groove food

hello, electricity

this is the sum of all the new changes in my life: an electric stove. well, an electric stove and a lagoon that meets the sea on one side and the interstate on the other, and is every shade of verdancy this time of the year, except where it is carved out by water so blue it startles me. but back to the electric stove.

a breakfast of whole milk greek yogurt with a handful of blueberries, ground almonds, and a glaze of raw agave does not require stove-top cookery. for this reason, i have been eating exactly that every morning for weeks. you could say the debut of the electric stove in my life is a bit like a new man. we're still figuring each other out. 

in the past four years, i've lived in four different houses. i've walked through thorny fields where there was no path and traveled on pink clouds: from the break up of my marriage to experiencing my daughters gleefully grow in the world. my comfort has been cooking and a constant source of flame from a gas burning range at all my previous abodes. i'd flick my wrist and there was the familiar ignition click, then fire: steady and reliable. until now. a few weeks ago, i moved to a place that finally feels like my home. it has bougainvillea in a courtyard that throws its hot pink head to the sky while its green leaves sweep down like arms ready to hold you. it is a house steps away from that verdant lagoon. it has a built-in bookshelf that fits ALL my cookbooks. and it has an electric stove.

i've found a peaceful place within its walls for all the things beautiful or useful enough to have kept in my possession over many moves, but i still haven't made peace with the stove-top that cooks without flames.

when prompted to bring a side dish to a friend's bbq, i settled on angel hair with a "no cook" tomato sauce, knowing it required the most minimal interaction with the suspect appliance. two massive, first-of-the-season heirloom tomatoes got diced and drowned in rich, green olive oil, garlic and basil and left to marinate on the counter for a few hours, filling every room of the house with a stupor-inducing aroma.

when i could no longer take the maddening, irresistible smell, i resolved to cook the angel hair. i bravely set a stockpot of water over the electric coils, turned the knob up to high and performed the most basic of kitchen tasks: boiling water. i'm not convinced that age brings wisdom. age has only made me realize that i know so much less than i thought i did. i know i don't know the difference between good and bad. maybe there is no difference. is that wisdom? for now, the electric stove is only change. i am happy to report it boils water quite nicely.

angel hair with no-cook tomato sauce

serves 6 - 8

4 pounds ripe heirloom tomatoes, cored and cut into a 1/2-inch dice

1/2 teaspoon finely minced garlic

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1/3 cup chopped basil

sea salt + freshly ground pepper

1 pound angel hair pasta

1-1/2 cups freshly grated parmesan cheese (optional)

combine the tomatoes, garlic, red pepper flakes, basil and olive oil in a large bowl (one big enough to also hold the cooked pasta). season with sea salt and pepper. let sit at room temperature for at least one hour, and up to three hours, until very juicy.

bring a large pot of water to a boil. add a handful of kosher salt and the angel hair noodles. cook until al dente, 4 minutes (or according to the package). drain the angel hair and immediately add the hot pasta to the tomato sauce, stir combine. the heat from the pasta will cook the tomato sauce. add the parmesan cheese (if using) and toss to combine.

serve warm or at room temperature.

notes

* adjust the garlic and red pepper flakes to your taste. this can also be prepared with different shapes of pasta

* adapted from evan kleiman

the lesson of salad monique

the first time i made salad monique was the summer i'd graduated from connecticut college, packed my bags, moved back to california, and decided to turn my lifelong love of cooking into some kind of career. those big things happened, but it was the salad that changed me.

eric ripert of le bernadin in nyc had just released his massive, gorgeous tome a return to cooking. i somehow scraped together $50 from my humble kitchen internship pay and bought the book, so sacred it even came in shrink wrap. every night i studied its pages. robust, glorious paintings of green papayas and wine bottles followed elegant recipe after recipe for things like poached snapper with coconut milk and tomatoes or freshly cut mangoes for dessert, tousled with puerto rican tarragon and a splash of anisette.

i was unsure of myself in those days,  so it was a straightforward recipe for his french mother's salad that i attempted first. it called for nearly every vegetable that i knew about: asparagus, green beans, corn, avocadoes, and cherry tomatoes among them. it also called for blanching many of the vegetables in three big pots of water. determined nevertheless, i set out for chino's farm in rancho santa fe, and spent the rest of my savings on vegetables.

my best friend was housesitting nearby, and i met her there with my produce bags. she'd agreed to help me on my salad monique endeavor, and then i would have someone to ooh and ahh the final results, pat me on the back and tell me i was destined for chefdom. i labored over each vegetable like it was a fabrege egg. somewhere along the way, i got the idea that the salad would be nice with warm goat cheese toasts  (though undaring, i still never failed to make nice, simple things more complicated than they needed to be). it was one of the few tasks i relinquished to my friend and in the midst of our chatting, they were burned. instead of shrugging it off and serving salad monique the way ripert and his mother intended, i lost my mind, and nearly lost my friendship. over a salad.

cooking with a perfectionist can have its merits--most dishes will come out lovely. but it isn't any fun. i know this because i am a recovering uptight cook who has scared a number of well-intentioned friends out of my kitchen with my high levels of anxiety and micro-managing. staring over shoulders as eggs are cracked and carefully demonstrating how vegetables should be cut is a sure-fire way to ensure you will always cook alone.

not despite, but because of my first awful and valuable experience with salad monique, it is my favorite salad of all time. a tangle of every color and texture, it is as tantalizing to look at on a bright white plate as it from the first bite to the last. i make it as many times as possible each year, with great care, but also a light heart. when it comes to cooking, knowing when to let go is as important as salt.

salad monique

serves 6

1/4 pound french green beans, ends trimmed

1/4 asparagus, touch ends removed, cut in 2 inch lengths

2 ears of corn, shucked

1/2 pound mesclun greens

1/4 hothouse cucumber (or 1 persian cucumber), cut lengthwise in half and thinly sliced

18 cherry tomatoes, halved

2 radishes, thinly sliced

1 avocado, thinly sliced

1 apple, cored and thinly sliced

2 tablespoons aged balsamic vinegar

6 tablespoons high quality extra virgin olive oil

kosher salt, sea salt and freshly ground pepper

1/4 pound parmigiano-reggiano cheese

place a large pot of water over high heat and bring to a boil. while the water boils, set up two ice baths in large bowls. once the water is boiling, add a palmful of kosher salt. drop the 2 ears of corn in the water and cook for 3 - 4 minutes. immediately remove the corn using tongs and plunge into one of the ice baths.

return the water to a boil and add the green beans, cooking until tender but crisp, about 3 minutes. scoop the beans out of the boiling water using a basket spoon or slotted spoon, and plunge into the other ice bath. add the asparagus to the boiling water and cook until tender but crisp, 2 - 3 minutes, depending on the width of the asparagus. drain the asparagus in a colander and immediately plunge the asparagus into the ice bath with the beans.

dry the corn, aspargus and green beans on clean kitchen towels. cut the kernels off the cobs.

place the balsamic vinegar into a medium bowl and slowly whisk in the olive oil.

place the greens and all of the vegetables and fruit into a large bowl. drizzle the balsamic dressing over everything and season with sea salt and pepper. toss to coat. divide the salad equally among 6 chilled plates and shave the parmesan (if using) over the top using a vegetable peeler. serve immediately.

notes

* adapted from eric ripert, a return to cooking. purchase the book here. i am sorry to report it is no longer published as a hardcover.

* eric's mother includes boiled new potatoes with her salad, making it more of an entree. feel free to do this. it is delicious.

* the perfectionist in me urges you to make this salad with the most pristine, highest-quality ingredients you can find.

blueberry galette with buttermilk ice cream

i've discovered an undreadful way to bear long commutes is thinking of food pairings. you might call them culinary duets--two things that are naturally quite different, but when placed together, create a kind of magic greater than the sum of its parts. it's essentially the gist of cooking, figuring out what to put with what. every fred astaire has its ginger rogers, even a humble root vegetable looking lonely in corner of your produce drawer or that spice jar of mustard seeds that never seems to get depleted.

there are the classic couples: carrots & ginger, cream & butter, tomatoes & basil, beets & goat cheese, oysters & sex, meat & potatoes. then there are the surprises that some clever cook conjured, making the world all the better: prosciutto & melon, chocolate & mint, caramel & sea salt, sage & brown butter. i'd count blueberries & buttermilk as one of these pairing gifts that might have originally seemed unusual, but in the end made perfect sense. whoever thought to mix sparkling fresh blueberries into their buttermilk pancake batter has probably been granted an infinite supply of maple syrup in heaven.

part of the fun of the culinary duet game is imagining new ways to marry already smashing pairings. they then become your own set of swans. i love blueberry-buttermilk pancakes and buttermilk scones with dried blueberries...so how about a blueberry galette with homemade buttermilk ice cream? now we're talking--in low whispers. possibly also in french. lord have mercy.

i went to two trusted sources for my recipes and followed them without adding a single twist of my own imagination. i know, i am boring. my only bit of brainwork was to think of putting the two together. i have a long stretch of interstate 5 to thank for that. joanne chang, the mastermind behind flour bakery in boston, was the source for a fabulous, relatively easy recipe for a blueberry-lemon galette. deb of smitten kitchen (inspired by claudia fleming) offered an insanely, decadently tangy take on buttermilk ice cream. i'm convinced anything with 12 egg yolks just ain't gonna taste bad. especially with blueberries and buttermilk alongside.

notes

* find joanne chang's recipe for blueberry-lemon galette here

* find deb of smitten kitchen's recipe for buttermilk ice cream here

* visit flour bakery + cafe online here

 

israeli couscous for summer, in photographs

the other night i took a long, get-lost-in-my-thoughts walk by the lagoon near my house. as i climbed the grassy hill home, sunlight still lit the way at 8:15. it's barely noticeable in southern california, but i think i felt the season shift. my head exploded with thoughts of the coming produce, as it is wont to do when summer is uttered. this israeli couscous makes use of the early gifts of the season, as well as the last gems of spring. plus, it solves a potluck invite, tucked between your hip and arm in an oversize salad bowl as you make your way past the grill. it can be tinkered with according to your preferences and what is available. my recipe follows, in photographs. hello summer.

bring 3 quarts of water to a boil. add a palmful of salt and 2 cups of toasted israeli couscous. boil for 8-10 minutes (or according to package instructions). drain and run cold water over the couscous until it is cool.

place the couscous in a large bowl. add 1 cup of cooked fava beans.

toss in 1 pint of halved cherry or grape tomatoes

add 2 cups of diced persian or english cucumber (peeled to your preference)

make a dressing with 3 tablespoons of freshly squeezed lemon juice and 2 teaspoons of lemon zest

whisk in 1/2 cup of fruity extra virgin olive oil and season with sea salt and pepper. toss the dressing in with the other ingredients

add 3 tablespoons thinly sliced mint leaves

and 8 ounces of diced feta (i use a firm, double cream feta from california)

ta da! now off you go.

notes

* serves 6-8

* to toast israeli couscous, place a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. add 2 tablespoons of olive oil. once shimmering, add the couscous. cook for 3 - 4 minutes, stirring frequently, until the couscous is nutty brown in places.

* to cook fava beans, first shell them from the pod, leaving their second shell intact. bring 2 quarts of salted water to a boil. add the fave beans and cook for 2 - 3 minutes, until just tender. immediately drain and place the beans in an ice water bath. gently squeeze or peel the beans from the shell.

* this can be made ahead and refrigerated for up to 4 hours. bring to room temperature before serving.

* my recipe is adapted from jessica bard in fine cooking magazine

 

dinner with dot, the third

when i wake up i have two things on my mind: coffee and dinner. the first i address urgently with joyful anticipation. in fact, i go to bed smiling knowing i will be drinking coffee when i rise. and as for dinner, i'm nearly always in a state of daydream concerning it. when the day begins, i ask what is required to make dinner magic happen. this question is most fun to consider in the company of my best friend, dot, and her best friend, pickle.

the best dinner missions are daring and ridiculous quests. we drove through the hills of monterey like we were on the autobahn! we popped wheelies in a prius but kept our brussels sprouts intact! we had transcendental moments with rainbow chard at the pacific grove farmers market! we sampled cheeses tagged as "funky" by in-the-know cheesemongers! we sponsored a dairy cow in a remote village in spain like it was a cabbage patch kid!

we bought a boatload of fava beans! i've been making dinner with dot a lot lately, you may have noticed. this fantastic fact is no small feat considering we live a seven hour drive from each other (and that's if you don't take the pretty route). so when we get down to the dinner part, things get serious. seriously ecstatic.

dot saluted spring in salad. the fava beans joined tender raw asparagus, watercress, parmesan shards, radish wheels, and meyer lemon dressing, inspiring everyone gathered around the table to say things like "hallelujah!" the verdant tangle was piled atop toast and a melting sliver of culatello, a.k.a. the prize of parma, a.k.a. prosciutto with an even smoother voice and beaucoup bucks in the bank.

the porcine theme expanded with dot's rosemary & honey glazed pork chops, a simple dish with limitless variations and a super idea for weeknight eating. dot seared organic pork chops until they achieved a golden crust, then turned the heat down a bit until they just cooked through (145 degrees internally with a 5 minute rest before serving). the pan was deglazed with a splash of stock, a fat sprig of rosemary, and a tablespoon or so of honey. so easy, no recipe required.

if you try dot's method, i encourage you to serve your chops alongside sliced pear, roasted brussel sprouts, a baked yam mashed with vanilla bean and butter, and spoon the pan sauce over everything. some nights incite a double hallelujah.

but, wait. there was still PEANUT BUTTER PIE (i am a lowercase kind of woman but those words deserve CAPS when listed together like that). from the pages of melissa clark's new book, in the kitchen with a good appetite (yes, i'm totally obsessed) comes a recipe for "karen's peanut butter pie," a chocolate cookie pie crust filled with the easiest ever peanut butter mousse and topped with chocolate chips and honey roasted nuts (and some whipped cream, if you fancy) you can find recipe here.

dot and i watched the meal go down at the dining room table from a perch on her sofa, pretty much marveling over how lucky we were to to be sharing things like pork chops and peanut butter pie in the same city. we meant to squeeze a cheese course between the entree and the pie, but it was late and her fiance's boys had school the next day. dot sent me a snapshot of the cheese a few days later, when i'd returned to san diego. with it came hints of dinner with dot, part four. hallelujah.

notes from dot:

the salad was dressed with a meyer lemon vinaigrette. juice from half a lemon, zest from the whole thing! shallots, minced (small shallot, a scant tbsp). white wine vinegar--a splash, emulsify with a light but fragrant olive oil (not Spanish, too strong) and salt and pepper to taste. flat leaf parsley to round it out.  the meat was culatello. it's a center cut of the prosciutto which is silky and has less of the fat than the outer sections.  people really into meat and curing think of culatello as a gem...those i know do. 

other notes:

* the pacific grove farmers market takes place on fridays from 4 pm - 7 pm (summer hours) on grand avenue and central avenue in pacific grove.

* i like my brussel sprouts split in half, tossed with olive oil, salt, and pepper and roasted at 400 for 20-25 minutes

* disclaimer: do not try popping wheelies in a prius at home. first, i'm pretty sure it is impossible. second, you might hurt yourself if you tried. make peanut butter pie instead.