groove food

double blasted broccoli with sesame sea salt

strange things can comprise your own dinner when you cook all day at work. an unwrapped, homely waffle lurking in a forgotten corner of the freezer becomes a meal when given a peanut butter and honey makeover. the last quarter of a pint of greek yogurt + leftover contents bought from bulk bins and shoved in the pantry + thing 1 & thing 2's strawberry rejects + coconut coffee creamer = dinner. an entire pan of roasted broccoli. totally dinner!

broccoli needs little more than sea salt, quality olive oil and a blast in a hot oven to become a glorious thing. with this alone the buds gets delicious burnt bits and the body maintains a detectable crunch. however, i had exactly 1 ounce of creativity left in me when i got home the other night and decided "blasted broccoli" was a nice recipe title, but "double blasted broccoli" was even better. my broccoli got its first blast in the oven at 450 degrees and its second from a lashing of goma rayu, also known as sesame chili oil, and a couple finger pinches of homemade toasted sesame sea salt. it's fast, spicy, and totally dinner-worthy.

double blasted broccoli with sesame sea salt

(serves 2, or 1 very hungry person)

1 pound broccoli

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon white sesame seeds, preferably unhulled

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 teaspoon - 1 tablespoon sesame chili oil, to taste

preheat oven to 450 degrees. if you bought crowns of broccoli, cut the broccoli into individual florets so the stem end is no more than 1/2 inch thick. avoid cutting through the buds if possible. if you bought whole stalks of broccoli, cut the stalk away from the crown. remove any leaves, trim the end of the stalks and peel away the tough, fibrous layer before slicing the stalks 1/2 inch thick. then cut the crown into individual florets. place the broccoli in a bowl and toss with the olive oil and a very small bit of the sea salt.

spread the broccoli out over a baking sheet and roast for 15 - 20 minutes, until the stems are just tender and the tops are browned.

while the broccoli roasts, prepare the sesame sea salt. toast the sesame seeds in a medium skillet over medium heat until golden, 1 - 3 minutes. place the seeds and the salt in a mortar and grind with a pestle, leaving some seeds whole. alternately, pulse the seeds and salt in the bowl of of a food processor or chop together with a chef's knife.

once the broccoli has finished roasting, drizzle with the sesame chili oil. start with a little and adjust (remember, it's hot). toss the finished product with the toasted sesame sea salt.

notes

* inspiration for this recipe came from molly stevens' fabulous book, all about roasting

* if you don't have sesame chili oil, you can still make this recipe. toss the broccoli instead with toasted sesame oil and red pepper flakes. or for a less hot version, omit entirely.

 

a fall supper

i can finally detect a nip in the air. sadly, at any moment it might go back to 90 degrees in mid-october in southern california. don't get me wrong, i relish the heat, even if it makes me half-sluggish and encourages even lazier forms of distraction. it takes but an utterance of fall to give me culinary brainstorm, though. i want to roast, stew, and braise my way through pumpkin patches and stockpiles of salt. i want to tame bottles of big red wine into seductive pools on a white plate and massage kale down a size. for months i've practically sworn off cooking, eating honeysuckle-sweet corn freshly cut from the cob and tomatoes cooked in nothing but the warmth and weight of their juices. now i've started to think in smoke and flame. pots that sing like nina simone.

the days are getting shorter, quieter. despite any lingering heat, there is less light, but more room to think in recipes. a rip rap of things pile up to inspire supper. a dog-eared recipe for raw kale in a downright addictive dressing of anchovies and dates. some egg-shaped, eggplant-colored italian plums at the market. a gift of smoked duck. a note, dear reader, on the italian plums: if ever you cross paths with those oval-shaped beauties, buy a stash. bring them home. enlist some little hands to help if need be. consult this recipe. it is the most requested recipe in the history of the new york times. you can trust it.

behold, the purple plum cake. what it lacks in looks it makes up for in sunken pockets of plum, still tart against a butter-rich cake. it has caramelized, crisped up spots, and soft spots where the plums got heavy and the cake gave up. a slice of it, along with this song trailing through the house, is the perfect thing to follow all that dark, pungent kale and earlier nightfall. it might even be half-warm enough to eat under the stars.

kale salad with anchovy-date dressing

(serves 4)

6 large dates, pitted and roughly chopped

6 anchovy fillets, preferably in olive oil, roughly chopped

2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped

2 tablespoons finely grated lemon zest

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed orange or lemon juice

1 tablespoon sherry vinegar (or red wine vinegar), plus more to taste

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 large bunches tuscan kale, tough stalks and ribs removed, thinly sliced crosswise

sea salt and pepper, if needed

place the dates, anchovies, garlic, and lemon zest in the bowl of food processor fitted with a blade. pulse several times to mince the ingredients. add the orange or lemon juice and sherry vinegar and continue to pulse until you have a coarse paste. add the olive oil and process until combined. taste and adjust seasonings.

place the kale in a large bowl. pour half of the dressing over the kale and, using your hands, massage the dressing into the kale, scrunching handfuls of kale until the kale has shrunken. you might need to do this longer if you started with larger, more mature leaves. continue to add more dressing until the kale is well-coated. at this point, you can serve the kale but it will also hold up well for several hours (days even!) in the fridge.

notes

* the kale salad was adapted from melissa clark's in the book cook this now: 120 easy and delectable dishes you can't wait to make.

* i served the kale with slivers of smoked duck breast and toasted pine nuts

* the song in this post is posters by youth lagoon from the album the year of hibernation

 

roasted butternut squash, apples & coconut

most of the best cooking tips are dead simple. for instance, things that share a season should share the plate. the earth is always a good reminder and good at drawing me to flavors that are spare and straightforward, supple and pure. tomatoes and basil. fava beans and green garlic. beets and chicory. squash and apples. i like this last one because it is not as obvious, but just as revelatory when you try it.

a recent trip to julian, california yielded a peck of apples from an orchard with sixty-year-old trees and wild turkey feathers like clues on its paths. i spent much of the drive home mentally arranging apple possibilities, eventually settling with something easy, perhaps even predictable given my preferences. my favorite fall soup is butternut squash with apple, a hint of curry and coconut milk. the recipe that follows is that soup deconstructed and tossed in the oven.

after the butternut squash and apple are stained yellow from the curry powder and almost totally caramelized by the heat of the oven, i add a pile of maple and olive oil-coated coconut chips to the pan. these crisp, lending a welcome contrast to the heat-slackened apples and butternut. the final result can be tossed, still warm, with arugula for a substantial salad. it's also nice served atop coconut rice or all by itself, straight off the pan, as i prefer it.

roasted butternut squash, apples & coconut

(serves 4-6 as a side dish)

1-3 pound butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped into 1 inch pieces (about 5-7 cups)

3 medium-sized tart, crisp apples, peeled, cored and chopped into 1 inch pieces

1. 5 teaspoons curry powder

1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided

kosher salt & cracked black pepper

1 cup coconut flakes (sometimes called coconut chips)

1 tablespoon maple syrup

fresh cilantro leaves (optional)

preheat oven to 425. you will need two rimmed baking sheets--you have the option to line them with parchment paper. place the butternut squash and apples in a large bowl. sprinkle the curry powder and thyme leaves over the squash and apples, then drizzle 2 tablespoons of the olive oil over everything. season with salt and pepper and use your hands to toss everything until well-coated.

divide evenly onto the baking sheets. roast for forty minutes, pulling the sheets out halfway through and turning the squash and apples. meanwhile, toss the coconut flakes with the remaining olive oil and maple syrup. once the squash and apples have roasted for forty minutes, divide the coconut among the baking sheets and fold them in with the squash and apples with a spatula. roast for  6-8 minutes more, until the coconut is golden-brown and caramelized (keep an eye out as this happenes quickly). garnish with cilantro if you'd like and serve.

notes

* coconut chips (a fatter, snackier version than the ubiquitous shredded coconut) are not always easy to find. i've had success at whole foods, but it appears they are also on amazon.

the hardest goodbye + a giveaway

filmmaker and surf guru bruce brown was on to something: endless summer. if anything were possible, i might seek the same. but instead of chasing waves, i'd follow the lazy season around the globe, eating heavy tomatoes with my hands, travelling sun-baked city streets where no one knew my name. i love, love, want to marry summer.

i can't resist summer's usual lineup. county fairs, threadbare beach towels, starry nights, shucking corn, excuses for cold root beer, road trips, novels, catching wafts from charcoal grills, popsicles, sleeping with an open window, and piles of peaches so fragrant you eat them with first your nose.

the season is defined by its bit of excess. not anything extravagant. we get our ordinary pleasures in abundance and something in the air, maybe the memory-inducing balm of sunblock or faded scratch from a distant radio, compels a pause, staying in a little longer. maybe it is the light at the end of the day like an ellipses.

in this excess, i fell madly in love with a cookbook. aptly named plenty, by yotam ottolenghi, my response to it has been with otis redding-esque fervor. i tell anyone who will listen how badly they need this cookbook. it explodes with genius, produce-driven recipes begging its use. i've cooked halfway through it, some things over and over, like the fava bean burgers. oh, the fava bean burgers (i turn mine into little cakes so there are more of them to share).

when i wasn't cooking from plenty, i was excessively eating lobster. i became fairly certain that if i didn't eat lobster once daily while i was in maine, hell would freeze over or holly golightly might give the cat a name.

my dear friends tied the knot on tiny, bicycle-strewn peak's island. a wise person once told me that any day that includes a ferry ride is bound to be a good one. peak's island is only reachable by boat, making it a place where good things are bound to happen, like tables studded with plates of lobster rolls and fried chicken, and dancing to a live rendition of "fever" in the stained glass-filtered light of the 5th maine regiment museum.

i imagined relocating my life to coastal maine and opening a bed & breakfast. summer permits this sort of rambling.

and every summer has one unforgettable meal. mine was lobster & sweet potato hash, flanked on one side by what appeared to be a cool creek and a sweltering kitchen on the other.

there are so many luscious gifts, i lose track. summer is the season for dahlias and visiting my best friend dot in carmel, where each day offered fireworks in form of flower and homemade meals at dot's expansive dining room table.

there's sneaking off for a night to a tucked away spot called mundaka, having too many tapas beneath old films projected on the walls and spanish guitar. dot is an expert in finding tucked away spots and knowing everyone in town by name.

while in carmel i passed on my penchant for impromptu picnics to thing 1 & thing 2. is there anything more reaffirming of the goodness of living than eating outside in the summer? you might have trouble locating a first aid kit in my car, but there is always a knife decent enough for cheese and something to sit on.

but here we are, and it is the first day of october. the weather report says to expect 90 degrees in san diego by this afternoon. southern california kind of stays summer indefinitely, but the peaches and corn in the market have been replaced by several rotund specimen of squash and stacks of apples. i can't deny what the fruit tells me, and this means goodbye, at least to succotash and sleeping in. i'll say hello to pie, but i'm keeping the picnic gear in my car.

notes

* i am giving away a spankin' new copy of plenty by yotam ottolenghi and a package of other groove food goodies (homemade granola! camarague sea salt! etc! etc!). simply leave a comment with your favorite summer meal or food by 11:59 p.m. on october 3, 2012, at which point i will use a random numerical process to select a winner and send you your loot. 

* the tucked away spot in carmel, ca is called mundaka. go if you can, right here.