things in it than my actual life. Jenny had plants hanging from the rail of her balcony, and a terracotta pot filled with succulents and a bed of stones. At night, she might have snipped buds from white rosebushes and slipped then into the narrow neck of a tall bottle back in her apartment.

I came home wanting more green on my windowsills and fire escape. And it’s why, when I ran into a jade plant at Trader Joe’s, I swooned. There’s something about jade plants that so speaks to me––they don’t need much, and they hold what they need, in reserves, inside of them. Yet despite the lovely symbolism and my ability to instantly make reality an element of my dream life right there in the grocery store aisle, I had to stand, weighing the pecuniary ramifications of a $10 plant for several minutes. Then finally it hit me: I’ll spend $10 on a sushi lunch but I can’t drop the same amount to make my ideal life vision a reality? So I got my priorities straight and happily carried that jade plant home, where it greets me every morning from my bedroom windowsill. An important lesson: it’s always worth it to spring for the things that really bring you deep delight, especially when they cost less than $20.

I killed the pink polka dotted thing. I think, perhaps, it was more delicate than it looked. It might have been the rain or the wilting heat. But I still have the jade plant, the aloe plant next to it, and two unidentified green things in the living room: one low and long-armed, one tall and proud.

Here’s the good news: I’m pretty into these cookies. In fact, would it be wrong to say my favorite thing about these cookies was the raw dough? It was the best I’ve ever tasted. Some of their magic seemed a little lost in the baking, but they came out of the oven soft and have stayed that way for days. Plus, while I would not go so far as to call these cookies “healthy,” they do have a number of good-for-you items in them, like whole wheat and oat flours, canola oil, and agave nectar. This is not reason enough to eat them for breakfast, but all the same, I did. Let’s just call that my other piece of bad news.

Continue reading “Chocolate Chunk Cookies with Almonds” »

There’s a spot in the Poconos that I think I would rate as one of my top five places on earth. Ferns cover the forest floor. The ceiling fans whir powerfully on hot days. There is a library stocked with Julia Child cookbooks and mysteries, a cool lake beckons for afternoon dips, and a million and one stars come out at night. On walks in the woods there, I always seem to have my favorite kind of conversations filled with big dreams and possibilities, birch trees and mushrooms bearing witness to grand plans.

But what do you do when you’re responsible for dinner on the first night of a weekend away, and plan to carry a picnic across state lines? Why, you bring a sandwich that gets better with sitting! And what do you do if you’re feeding vegans and omnivores alike? Well, you get creative!

The classic pan bagnat, in some ways like a niçoise salad tucked inside bread, has canned tuna or hard-cooked eggs. With vegans present, I made two versions: one with tuna, and one with mashed chickpeas. The entire sandwich is brushed or drizzled with a garlicky vinaigrette, and then tightly wrapped, placed in your picnic basked and smooshed down with something heavy like a couple bottles of wine. With deviled eggs, baby carrots, a mess of cherries and root beer floats for dessert, you might call this a perfect summer meal.

Continue reading “French Friday: Pan Bagnat, Tuna and Vegan” »

I wish you could have seen me the day I made this tart. I felt like I was auditioning for a Martha Stewart Living picnic feature, but with glaring (and decidedly un-Martha) Sarah-isms: my tupperware was leaking, the napkins didn’t match, and I forgot the salad dressing. While Martha may have you feeling inadequate if you don’t print out templates to label everyone’s mason jar lemonade glass, with me as your guide, you will feel like the Queen of Togetherness if you just remember the cutlery. Perhaps it is only my way of justifying my own inadequacies, but I find the thrown-together, fly-by-night approach less precious and infinitely more charming.

Salad dressing and damp mismatched napkins aside, you can’t take away the raw materials I had to my advantage for this evening picnic: a community garden lush with hosta, roses, and vegetables, a small wooden gazebo to sit under, and at dusk, the brightest lightning bugs I’ve ever seen. Wedges of this rich tart still warm from the oven and Lillet spritzers weren’t too shabby either. And for dessert, Lisa brought a pint of blueberries and the lightest macaroons I’ve ever tasted (like Samoas for grown-ups, I said). Tuesday nights really don’t get much better.

I’ve been wanting to make pissaladière, a Provencal onion tart, for awhile, but it wasn’t until my Grand Diplôme Book 8 lesson on savory tarts popped up that I knew the hour was nigh. Even the anchovy-phobic might be able to appreciate the counterpart the little fishes play to the sweet pile of thyme-scented caramelized onions underneath them. Later on in the summer, I think this would make a great picnic on a very hot day with hard-boiled eggs and a sliced tomato salad.

Here’s hoping you all have a blissful, relaxing weekend perhaps including your inaugural glass of rosé for the season (I think I just might!).

Continue reading “French Friday: Pissaladière” »

To say that the little mound of green you see here on top of a toasted slice of bread is a firecracker explosion of flavor in your mouth would not be overstating it. This is a fresh and zingy bite that would the perfect accompaniment to happy hour at home of Lillet cocktails or a glass or rosé; with a hard-boiled egg or a fresh cup of gazpacho, it just might be the perfect summer dinner.

A few words: whatever you do, don’t skip the mint! I nearly did, but having some leftover from my Thai-ish salad the other night, I can tell you that the mint is the stealth winner of this entire affair. In fact, wait until your own summer mint is thick and thigh-high, if you must. The mint is what makes this just dance on your tongue as lightly as a woman on the prairie in long cotton dress, swirling across a raised wooden platform to the summer evening sounds of a banjo, her hand held tight by a man who will try to kiss her later, and for the first time, on the walk home. You know what I mean.

Also: fava beans are, in my book, second only to artichokes as the most high-maintenance vegetable on earth. And between you and me, I’m not sure the pay-off is as great. The reason why they’re so much dang trouble is that you have to peel them twice. First, you slice open the pod. Then, each bean needs to be individually peeled from its thick, waxy skin. A trick to this: put the unpeeled beans into the microwave for a few hot moments and they will essentially steam off their jackets. Despite all this trouble, they are, nevertheless, delicious; but sub them for something else if you’re feeling lazy. Dare I even suggest thawed frozen peas? But I’ll say it again: just don’t skip the mint!

Continue reading “Mint, Fava Bean, and Parmesan Bruschetta” »

I’m of two minds about mussels. On the one hand, they are a blissfully cheap shellfish that, as far as I know, don’t wreak havoc on the environment. Their taste is delicate and sea-fresh and they feel mighty elegant for $1.99 a pound. On the other, they’re little mofos to clean. If you’re a delicate sort, the scrubbing, debearding, and sound of live mollusks aspirating in a bowl of water can put you off your dinner. For those in the latter camp, I suggest sticking with mussels in restaurants ushered to your table in a giant bowl accompanied by a tower of French fries, while you stay perched on a banquet, perhaps with a glass of champagne in your hand, delightfully unawares of the necessary dirty work involved.

But if you are an industrious sort of lady — and most thrifty girls are, to some extent — you will be pleased at a recipe that can only be described as a revelation. The cost is practically zilch, yet this dinner feels offhandedly elegant, your bowl filled with rich aromatics and the subtle taste of the sea. Pour a dry, mineraly white wine, and serve with plenty of sour French bread for soaking up that fine broth.

In other news, I had the great pleasure to chat with writer Cheri Hanson about creativity and writing; her interview with me is posted on her fantastic blog, Inspired Outsiders. Happy weekend to all you lovelies!

Continue reading “French Friday: Mussels Meuniere” »

When we were still in the darkest days of February, Sebastian and I threw a Scandinavian-themed dinner party. Ever since I read this this, I’ve been wishing I were born Danish. Perhaps this would mean I were tall, effortlessly cool, and blond, but it would certainly mean my home was a white canvas of zero clutter punctuated by bright bursts of color. Without a plane ticket to take me to Copenhagen or a time machine to travel back and screw with the family tree, the only way I know how to access the culture of another place is to eat their food. And what more visceral method is there, really?

Our dinner party didn’t give grant me blondness, but it was a chance to drink Aquavit with some of our dearest friends, eat smoked salmon, and revel in one of my favorite dinner party dishes of roast pork with apples and prunes in a mustard cream sauce. My clutter problems didn’t magically evaporate, but we did have a good laugh at the pictures of Max von Sydow demonstrating a skoal in my fantastically musty-smelling copy of The Cooking of Scandinavia procured in a church basement (along with the rest of the complete Time Life cooking series — the find of a lifetime). What more can one really ask from a dinner with friends?

Continue reading “Pork Loin with Apples, Prunes, and Mustard Cream Sauce” »

If the weather’s going to warm up and get all spring-y, I better hurry up and tell you about the last lingering hearty cold-weather recipes before it’s too late. Which leads me, with no ado at all, to a no-holds-barred chilly night dinner of bolognese.

Do you have a restaurant that is your go-to for all sorts of occasions, be it a celebration, lazy brunch, or candlelit dinner? Ours is a little Italian brasserie (is that an oxymoron?) a few blocks down the street. The prices are reasonable enough that we can swing in for lunch or dinner, but the atmosphere is sexy enough to feel like a treat. They have ridonkulously good fries (not quite shoe string, but skinnier than most), a steak that can bring tears to your eyes, and a burger that will make you forget the worst hangover. But for a cold weather lunch, I can’t resist their bolognese served with thick paparadelle. With a glass of wine and a seat on the black banquet across from my husband, I’m in heaven.

There are few things more comforting than shuffling around the house on a weekend with a pot of ragu simmering on the stove. It is the same sensation as puttering around the house with a roast chicken in the oven. The fragrance of a wholesome, sustaining dinner fills the air and fills you with a historic, elemental sense of satisfaction: I have put together this and that and now it cooks away while I sit here and read, you think. How glorious! And it is glorious. Even more so when you spoon out some of the rich sauce on top of a bowl of noodles, and settle down on the couch for a movie (thanks, Margaret!). This is the type of cooking and eating that ranks sky high in the book of satisfaction: nominal effort, slow-cooking, and a deeply luxurious result.

Continue reading “Before Winter’s Over Bolognese” »