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Square Meals

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Rainbow Club!

In belated honor of Kimber's birthday on the 27th, I'm posting this delightful and delectable club sandwich recipe from last summer. It's fresh and bright and color-laden -- everything you could want from a savory summer slice. Charity was the mastermind behind the recipe, but I took all the pictures, so I'm calling dibs. As you might have guessed, intense saturation outweighed intense flavor as the primary objective of this dish. The good news is, with Charity in charge, the sandwich tasted as good as it looked. Details below.

Ingredients (as far as I remember them)

something white like clouds (we used goat cheese)
something red (roasted beets)
something orange (Charity's sweet potato hummus + sliced sweet potatoes)
something yellow (pickled beets)
something green (Charity's green sauce + a pile of basil)
something blue, indigo and/or purple (we used thinly sliced onions, lightly pickled. I imagine a blue potato salad could work wonderfully here as well)
a loaf of good light bread, sliced lengthwise

So the order goes: slice of bread  (white) slice (red)  slice (orange) slice etc, all the way down the rainbow. The fun thing about club sandwiches is how much you can play with them (that would make them fun, wouldn't it?). Come up with you own color or flavor or bread schemes and then layer away. The regular slices of bread work like support beams to hold the whole thing together, even as you stuff it with more goodness than any one sandwich ever deserved to hold. And that's all the more reason to be extra generous with fillings and spreads, ensuring deliciousness and avoiding dryness in your final product.

Once you're done stacking, give the whole thing a good smoosh and cut it into more manageable pieces to reveal the kaleidoscope colors inside and share with friends. Or eat the whole thing alone in the dark. I've found both approaches very fulfilling at various periods in my own life.

If you're so inspired, I'd love to hear about your favorite, brightly hued spreads and vegs for the next time I *cough* Charity *cough* undertake to make this bite. Maybe to celebrate DC's Pride Parade on the 11th? Eh? Chary? You in?

Leave a comment with your own ideas for colorful sandwich fixins' so we can all build beautiful, precarious, delicious bread towers together 🌈 🌈 🌈

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Dip.

Ahh... fondue. Like cake, the dish and I have a harried past that has somehow led to expertise. At 10, I was alone in our family kitchen, cleaning up after a true fondue party. Somehow I got it in my head that the remaining melted cheese was unfit for future consumption, and trashed close to $100 in leftovers before Momo discovered my failed attempt to assist. 

Then, in college, a family member hooked me up with a writing gig for a new food magazine. The topic? Fondue. I had not yet recovered from my decade-old folly, but at a dollar a word, this poor student was eager to be paid for my skills. I went and 'invested' in a substantial library of cheese for the project, and got my hot, new, OLDER boyfriend (queue Premal Trivedi) to hook me up in the alcohol department. I researched the history of fondue in pop-culture (a scheme dreamed up by the Swiss cheese lobby*), and toiled over a series of pots of molten dairy, perfecting my technique. In the end, I was late on my deadline, the magazine tanked, and I was never paid. This left me regretting a number of decisions, listed as thus:

  1. Working with relatives 
  2. Spending too much money on cheese  
  3. Reacquainting myself with fondue

Nearly another decade on, it seems I'll never learn. I continue to practice the activities above on a daily, weekly, and yearly basis. 

Here's the thing about rustic, old dishes. They're really easy. With fondue, there's a basic equation, and thus far, it's served me well. For every pound of cheese, you'll need a cup of booze, a tablespoon of flour, and a large clove of garlic. Grate the cheese and toss it with the flour. Then, rub down the interior of your pot with a halved garlic clove, and warm your alcohol. Add the cheese a handfull at a time, and stir until melted. 

BUT HERE COMES THE MAGIC:

Anyone can follow a recipe, but it takes a sound mind to keep your cool when $h*t hits the fan. This is where I truly shine. If your fondue it grainy, thick, or stringy here are the ugly tools that will enable a beautiful fete: an emersion blender and a slurry of cornstarch and lemon juice. If something's not right, mix up a two-to-one concoction of lemon juice and cornstarch. The acid in the lemon will dissolve the stringy proteins in the cheese and the cornstarch will thicken and smooth for good measure. Still not right? Bring out that magic wand and go to work. It does the trick every time. 

Now that I've shared my methods, here are the combinations we used to get you started. 

Traditional--Gruyère+White wine+Nutmeg+Black pepper

American--Aged cheddar+IPA+Maple syrup (1T)

U So Fancy--Havarti+Champagne+Honey (1T) +Thyme

For dipping we had roasted veggies, cornichons (my fav), and more glorious bread than you can shake a stick at courtesy of the folks at Il Forno.

*Don't believe me? Well, NPR's Planet Money team recently did a whole (fantastic) episode on the topic.

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It's All Greek to Me

Around the corner from my office in DC there's a tiny storefront restaurant called, quite simply, "Greek Deli". It would be easy to miss, were it not for the long serpentine queue stretching all the way to the pavement, then turning 90-degrees and continuing on for a good distance more. Unsuspecting pedestrians are often corralled by the hungry ranks, eyeing the potential interlopers with suspicion as they push through towards their intended destination. You might think foul weather would dampen the resolve of the masses, and sometimes it does. But there are days when the promise of a carton of lush avgolemano soup is the only thing that gets you through the dull, grey drudgery of life in the city. And so you wait.

You take the full hour for lunch, and you spend most of that hour outside in the drizzle, the collar of your wool-coat hiked up and itching your neck because you left your scarf at home again. By the time you make it to the door, your coat smells, and you hate every person ahead of you. You stare at them through the stenciled door, they're smug and cozy, and also idiots. You didn't think this was possible, but you actually hate them more as they bumble through their orders.

And then, the door opens. A rush of warm air, saturated in olive oil hits you, and suddenly the last 40-minutes spent shivering in the cold are forgotten. The space is packed tight to the counter with customers. Behind the glass stands Kostas Fostieris. He looks like the captain of an old dory, with his fisherman's cap, leathery skin, and a beard as full as his belly. You watch him age through the pictures and news-clips crowding the walls. You're shocked by how little has changed. Aside from the color of his beard and the style of the suits, the scene around you perfectly mirrors the ones on display. Does he notice it too? Finally, it's your turn. But you were distracted by the photos and the baklava. "MEEEEEESSSS! MEEEEESS?" barks Kostas, and you realize that you haven't decided what to order. Now you're the one staring into the case of steaming lamb and salmon and brisket and spanakopita and moussaka and orzo and white beans and green beens like a tongue-tied nincompoop. The woman behind you sighs heavily, and someone from the back of the shop hisses "you've gotta be kidding."  Suddenly you're very warm, you blurt out a list of six different items. Because overcompensation? Azzad is at the the register, more relaxed than his employer, he sneaks you a wink and a smile along with your giant white sack of food.

By the time you make it back out into the rain you're late for work. You take the shortcut through the alley, and a driver blares his horn at you for blocking his way. That girl across the hall gives you the stink eye as you slink into your office, and you can't really blame her. The conference call you were supposed to be on has already started and you hope no one notices the 'bloop' announcing your arrival. They say something about slide five, you mute your line. You, are very, very hungry. You rip open the sack, it's oil-stained now and making an even bigger mess of your desk. You start to ask yourself why you keep going there anyway, but the first bite of warm bread shuts you up before you can finish the thought.

The below is my rendition of one of my very favorite dishes from the Greek Deli. I've added kale to make the dish a bit more substantial, and would not be against throwing a fried egg on top for good measure. Serve with crusty bread.

Rustic Gigantes Beans with Kale

---

3/4 lb. dried large white beans

1/2 c olive oil

1/2 large sweet onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, diced

1/2 c white wine

2 t fresh dill

1 16 oz can good Italian tomatoes, whole

2 c kale, chopped

2 oz Greek feta

Cook beans in salted water according to your preference until just shy of done. For me, this means a "power soak," followed by about 20 min. in the pressure cooker.

While beans are cooking, prepare tomato sauce. Pour tomatoes (including their juices) into a large bowl, and squish to break up into a nearly uniform consistency. Heat 1/4 c olive oil in a large sauté pan, cook onion until translucent, add garlic and cook 2 more minutes. Add wine and tomatoes, fill can half full with water to rinse out any additional juice and add that as well. Cook over high heat until reduced by almost half (you can always add water if it gets too concentrated, sauce should still be a bit soupy). Add beans, kale and dill, and season to taste, then stew until beans are tender. Stir in additional 1/4 c olive oil, and top with crumbled feta.

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Fusion-y

It snowed last night in Denver. For those who don't live here, the combination of sunshine and a blanket of powder turns the landscape into a sparkling wonderland. Cascades of natural glitter rain down from overhangs and branches and the sheer brightness of things is otherworldly. Looking out the window my eyes open wide, straining to take it all in.

Days like today call for

cookin

. Food that'll stand up to the day, put hair on your chest, and take you home. This recipe was an attempt to simultaneously take both Premal and me back. The addition of spicy Indian chili power adds a kick to this traditional Hungarian recipe, and paneer stands up beautifully to the rich gravy. My nokedli--or spätzle--are multi-grain to mimic roti, the whole-wheat flatbread served with most meals in India. Club soda keeps the dumplings light and fluffy, despite the heavier flour.

Parikás Paneer with Multi-grain Spätzle

4 T. (plus more for frying) butter

1 lg. yellow onion (diced)

4 cloves garlic (diced)

4 T. sweet Hungarian paprika

1 T. spicy Indian chili powder or 1 t. red chili flakes (optional)

2 c. vegetable broth

1/2 c. sour cream

12 oz. mushrooms (sliced)

8 oz. paneer (1/2 inch cubes)

Sautee onion and garlic in butter until translucent. Add paprikas, and stir til roux forms. Gradually add the broth, stirring all the while, contents should resemble a thin gravy. Sir in sour cream. Fry mushrooms and paneer in batches, making sure not to crowd the pan, until golden. Add to gravy, season to taste, and serve over spätzle.

For spätzle

3/4 c club soda

2 eggs

1/2 t salt

1 c. white flour

1 c. whole wheat flour

spätzle maker or small cutting board and medium knife

Set large pot to boil. Mix soda, eggs and salt in medium bowl. Gradually add flour. Mix well. Dough should be very soft and sticky (almost a batter). Let rest ten minutes. Stir.

Here's the tricky part. If you don't happen to own a spätzle maker (but really, doesn't EVERYONE have one?) you'll need to make these dumples the old fashioned way. Take the cutting board and the knife and dip them in the boiling water. Place a large clump of dough on the board and thinly spread part of it all the way to one end of the board. Dip this end and the knife in the boiling water again. Then, using the back of the knife, scrape off thin noodles into the boiling water, re submerging knife and board along the way to prevent sticking. Let dumples boil for several minutes. Strain and toss with a little olive oil. (If this doesn't make sense,

this video

demonstrates the process pretty well--even if it's in German).  

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Risotto

I hate rice. You can ask Premal, it brings him great sadness that at best I refrain from eating the fluffy white stuff, and at worst I basically refuse to cook it. I'm like the cat in the hat guy from Green Eggs and Ham. I do not like rice,with my curry, I do not like it in a hurry. I will not eat it in a soup, I will not eat things that resemble choleric poop... You get the picture. I do have an exception to my "no rice" rule, unfortunately--though perhaps predictably--it's a labor intensive one. Risotto. But between me and these creamy waves of grain lays a lot of stirring, and grating, and stirring, and many bubbling pots, and also stirring.  Consequently, risotto has been relegated to a column in my diet labeled "strictly restaurant fare." But a recent craving (bolstered by some virtual encouragement from my kitchen-philosophy-crush Mark Bittman), and somehow all of my rice/risotto related rules began to resemble mere suggestions.  So, I was off to the kitchen to stir my life away. Luckily, the results were really, really good, and along the way I discovered a few tricks that may just make risotto a staple in my kitchen....

1. Don't be too tied to recipes:

Risotto is just al dente individual grains masquerading as a creamy porridge. It takes patience, yes, but not really precision. You do not need freshly grated parmigiano reggiano flown in from Italy last night after being aged in some cave for twelve years. You need some hard-ish cheese. For me, this came in part from a crust of asiago that had been aged for a couple of months in the door of my fridge. The same goes for every ingredient. No arborio rice? Use brown rice, or farro, or Israeli couscous etc. 

2. Screw homemade stocks:

Slow-food enthusiasts will skewer me for this, but I want to punch the author in the face every time I read a recipe specifying how homemade stock is "preferable." No Sh*t. But please, ain't nobody got time for that! Of course it's preferable, but I'm a busy lady who's already taking time to make risotto, so Imma just slum it and subject the poor souls I'm feeding to something produced in a factory in Ohio Ontario. 

3. You do not need to have a million (or even just two) pots boiling the whole time you're cooking: Yes your broth ought to be warm, but I don't have a huge range (or kitchen for that matter), so it gets a bit claustrophobic if I go the traditional two-pot route. Instead, take a jar with a lid, add hot water and some better than bouillon and shake it up. If it gets cold just throw the jar in the microwave for a minute. This also saves you from making way too much (or too little) stock, because this method is batch bound by nature. 

4. Stir less:

I know it sounds like this goes against the main tenet of the art of risotto, but it's true! If you stir too much your porridge will be gummy and gross, and then you will be sad because you spent all of this time trying to make a special meal only to have it turn out like a horrible savory candy that your cousin says is "actually very popular in Mongolia." So relax, pass a spoon through right before adding additional stock, and be a bit more attentive towards the end.

5. TREAT YO SELF!:(<-- double punctuation for emphasis)

Add the wine,  and pour a glass for the chef while you're at it. Using tasty cheese? Great! Just add a lil Edith Piaf and you've got yourself a fancy micro-soirée!

Summer Harvest Farro Risotto

1 T butter

1 T evoo

2 cloves garlic--diced

1 1/2 C. dry farro (white/brown rice etc.)

1 C. white wine (or red)

6 C. (approx.) stock--6 C water + 2T better than bouillon

1 1/2 C. veggies (I used golden beets, fresh corn and rainbow chard)

1/2 C. grated hard-ish cheese (I used the aforementioned asiago and some sharp cheddar)

salt and fresh grated pepper and nutmeg to taste

Sweat the garlic in the fats, then add grain and toast a bit. Add the wine and let the grain absorb before adding about a cup of broth. Continue this process of adding and allowing to absorb/evaporate. Halfway through your broth additions add any firm veggie (beets, autumn squash, sweet potato etc. this should all be cut into relatively small cubes), then when you think your risotto is alllllmost there throw in the more tender additions (corn, peas, asperigus, greens). Stir in cheese, season to taste and enjoy!

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Potato, egg and onion salad with honey mustard dressing

Last week our wonderful neighbors brought over a carton of fresh eggs from their exuberant little herd of chickens. Momo wanted to make sure the eggs were used for something which would feature their unrivaled goodness. 

This recipe is perfect for summer. Super satisfying, fresh and healthy. I think it did the trick :-)

You'll need:

  • Russet Potatoes
  • Onion(s)
  • Butter (salted, of course)
  • White wine
  • Fresh Garlic
  • Lettuce
  • Eggs (one per person)
  • Mustard
  • Honey
  • Balsamic
  • EVOO
  • Salt
  • Cheese (either white cheddar or Gorgonzola)
  • Fresh Pepper

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cut potatoes into long, thin wedges. Arrange them on a baking sheet; drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Bake for 30-35 minutes (flip to other side after 20 minutes, or boil first for faster baking). Slice onions and place in hot pan. Cook in butter and sugar until golden brown. Reduce heat and cover in white wine. Cook until liquid is gone. Cut garlic into chips and cook on stove-top (in butter or EVOO) until light brown. Chop lettuce and set aside. You can either fry the eggs, poach them, or use my special method for fry-poaching (e.g. crack egg into hot pan, fry bottom, pour water in pan, cover with lid, and wait until top is cooked). For the dressing, mix equal parts balsamic and EVOO with at least one tablespoon of honey and one tablespoon of mustard. Add salt and fresh pepper to taste. Remove potatoes from the oven and let cool, at least a little. Chop or crumble cheese. Combine lettuce, onions, garlic, potatoes, and cheese in a bowl. Place an egg on top of each serving and drizzle dressing over the top.

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Karpas salad


I appreciate a good cry. I've indulged in them in taxis, at work, on the toilet, and that's just in the past few weeks. I'm pretty sure there are some sweet health benefits that come from exercising the good ol' lacrimal glads, so why not honor tears at the table. The Seder table no less, where a lot of us will be close to tears anyway due to the fact that we've already been there for 4 hours, and all we really want is a big crusty piece of bread--or maybe cake. Yeah, probably cake.

Anyway. My salad, inspired by the karpas--or herbs dipped in salt water in remembrance of tears our people wept while they were slaves in Egypt--is actually nothing to weep over. That is unless they are tears of joy. This salad is delicious. And pretty. So, cry for our people* this Passover, but not for your belly, 'cause we got yo back.



KarpasSalad
  •          1 bunch curly parsley
  •          1 bunch flat-leaf parsley
  •          2 cups arugula
  •          1 bunch white radishes
  •          ½ cup dried cherries (chopped)
  •          ¼ cup quick preserved lemons (recipe below)
  •          Olive oil
  •          Honey
  •          Greek yogurt

Remove parsley leaves from stems, wash and dry all greens. Wash and dry radishes, then using a mandolin, slice them suuuuuper thin. Throw all of that in a bowl. Throw there cherries in there too. Separate lemon chunks from lemon juices, saving both. Give the lemon chunks a quick rinse under cold water, and dry them. Now, carefully, throw them in your bowl. Take some of your saved salty/sour/sugary lemon juices and mix them with some olive oil. Taste. If it’s good, that’s dressing. If it’s too sour add some honey, too salty add some yogurt and/or more oil, basically, adjust to taste.

Who’s crying now?    




Quick Preserved Lemons
  •          Lemon
  •          Equal parts salt and sugar

Cut the lemon into small pieces (about the size of my pinky-tip, which means, I don’t know, ½ x ¼ inch strips?), and place in a bowl (or jar if you’re planning to save some for later). Add the sugar and salt, with 2 tablespoons each for every lemon used. Let sit for at least an hour, and as long as a day before using or moving to the fridge for storage.  


*This salad, while well suited for the occasion, is totally not confined to pesach consumption. In fact, its deliciousness is constant regardless of when or by whom it is eaten!  

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