No Heat Required

Let's make one thing clear here: I'm a pasta addict. Sure, it's cheap and easy, thereby making it the kind of food off of which we graduate students base our existence. What's more, a good sauce provides the longest-lasting leftovers. I can think back to several periods in my collegiate life when all I had time to eat was Norma's Peanut Sauce. But I find that the real beauty of the food is that it acts as a base for just about anything. It offers a firm grounding for any inspired madman to create a sauce ridiculous and amazing. And as a result, I eat it all the time.

So when Moxie mentioned she wanted to make her mum's recipe for her favourite uncooked sauce, I was game to try it. I have witnessed others try to half-ass an uncooked sauce -- mainly by tossing on some oil, cheese, and calling it done -- and this is most definitely not that. This sauce relies on a collection of strong, distinct flavours: anchovies, olives, garlic, capers, etc. The blended result is amazing: potent, but not overwhelming, and easily diluted/focused by the addition/removal of more noodles. The taste lingers in your mouth without ever becoming abrasive, just leaving you craving more. Of all the sauces that I've experimented with, this is currently the most memorable. And what's more: it's really pretty! Not bad for a meal that takes no more than a few minutes of chopping & mincing to prepare.

Pasta with Uncooked Sauce

• 4 large tomatoes, chopped
• 1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
• 14 large black olives //Kalamata recommended
• 3 Tbsp capers, minced
• 4 anchovy fillets, chopped
• 2 Tbsp olive oil
• 3 large garlic cloves, minced
• 1/2 tsp fresh ground black pepper
• 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese //or more, to taste

Mix all of the ingredients in a large bowl. Cook angel hair pasta until done. Drain and toss with uncooked sauce. Serve immediately. Sprinkle additional Parmesan cheese over pasta to taste.

This amount of sauce is good for approximately ½ lb of pasta

Kale and Seaweed Salad. And Qs about Online Sharing

I’ve written three very different versions of this blog post this week. I thought that I was rejecting drafts because I couldn’t get the voice right, but today it occurred to me that it’s the content that was giving me difficulty. I don’t have an answer to the questions that I’m posing; in fact, I don’t even know if they’re the right questions. So this entry is less of a declarative statement than a snapshot of the ideas swimming in and out of focus in my head. Really, I’d just like to grab a beer and have a spirited debate on the subject. So, imagine your favorite draft in hand and bear with me. And this is a soliloquy only due to the format choice – I really would like to hear your point of view.

Why share personal content online? That is the question. Recipes, photos, anecdotes, opinions, musings. Facebook, flickr, blogspot, twitter, Google Buzz, Google Reader. Why share?

That of course begs the question, “sharing with whom?” Because I update my Mom on my latest adventures for different reasons than I post a recipe for a bunch of (very agreeable) strangers. Or at least I think they’re different reasons.

In no particular order: archiving valuable information (recipes, photos) for easy retrieval, getting feedback and thereby validation on creative attempts, keeping in touch/strengthening relationships with distant friends and family, creating communities out of strangers, enjoying hearing myself talk uninterrupted on my soapbox, immediate attention from a wide audience, “popularity” (albeit highly transient…obsessing over hit rates and comment counts…blogging as a gateway drug…).

Why do you share? I bet your first answer is a highly logical, rational, reasonable one. I’m interested to hear that reason, but I’m also interested in the more subconscious one lying just under the surface.

Realization/Confession: I’m an information junkie. My crack is highly concentrated doses of really high quality content, content that pushes my brain to think slightly differently and makes me want to start a discussion with somebody immediately. A juicy local news item pertaining to a business or neighborhood or government institution that I know. An artistically impressive photo that succeeds in communicating a complex set of feelings. A blog post that not only disseminates a recipe but is able to articulate and therefore pass on the meaning buried in that particular combination of ingredients and technical steps. Or the briefest of high quality content messages -- and these days, one I come across with alarming frequency, the facebook update “X has gotten married.”

Quality. À la Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

This is important, because I’m trying to figure out how I want to use this blog and my flickr space. Whom am I posting for? How much personal detail is too much? How can I create and share compelling content while protecting myself emotionally and honoring the privacy of my loved ones? Ironically, I feel more comfortable sharing terribly intimate musings with perfect strangers than with remote acquaintances who know me in real life.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Oh, and this recipe. One of the best parts about living in a place and in a social circle where vegetables carry no stigma is that we’ve learned to expect them to be fun. This recipe honors the ingredients that go into it, producing something that is greater than the sum of its parts. It’s one of those rare reasons to love winter produce, that interminable sea of tough greens. The salad itself is fast, flavorful, and incredibly forgiving: change the ratio of greens to seaweed, supplement kale with chard, add mushrooms to make a hearty lunch… you really can’t go wrong. Believe me: we must have made this recipe 5,000 times while I was in grad school. It’s also vegan; translation: Everybody Will Like It. We bring it to almost every potluck we’re invited to between October and March.

Kale and Seaweed Salad (serves six as a side)

1 bunch Kale or Chard
1/2 cup seaweed flakes ("sea vegetable" - dried or fresh. Our grocery sells dried Wakame flakes in its Asian section.
1 Tbs peeled, minced ginger
1 Tbs minced garlic
1 Tbs toasted sesame seeds
Seasame oil
Soy Sauce

Optional: additional veggies like mushrooms or carrots, sliced.

Optional: 2 serrano peppers, chopped.

If using dried seaweed, let it soak in water 5 - 7 min. Drain and place in the serving bowl. Add 1 tsp sesame oil and the minced ginger.

Soak the Kale in water to loosen any dirt, rinse thoroughly. Chop in 1"x2" strips.

In a large skillet, heat 2 tsp sesame oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and serrano (if using) and gently sauté for 1 min.

Add the Kale and optional supplemental veggies and 3 Tbs Soy sauce. Sauté at high heat, stirring constantly. Alternatively, if not using mushrooms, turn heat to low and cover, cooking gently for 5-10minutes.

Add Kale to serving bowl, add sesame oil and soy sauce to taste. Garnish with toasted sesame seeds.

Cheddar-stuffed Challah French Toast served with caramelized Apples and Red Onions

Disclaimer: most of this post was written on December 2, 2010 but I had no camera with which to capture the truly majestic awesomeness of the dish. Kudos to our families for helping me to overcome that particular barrier, and for their ongoing interest in the recipes we recommend here.

It was the most wonderful time of the year, so they say. Twinkling lights, perky tunes, an abundance of invitations to schmooze with semi-strangers juggling alcoholic beverages and green-and-red themed hors d’oeuvre plates. December is also the season of butter and deep-fat fried foods. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.

We had had an epic Thanksgiving. There was more food than you could shake a stick at. Do’s sister and brother in law made a superb meal with at least 10 dishes. My father lovingly prepared and FedExed barbequed ribs from Texas. And the whole thing culminated with a glorious 9 course meal carefully arranged by Do and Spuds on Saturday. There was Harissa soup. There were meatballs. (The two together constituted only one course. Yeah. Think about that). It was three full days of indulgences.

In other words, on December 1^st my digestive system was ready for Lent, not Advent.

After barely four days to recover, it was time to haul out the festive spirit and deck the halls for Hanukkah, the Holiday of Lights. (The Holiday of Deep Frying would be more apropos, unless by “lights” you mean the inevitable ensuing stovetop flames). Allow me to recommend this for a nontraditional take on the homey comfort that is holiday food: Cheddar-stuffed Challah French Toast served with caramelized Apples and Red Onions.

Let me skip to the punchline: it’s to die for.

The original recipe was published this time last year in the New York Times. As the original cook describes, this dish started as a gussied up grilled cheese for when your family gets sick of latkes, then morphed into something truly festive. It’s essentially a one-pot dish of creamy, cheese-y, custard-y goodness, but savory. It reminds me a lot of the Germanic flavors that my grandmother brought over with her from Prussia and passed on to her progeny, flavors that say “home” and “Christmas” and “Mommy” to me. More than dinner, this dish becomes a way to include my family heritage in celebrating a holiday from Do’s roots.

I made this dish for both the first and second nights of Hannukah (you can tell it was a success!), and this morning we finally settled on a permutation that’s good enough for the archives. We replaced her gruyere with a sharp cheddar (personal preference), added mozzarella for cheese-y gooeyness and goat cheese for unctuous luxurious flavor, caramelized the red onions in the pan along with the apples, and nixed the “stuffing” concept for the “sandwich” concept (way easier to handle, and the flavors are better integrated). With a little bit of mustard, I promise this version is way better.

Cheddar-stuffed French Toast With Caramelized Apples and Red Onions

• 2 challah hamburger buns, or 4 1/2-inch-thick slices challah bread from middle of loaf. (If in the East Bay, Semifreddi’s is our fav).
• 4 oz grated Cheddar cheese (about 1 cup)
• 3 oz grated mozzarella (about ½ cup)
• 5 oz goat cheese
• 1 red onion, thickly sliced into half-moons.
• 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
• 3/4 cup whole milk
• kosher salt, ground black pepper, olive oil
• 1 apple, cored, sliced
• Really good quality French-style mustard.

1. Make the sandwiches: Grate cheddar and mozzarella, combine into one bowl. If using hamburger buns, gently remove “crust” from bottom and top to better allow the bread to soak up the egg. Spread goat cheese on the inside of all bread slices, and tuck as much of the cheddar/mozzarella mixture into the sandwiches as they will bear. Don’t worry if there’s leftover cheese.

2. Transform them into French toast: In a wide, shallow dish, whisk together the eggs, milk, salt and pepper. Carefully, so as not to lose the cheese filling, soak the sandwiches in the egg mixture, turning once halfway through, until most of the liquid has been absorbed, about 5 minutes.

3. Cook with Glamour. Heat oil in

a large skillet over medium heat. Add the apple slices and the red onion in a single layer and cook for 2 minutes. Push them to the side of the pan and add the bread slices. Cook until bottoms are golden, about 4 minutes. Carefully turn bread and apples and cook until bread is golden and the apples are caramelized, 3 to 5 minutes. Crumble any leftover cheese on top, and serve with mustard.

Yield: 2 servings.

Liver

I wish I had a camera to show you how beautiful my dinner is. Because who eats liver any more, anyway? Even at my somewhat elitist neighborhood grocery store, the chummy check out clerks who know me by name expressed their skepticism and dismay when I presented myself with a pound of beef liver, an onion, parsley, egg noodles (which I only later realized are "no cholesterol," a rather self-defeating perk given that they're being served with a POUND of liver), and 4oz of chocolate (for brownies!, I protest). Last week, in Paris of all places, where you'd think they'd refrain from turning up their noses to classic, simple preparations, Do and my best friend from high school bonded over their mutual disgust that I ordered seared veal liver with mushrooms at a restaurant. Of course, the only person who was actual French at the table is notoriously finicky (but lovable! very, very lovable!), so I probably shouldn't judge the whole country on that basis.

Liver is heritage. It's a cut that our great grandparents had absolutely no problem with, in the days before all American butchery was reduced to a mere dozen cuts of any given animal, unceremoniously bundled in styrofoam and plastic and discounted for 2.99 per pound. It is unctuous, like a rare steak or top grade salmon sashimi. It smells like earth mixed with blood -- life, really, in all its depth and raw-ness.

Here's how Julie Powell, of Julie and Julia fame, describes it in the first chapter of her new book, Cleaving (in which she becomes a artisanal butcher's apprentice, an ideal perch from which to wax poetical about under-appreciated cuts of carcass):

"I now slice off eight pretty burgundy flaps of liver. The cut organ releases a metallic tang into the air, and yet more blood onto the table. Changing knives now, I delicately excise the tight pale ducts that weave through the slices. Perfectly cooked liver should be crisp on the outside with a custardy-smooth center. Nothing tough or chewy should get in the way of that sensual quintessence. Six of these slices are for the gleaming glass and steel case at the front of the shop; the last two I set aside, to wrap up and take home after work for a Valentine's Day dinner tomorrow. Once, I thought the holiday merited boxes of chocolate and glittery cards, but in these last couple of eye-opening years, amid the butchery and wrenches of the heart, I've realized life has gotten too complicated for such sweet and meaningless nothings; I've even learned I'm okay with that." Julie Powell, Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsesssion, p.3.

Poetry. What a way to start a book! She then inserts a recipe for Valentine's Day Liver for Two, where she coats the beef liver with flour, and sears it on the rare side in butter, oil, salt, and pepper. That prose inspired my dinner tonight, but instead I used a recipe from Elizabeth Ehrlich's autobiography about acquiring a sense of self by learning to cook with her Holocaust-survivor mother in law. She devotes a whole chapter to learning how to cook liver, of which the sentences below are extracts:

"'Then we can start with the leybern.' Leybern - livers. Lukshn mit leybern: chicken livers with noodles. I am here to learn this, and next Friday, something else. For my husband, and for our children.

I remember my first taste of this dish. Just home from the hospital with Miriam's first grandchild, I found her in my kitchen, warming her pot on my stove and insisting I come to the table. The richness, the oil, the iron, the cholesterol, the onion, the salt overtook my body like an intravenous drug. Miriam beamed. "It's good," she stated. There had never been a dish like this one.

Many women of Miriam's generation and background have moved toward broiled fish or chicken. But Miriam stays with her chopping bowl, soup pot, and frying pan, with the old labor-intensive recipes, the rich and salty ways.

Can I use less oil, I wonder?"

Elizabeth Ehrich, Miriam's Kitchen, p.41-47

Miriam's recipe, which is the one that I made for dinner, is below. My comments are in italics.

Lukshn Mit Leybern. Serves 4.

1 lb chicken livers (I used top quality beef livers, because my butcher didn't have chicken)

1 large onion, diced (I'm tempted to use two next time)

Black pepper

1/4 cup vegetable oil

3/4 Tbs flour

3/4 Tbs sugar (I eliminated this, as unlike Polish Jews I don't fancy sugar in my mains)

1/4 tsp salt

Egg noodles, medium width (I used 1/2lb, could go with less).

Hot Water

Parsley, chopped, for color.

Clean livers. Slice into generous bite-size pieces. Broil gently until done, then drain on toweling to remove all blood (remember, this is a Kosher recipe).

Place onion in medium saucepan and sprinkle [generously] with black pepper. Cook on low heat until onion pieces sweat. [Or until you're so hungry you can't stand it any more.]

Add the oil to cover bottom of pan and onion. Mix. Saute until just golden. Stor in livers. Cook for a few minutes over low heat. Add the flour and sugar and mix together. Cover with hot water and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes over low flame. Add salt to taste. Simmer for a few more minutes. Serve hot on cooked noodles, sprinkle with parsely.

The broth tastes like that from a 6 hour long beef stew - the kind where you make your own beef broth from scratch with bones in order to enrich the broth with marrow. The richness of it all makes it kind of taste like Stroganoff... even though there's clearly no cream in it. I'm half tempted to add just a half teaspoon of mustard to emphasize the similarity. This isn't necessarily Liver at its most shocking - that would be seared, minimalist. But it's simple, honest. Rooted in another era.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to settle down with my bowl full of days gone by and my glass of wine, and enjoy.

This meal brought to you by Forward Momentum

I guess I was remiss when last when writing about the Great Tapas Dinner. I didn't even mention the amount of prep work that went into it. Don't worry, I won't wax poetical about the last minute stress of hosting a dinner party. I'm sure we've all been there before. The fact that this gathering involved me planning to single-handedly put together 21 different dishes, well... that just illustrates how I have way too much fun for my own good.

To quote a militaristic literary idol of mine, no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. Just so in this case. I plotted out the menu way in advance (which just means I didn't say: "Oh, this looks interesting; let's make this tonight!"). Having no real idea where to start, I simply paged through the The Book of Tapas, noting which recipes looked tasty or interesting (or just bizarre and intriguing). Unfortunately, this gave me a list with roughly 50 items on it. After several cuts, and one dessert addition from Rick Bayless' website, I had the expected 21.

You would think that would be sufficient planning. But no! Then I had to figure out if it was even possible to make those dishes: many called for seasonal ingredients that aren't always easy to find in a Midwestern Autumn. Which brings me to the first great obstacle: grocery shopping. (Here I must apologize, because I said I wouldn't wax poetical. The shopping deserves an exception.) My memory is hazy (stress-induced delirium?), but I believe I had to make four distinct trips to the store. The first was to determine if all the ingredients could be had, and if not, what I could use instead. That was a success.

The second and third trips, as the actual 'buy stuff' excursions, were not. You see, I don't have a vehicle -- which is usually fine, because I live within walking distance of two grocery stores. However there is a limit to how much a person can carry in one trip. This was made even more difficult because two of my roommates promise to help carry bags... and then both flaked out on me. I must have been quite a comical sight, carrying all that stuff back by myself. Ok, rant over. Those were trips 2 and 3. Trip 4 was the last minute shoot-where-is-the-x-oh-damn-quick-go-get-it-now trip.

And that was all before the day of the event. During the week preceding the dinner, I pretty much spent every night reviewing the recipes (to ensure I'd be able to construct them with a minimum of difficulty), sometimes almost falling asleep on the cookbook. It was actually pretty funny. By the end of the week, I was virtually dreaming of tapas. I was definitely reverting to Spanish whenever I started talking to anyone. Aaawkward.

And by the end of it, I didn't even get to serve everything! While actually in the kitchen, I had to spontaneously remove 4-5 courses from the meal. The cuts were bourne of a realisation that there was no way my guests were going to be able to eat so much. Hey! In my defense, tapas are supposed to be small!

Anyway, that's enough blabber and ranting from me. Let's get to the interesting stuff: the food! These two dishes fall under the 'curiosities' category. Definitely not something you would serve every day, but an intriguing combination regardless. On the whole, this is the type of food on whose taste you might reflect, but it won't cause any cravings. They fit in well in a large complicated meal, and might work better as a small Amuse-Bouche.

Orange, Fennel, and Onion Salad (Ensalada con Naranja, Hinojo y Cebolla)

• 1lb 5oz fennel, peeled and cut in half lengthwise
• 3 large oranges
• 5 Tbs olive oil
• 2 Tbs lemon juice
• 1 small onion, thinly sliced
• handful of black olives, pitted and sliced
• mint leaves, to garnish (optional)
• salt and pepper

Bring a pan of salted water to a boil. Add the fennel, being back to a boil and cook for 2 minutes, then drain. Peel the oranges, removing any traces of white pith, and thinly slice crosswise, reserving any juices. when the fennel is cool enough to handle, thickly slice it and set aside. To make the dressing, beat the olive oil, lemmon juice and reserved orange juice together in a large bowl with a fork. Season with salt and pepper.

Combine the fennel, oranges, onion and olives in the bowl, gently tossing together. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss gently just before serving. The salad can be garnished with mint leaves, if desired


Hard-boiled Eggs with Smoked Salmon (Huevos duros al Salmón)

• 4 eggs
• 1/2 cup mayonnaise
• 1 generous slice smoked salmon
• salt
• 3,1/2 Tbs bottled salmon row, drained, to garnish

To hard boil the eggs, pour enough water to cover them into a large pan, add 1 tablespoon salt and bring to a boil. Add the eggs carefully and stir gently with a wooden spoon to that then they set the yolks will be in the center. Cook medium-size eggs for 12 minutes. (Add 1 minute for bigger eggs and subtrract 1 minute for smaller eggs.) Drain off the hot water, fill the pan with cold water and leave the eggs until required. When the eggs are cool enough to handle, shell and halve the eggs lengthwise. Cut a thin slice off the base of each egg white half so it stays upright.

Put the mayonnaise and smoked salmon in a blender and blend until well mixed. Season with salt, if necessary, as the salmon might be already salted. To improve the presentation of the eggs, use a pastry bag to pipe the salmon and mayonnaise mixture onto the halved eggs. Garnish with the salmon roe and serve. If no serving immediately, store in the refrigerator until required.

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.

I don't know if this happens to anyone else, but my cooking habits are bizarrely similar to a steam engine. Everything runs smoothly if I'm making things regularly. But if I make too much at once, I run out of steam and can't bear to enter my kitchen for days at a time. Or even worse, if I don't cook anything, the pressure builds up until I'm forced to let it all loose in a massive culinary explosion.

This was the case a few weeks ago. I had been so distracted with the many bureaucratic distractions of day-to-day life that (I'm ashamed to admit) I hadn't used my kitchen for much other than cereal and pasta. This lasted a good long time, and by the end of it, the emergency release valve was going off like there's no tomorrow. The only way to cope was to do something about it that was equally ridiculous.

I made a tapas dinner. It was a dinner for a dozen people that lasted better of 5 hours.

I know. I'm a nutter.

But it was a marvelous experiment, and it finally gave me the opportunity to break in one of my graduation cookbooks (I was given 3 -- my family knows me well): "The Book of Tapas," by Simon and Ines Ortega. I recommend it. The book offers a great variety of hot/cold veggie/meat/fish platters in proportions that will content a small group (giving you the opportunities to make several, if you want them to leave stuffed). The glossy pictures offer some illustration to what you're trying for (which is useful for some of the more creatively-named recipes).

Unfortunately, I can't offer any images of my own. The roommate I tasked with taking a pictures was far more interested in the sangria. It's just as well -- there's no way I could blog about all of it. But since I have been asked to say something about the evening, I suppose I can post some of the better dishes. This will have to come in separate installments, though. I'm not sitting here for all of them.

I guess I'll start with the two dishes that most epitomize tapas in my mind: bacon-wrapped dates and Roquefort-stuffed prunes. They are small -- bite-sized, in this case -- tasty combinations of flavours that you really wouldn't be exposed to otherwise. The feeling you end up with is a rich decadence, though it's unclear as to whether that's due to a cuisine with foreign influence or just because it's a fancy course.


Fried Date and Bacon Pinchos (Pinchos de dátiles y bacon fritos)

• 20 dates
• 20 slices thin rindless bacon
• 2-3 Tbs peanut or groundnut oil // I'm not convinced this is necessary

Slit the dates along the longest sides and carefully remove and discard the puts. Wrap each date in a strip of bacon and secure with a wooden toothpick. Heat the oil in a skillet or frying pan, add the bacon rolls and cook, turning occasionally, for about 10min, until the bacon is cooked through and lightly browned. Drain well and serve immediately.

Prunes with Roquefort, Raisins and Pine Nuts (Ciruelas rellenas de Roquefort, pasas y piñones)

• 3,1/2 oz (100g) Roquefort cheese
• 1 oz pine nuts
• 1/4 cup raisins
• 1 Tbs Malaga wine or sweet sherry
• 4 Tbs light cream
• 12 ready-to-eat prunes ("To use standard prunes, soak them in warm water to rehydrate them")

Crumble the Roquefort into a bowl and mash lightly with a fork. Add the pine nuts, raisins, wine or sherry and cream and mix to a paste. Remove the pits from the prunes and fill the cavities with the Roquefort paste. Close the prunes and secure with a wooden toothpick. Put the prunes on a plate, cover and chill in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours before serving.

Vodka Sauce for my Last First Day of School

Today is the first day of my last semester in graduate school.

Not to be melodramatic or anything. Actually, it's somewhat anti-climactic: it's pouring rain today and my first class isn't till 6pm. It's going to be a pretty crazed semester, with a business school studio, a community development studio, an econ development methods class, a Master's thesis, a job at a research institute, a job at the pro-downtown nonprofit, Do taking his PhD qualifying exams, not to mention extra-curricular commitments. But today, the first day, I can technically sit around in my P.J.s until 6pm.

Given the circumstances, either this blog is going to end up in hibernation again or readers are going to be inundated with "30min or less" dishes. Might as well start now.

Do has been increasingly interested in quality Italian food for a while now -- not Americanized Italian but designed-for-the-Italian-palate dishes. He and DNA have a good Italian friend whom they have both visited in Pisa, and returned much more rotund and waxing poetical about the dishes served by the friend's Italian grandmother. For Christmas, my Mom and grandmother got him two beautiful tomes: Marcella Hazan's first cookbook (think Julia Child for Italian food), and The Silver Spoon (a 1200+ page magnum opus published in Italy for the last 50 years and only recently translated into English. Maybe the Italian equivalent to Joy of Cooking?).

The first dish he tried was Silver Spoon's recipe for Penne in Vodka Sauce. This was last Thursday, a rainy work night. I had had a harrowing day and when Do insisted on taking over the kitchen, all I wanted was something creamy and comforting.

Did you know that parsley is a bitter herb? As in, that whole dipping parsely into salt water at Passover thing and mumbling about the bitter tears of our ancestors is not just for show? As in, cooking with parsley is kind of like using water when baking bread: you really, *really* shouldn't be blazé about proportions? Yeah... This recipe calls for 1 Tablespoon of fresh parsley. For the love of God, do not add the entire bunch of parsley. Do and I have scientifically proven for posterity that the results will be inedible. Think bitter. For my family: think of those daily anti-malarial pills that we used to take, and imagine one of those crushed and mixed into a delicate cream sauce. Yeah. Not so much.

We threw the first batch out and started over. This time, using ONE Tablespoon of parsley.

The second batch was quite impressive. Delicate texture but hearty flavor. Just enough cayenne bite to cut through the cream, and enough chewiness from the thick cubes of ham to lend gravitas to the dish. Vodka sauce is inherently not the most sophisticated pasta sauce out there, but this version takes a simple, comforting dish and turns it into something adult. Something that you're more likely to find in an Italian grandmother's home than in little Italy.

Penne Rigate in Vodka (serves 2 for a light super. We recommend supplementing the penne with a salad, or doubling the recipe)
1/4 cup butter
1 thick slice cooked, cured ham, diced
2 Tbs tomato paste
1 Tbs chopped fresh parsley (no more!)
5 Tbs heavy cream
1/4 cup vodka
3 cups penne rigate
2 tsp cayenne
1 Tbs red pepper

Melt the butter in a pan, add the ham, tomato paste, and parsely, season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10min. Stir in the cream and vodka and cook until the vodka has evaporated. Season to taste with cayenne and red pepper. Cook the penne in a large pan of salted, boiling water until al dente, then drain and tip into a warm serving dish. Pour sauce over the pasta, garnish with a little leftover parsley.

And for Dessert... Lime-Yogurt Mousse

I promise this is the last blog post about the potluck housewarming.

I just had to share this success. Because I almost never make desserts.

Desserts intimidate me. Too often the batter's texture has to be just so, the relative temperature of the ingredients perfect, the cup measurements accurate, and the stars aligned. Yeah... I follow directions well, but not that well. And most dessert recipes are either way too sweet, or way too complicated. And really, you only wanted a small bite anyway, but now you've got this ginormous "serves 8-12" dessert occupying the previously free territories of your fridge. Either you're going to end up throwing half of it out, or any pretentions at weight control have just flown out the window. It's a lose-lose situation.

So I eat dessert at other people's houses. Thankfully, it seems like everyone in the known universe, including my kid brother, are more adept dessert-makers than I. I'm okay with this.

But sometimes, rarely, there is success.

Lime-Yogurt Mousse, people. It takes less than 20 minutes to throw together. It calls for everyday ingredients that I had lying around. It's not too sweet. If you replace the sugar with Agave syrup, it's arguably good for you (get your Calcium, ladies!). But best of all, it's elegant, light, and extremely tasty. Think Key Lime pie meets pillows of clouds, in your mouth.















The recipe supposedly serves 10, but the five of us inhaled all but the very last cupful. This definitely makes our All Time Favorite list.


Lime-Yogurt Mousse (From Food & Wine's May 2007 Issue.)
1 1/2 tsp unflavored gelatin
2 Tbs cold water
6 Tbs fresh Lime Juice
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup plain whole-milk Greek Yogurt
1 cup heavy cream
Optional: Zest from 1 lime, as garnish
Optional, but recommended: a handful of berries, as garnish

In a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over the water and let stand until softened, about 5 minutes.

In a small saucepan, combine the lime juice with 6 tablespoons of the sugar and simmer over moderate heat just until the sugar is dissolved, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the softened gelatin until melted. Transfer the lime gelatin to a medium bowl and let cool slightly. Whisk in the yogurt.

In another bowl, beat the cream with the remaining 2 tablespoons of sugar until softly whipped. Fold the cream into the yogurt mixture and refrigerate until chilled and set, at least 1 hour (i.e. a good time to pause and have dinner -- dessert will be ready when you are). Just before serving, garnish with lime zest and berries.

DNA's Spicy Fried Chickpeas

So I've mentioned our friend DNA several times already. Do and he have been friends since our Chicago days, and they would definitely be inseparable roommates if I weren't around. Actually, they lived together for a month while Do was apartment hunting out here, and were kind of disappointed about ending their nightly House marathons when the car & I finally rolled into California. DNA is the kind of guy who, with literally 30 seconds warning, is willing to drop everything and go wine tasting in Napa , test out new Dim Sum places in SF or Richmond, join us for a theatre performance at Berkeley Rep, attempt to recreate Alinea-style food chemistry in the kitchen (we really should break out photos of that), etc, etc. This may not seem particularly impressive until to you realize that DNA is a science PhD candidate in a work environment where 6.5 work days a week is common if not expected. DNA rocks my world.

And he's game for experimenting with cooking, both being our guinea pig and offering up new creations. Last Saturday, inspired by a recipe he'd seen in a Southwest Airlines magazine, he threw together a spicy fried chickpeas appetizer and brought them to our Supper Club get-together. And there was much rejoicing.

The appetizer is really very simple. Breaded and fried chickpeas, with mucho spice added. Result: addictive, a-typical, and better for you than most other appetizer's out there. The 0riginal recipe is here, but DNA found it extremely bland slash didn't have time to finish, so he dumped a bunch of extra spice in. And you know? It worked.

Spicy Fried Chickpeas (serves 8 as an appetizer)

Olive and canola oil for frying

2 (15-ounce) cans chickpeas, thoroughly drained and rinsed

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons kosher salt

2 Tbs smoked paprika 1-2 Tbs cayenne (or to taste, conceivably much more)

1. Fill a large heavy-bottomed pot fitted with a deep-frying thermometer with 3 inches of oil (1/2 olive, 1/2 canola) and heat to 375°F over medium heat.
2. Meanwhile, dry drained chickpeas thoroughly with paper towels. Combine 2 tablespoons of the flour, the salt, and the paprika in a large bowl and briefly whisk to break up any lumps. Add chickpeas and toss to coat. Line a baking sheet with paper towels and set aside.
3. Working in two batches, fry chickpeas until they stop popping and have turned golden brown, about 3 to 4 minutes per batch. (Be careful: A lot of commotion and steam erupts from the oil when the chickpeas first drop.) Remove with a skimmer or a frying basket to the paper-towel-lined baking sheet.
4. Toss together chickpeas and paprika and cayenne in a bowl and serve immediately.

Craving Greens: Chinese Chicken Salad

As Spuds has already described, the 2009 December holidays were fantastic culinary experiences. The family classics were phenomenal, and the younger generation did its best to translate "until it looks good" into as many written recipes as possible. It was also a real coming-of-age experience to surprise parents and grandparents with the quality of the recipes that we had in our back pockets. The greatest validation came when my Prussian grandmother asked for a copy of my mint pea soup recipe and Do for the soy sauce-wine reduction he'd used over sashimi for a Christmas Eve appetizer. We do okay in the cooking department.

But it sure was hard to put together menus without our recipe notes! Since our blogging had lapsed, we found ourselves straining to remember the details of our 2009 culinary successes. "What was the secret behind that amazing kimchi soup?... oh well, we'll have to scratch that idea." Not to mention that, without the blog, it became a lot more difficult to share recipes with our family.

So here's a recipe y'all should know about: Chinese Chicken Salad. It's pseudo-Asian creation from the November 2009 Food & Wine magazine, designed to satisfy cravings for Chinese flavors while still serving a light, green-centric meal. When D and I got back from the holidays, we were craving greens -- this totally did the trick. It's super flavorful, a nice blend of crunchy and smooth textures, and colorful. For folks on the Perfect Ten diet, you can make the salad Aziz-friendlier by eliminating the sugar, making your own mayonnaise (which takes 5min, really), using Low Sodium Soy Sauce, and generally cutting down on the volume of dressing. Warning: this recipe makes a huge quantity (I had to break out D's massive Le Creuset just to hold everything!).

Oh, and did I mention it takes 20-30min to make, depending on how quick your knife skills are?

Chinese Chicken Salad (serves 8-10)
1/4 mayonnaise (feel free to make your own. It's just 1 egg + olive oil)
1/4 cup unseasoned rice vinegar
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 Tbs sesame oil
1-2 Tbs Tabasco
3 Tbs sugar (can be eliminated if your diet so dictates)
1-2 garlic cloves
One 1" nub of ginger, peeled and grated.
One 2.5lb rotisserie chicken (or smaller), meat shredded
3 scallions thinly sliced
1 bunch of cilantro
1 small napa cabbage
1 head of romaine lettuce
1 cup unsalted roast peanuts, coarsely chopped
1-4 celery ribs, sliced
2 oranges, peeled and cut into sections.

Thinly slice napa cabbage and romaine into ribbons. Rince, and put into very large bowl. Toss with 2 Tbs vinegar, 1 1/2 tps sugar, and 1 Tbs olive oil. Set aside.
In a large bowl, whisk mayonnaise with vinegar, sugar, soy sauce, sesame oil, Tabasco, ginger, and garlic. Add chicken, scallions, celery, peanuts, and cilantro. Mix to coat. Add the chicken mixture to the napa cabbage mixture. Add the orange wedges. Stir and serve.

30min Thai Chicken Curry

Last weekend Do and I undertook the pruning of our recipe clippings collection. Our stash was pretty typical: ~50 recipes at any one time waiting to be tested, sorted into self explanatory categories like "veggies" or "chicken" or "deserts." It had simply become unwieldy and uninspiring, with clippings for recipes that may have been inspiring two years ago but no longer. So we culled and reorganized... and in the process re-discovered some very exciting dishes, like the 30min Thai curry pictured at right.

If I remember correctly, this recipe was part of an article on weeknight chef-worthy meals, published in the May 2007 issue of Food & Wine (when we were still in college -eep!). The 30minutes is overly optimistic, unless you either a) buy chicken that is very quick to prep (i.e. boneless or pre-cubed), b) recruit your favorite kitchen buddy to help, or c) all of the above. Do thinks that the sauce could stand to be reduced a little further to be a little thicker, but that's a common criticism of his. He's really happiest when everything is stew-like.

And those are really our only criticisms. It's a fast but solidly-flavored south-east Asian curry, using only commonly-available ingredients. As in, you don't have to have access to Bay-area grocery stores or be feeling particularly adventurous to enjoy this -- m... (Do quietly covers Neens mouth before she says something unforgivable). Vegetarians should have no problem substituting a firm tofu for chicken. Oh, and as we discovered, this is one of those dishes that does just fine with less-than-stellar chicken (ours had been cheap to start with and then languished unloved in the freezer for, er, a long time. Tasted great in this recipe). Definitely moving this clipping to the permanent collection.

Spicy Red Curry Chicken (Food & Wine May 2007 issue).

2/3 c unsweetened coconut milk (~half a can)
2 -3 tsp Thai red curry paste (Do: Korean Red Pepper paste is a fine substitute. Siracha Chili paste is not flavorful enough, use it just to add extra spice.)
1 Tbs Asian Fish sauce
3 Tbs vegetable oil, separated
1 1/2 lb skinless boneless chicken thighs and/or breasts, cut into 1/2" strips or 1 1/2" chunks
1/2 lb shitake mushrooms, quartered
1 Tbs grated ginger
2 large garlic cloves, very finely chopped
1/2 cup water
1 cup frozen baby peas
For serving (all optional): rice, peanuts, chopped cilantro, and lime wedges

Do the prep: cut up chicken, clean and chop mushrooms. Start making rice, if you plan to serve the curry over rice.

Shake the can of coconut milk before opening. In a small bowl, whisk the 2/3 cup of coconut milk with the red curry paste and the fish sauce until combined. Set aside.

Heat a large wok or skillet until very hot. Add 2 Tbs vegetable oil and heat until just smoking. Season the chicken with salt and pepper, and add it to the wok in a single layer. Cook over high heat, turning once, until the chicken is browned but not cooked through (~4-5min). Transfer the chicken to a plate and pour off the fat in the wok.

Add the remaining 1 Tbs vegetable oil to the wok. Add shitake caps and stir fry ovr high heat until lightly browned (~5 min). Add ginger and garlic, and saute for 1 min. Return the chicken and any accumulated juices to the wok. Add the red curry mixture and the 1/2 cup water and bring to a boil. Add the frozen peas and simmer until the liquid is slightly reduced and the peas are warm (~2-3min).

To serve: transfer the chicken curry to a serving bowl and garnish with peanuts and cilantro. Serve immediately with rice and lime wedges.

*******
And I couldn't resist: when we were putting together our menus for this upcoming week, the more mischievous of our two cats, Harissa, somehow wedged himself into the empty spot in our cookbook bookshelf. Yeah Reesie, you almost look like Julia Child. Keep working on it.

Quick and Elegant Salmon with Israeli Coucous Salad

Major success on the cooking front last night:

1. Had an unexpectedly delicious dinner
2. Rediscovered an old cookbook
3. Made up a successful dish from scratch
4. All prep took less than 20 min.

Did I say major success?

When we were planning the weekly menu last weekend, I picked up our copy of New Kosher Cuisine. It's a community cookbook that I'd gotten back in D.C. on recommendation from a good friend. It turned out to be too practical for our cooking style back then (though the Challah recipe is still our go-to challah recipe), but our interests and time constraints have changed radically in the past year or so. Like all community cookbooks it can be hit or miss, but I've gotten better at guesstimating what a dish would taste like based on reading the recipe. And oh man, was "Company Fish" a hit.

It's supposed to be a Shabbat dinner meal, when you have company over (hence the title of the dish). I'm not sure that would work for the super observant unless they were also super prompt (the fish needs to go straight from the broiler to the table, meaning your guests must already be home from shul and/or you don't mind using your broiler after sundown), but it's otherwise perfect for inviting guests over on a weeknight. The dish is super quick: since you marinate it ahead of time, it takes literally no more than 10min to have it from the fridge to the table. It's also quite impressive: strong complex flavors infuse all of the fish, and you really can't help but make sure the last drop of sauce is consumed. And the marinade ingredients are all standard (inexpensive) pantry fare -- what's not to like? Added bonus: the flavor of the sauce and the texture of the fish are on showcase here, so it's good for folks who are apprehensive about "fishy" flavors AND you don't need to feel compelled to buy expensive cuts of fish. Fresh fish, and voila.

The other success was the impromptu salad. Again, very simple: it was all ingredients we had in the fridge, and the chopping was the longest part. But it was so full of flavor and the freshness of summer that (don't read this part Mom) we totally started digging into the serving bowl with our forks once we we'd inhaled the servings on our plates. Great showcase for those uber fresh farmer's market veggies.


Israeli Couscous Salad, serves 4 generously

1 cup Israeli Couscous
1 cucumber
1 beautiful heirloom tomato,
4 oz feta
1 small-medium red onion
2 lemons
1/2 cup chopped mint

Toast the israeli coucous in a little bit of oil, stirring regularly. Meanwhile boil water in a kettle. Once the couscous is toasted to your taste, pour ~2 cups boiling water into the pot (slowly, and stand back, it's pretty exciting). Simmer water for ~6min, or until coucous is done. Drain couscous, put into salad bowl.

Mince 1 red onion, chop 1 cucumber, 1 tomato, and 1/2 cup of mint, and all it all to the salad bowl. Crumble 4oz of feta into the bowl. Add the juice of two lemons. Salt and Pepper very generously.


Company Fish (New Kosher Cuisine cookbook), serves 8-10.
Neen: don't bother being too precise with your measurements. And don't be afraid to cut the recipe down -- fish is always best straight out of the oven.

1/3 cup soy or tamari sauce
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
2-4 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbs Dijon
Grated zest of two limes (Neen: or a couple tsp lime juice, if that's what you have)
1/4 cup peanut oil
1/4-1/2 cup scallions, chopped
4 lbs ocean perch or salmon, skin removed.

Combine marinade ingredients in a small bowl. Place fish in a non-aluminum dish and cover with marinade. Refrigerate for 3 to 6 hours.

Preheat broiler. Broil fish 4 to 8 min until brown. Transfer to platter and spoon sauce over fish. Serve immediately.

Taking advantage of Tomatoes

Okay, first off: Psychgrad and R not only got married but also finished graduate school in the past month..!! I leave the foodie blog world for 12 months and it turns upside down! Do and I have felt a definite affinity for Psychgrad and R ever since we found them: they're some of the friendliest blogging folks around (along with co-blogger/MOB Giz) and their food/life/career situations seemed pretty similar to ours up until last month. Mazel Tov, you two.

Second thing: Fun new toy: Delicious.com. So last year, we had no good way of collecting and indexing the foodie blog recipes that struck our interest. We knew what blogs to turn to for certain recommendations (Lisa for Vegetarian Indian, for example), but didn't keep a virtual set of recipe clippings anywhere. No longer: delicious.com was made for people like us: it stores blog recipe links (no retyping the recipe or losing the photos), you create your own tags to organize the recipes, and you can share. So far, we're pleased and recommend it to others who collect blog recipes. And if your bored, our budding clippings collection is available at http://delicious.com/PostCollegiateCooking. Sweet!

Back to food. It turns out that none of our stock recipes really show off local, in season summer produce to its best advantage. Fall, Winter, and Spring we're starting to get a handle on, but we've spent the past 5+ summers moving around for internships or research or jobs. It's hard to devote much attention to culinary exploration when living out of a suitcase in a hostel or while driving all one's worldly posessions across the country. So expect to see a lot of tomato, squash, and fruit recipes this month.

Monday's dinner was a tomato and rice soup from Joyce Goldtein's Sephardic Flavors cookbook. To our initial disapointment, the cookbook focuses only on a small subset of Sephardic recipes, those from the eastern Mediterranean (Greece, Turkey, etc.). This recipe is supposedly an adaption of a Ma'min Jews of Salonika.

The recipe is little more than tomatoes and chicken stock, so we set out to acquire the best tomatoes within driving distance. We went to Berkeley Bowl West for the first time. For those not part of the cult (and only those who do not live within driving distance can choose not to be), Berkeley Bowl is the single best grocery store on the face of the planet. Michael Pollan shops there. People drive from the South Bay to shop there. It's supply of fruit and veggies is shocking: common veggies like tomatoes have 8 varieties on display (including heirlooms of peak ripeness), surrounded by shelf after shelf of exotics like yucca, star fruit, cacti leaves, edible flowers, etc. The dried goods sections are just as amazing, particularly their Asian sections. Seriously, if you ever visit the SF Bay Area, even if just for a weekend, you must visit this grocery store. AND, unlike the rest of us poor souls, you can completely bypass the original downtown Berkeley Bowl with its cramped aisles and overcrowded parking. The new one has ample parking, is located in the industrial part of town near the highway, and is freakin' gi-normous. Look Below:

So we went there to get our heirloom, peak ripeness tomatoes and Do walked out with something like 10 additional pounds of fresh fruit. Anyways, we get back to the apartment, still glowing from our first visit to Berkeley Bowl West, and I set about making the soup... and finish just minutes after Do has finished unpacking our groceries. Now, that says something about how much we bought, but it also says that this is a ridiculously easy and convenient recipe. A trait much appreciated by working grad students.

How did it taste? Refreshing. Like Perfect summer tomatoes, only better. This was no apathetic tomato juice: it had body and slight spicing coming from the chicken stock. The rice and tomato pulp added texture and heartiness. And I thought the lemon wedges were a brilliant addition: zingy, adult, and even slightly exotic to our American palate. I don't think that this recipe will work with anything but the best summer tomatoes, so take advantage and try it now!

Summer Tomato and Rice Soup
2 Tbs Olive Oil
3 lbs very ripe tomatoes, coarsely chopped
3-4 cups chicken stock
1/2 c white rice (add an extra 1/4 if you want an extra hearty soup)
3 Tbs chopped fresh parsley or basil
Lemon wedges

Warm olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add tomatoes and cook, stirring often and smashing them down with a wooden spoon, until they break down completely into a puree (~10min).

Meanwhile, heat chicken stock to a simmer in a soup pot. Add rice and tomatoes to the pot and bring the mixture to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, until rice is tender (~15-20min).

Season with salt and pepper and stir parsley in. Ladle into bowls and pass the lemon wedges at the table.

Norma's Peanut Sauce

When I was in high school, there was a teeny tiny (4"5 or shorter) ancient woman that attended my church. Her name was Norma. She was originally from China, but had married a Swiss gentleman ages ago and followed him back to Geneva, Switzerland. Norma was incredibly enthusiastic and energetic -- she would practically jump up and down with enthusiasm when greeting someone, and her face was enchantingly expressive. I had always found her endearing, but she progressed to "ridiculously cool" status when I learned that, before she retired, she had worked with the big Swiss grocery store chain (Migros -- a less pretentious version of Whole Foods that also sponsored cultural events, etc.) to produce a Chinese cookbook. Then, one Thanksgiving (2002?), Norma brought this dish to the church potluck, and we all fell in love. My Dad wouldn't let her leave until he had the recipe.

It's a very simple peanut sauce that takes 2 minutes to prepare, and requires only pantry staples. Kind of like Fried Rice, it goes great with any and all veggies. Perfect for the middle of the week when you can't be bothered to go to the grocery store. I've had this dish at the Thanksgiving Church potluck, at my 18th birthday party (it feeds masses of people!), at an ex-boyfriend's 21st birthday party (great for college students!), and whenever I'm caught staring at the fridge without inspiration. What with grad classes starting this past Wednesday, there was no way Do and I were going to cook anything elaborate mid-week, let along make it to the grocery store. Norma's peanut sauce it is!

On that note, given our drastic reduction in free time (I'm still dumbfounded at the quantity of reading that my Profs expect! And I thought college loads were bad.), Do and I are starting a new category: "30min or less." Should be pretty self-explanatory. Also, don't expect us to be posting more than a couple times a week. Really.

I haven't seen Norma since, oh, 2005 at least. I hope she's okay. When I was the college, the church emailed all current and past members for ideas for a community cookbook, and I sent them Norma's Peanut Sauce. They really, really liked it.

Here's to you, Norma.

Norma's Peanut Sauce
(enough for 1.5 lbs of pasta)

1 cup peanut butter
3/4 cup light soy sauce
1/2 cup hot bouillon
2 Tbs lemon juice or vinegar
2 Tbs honey or sugar
2 Tbs chopped ginger
2 Tbs chopped garlic
1 Tbs Sesame oil
1 Tbs cornstarch
1/2 tsp chili paste or sambal (or simply cayenne pepper if that's all you've got)

Mix everything in a saucepan and heat for two minutes.

Serving suggestions: Sauté a ton of veggies (corn, bell peppers, broccoli, toasted sesame seeds... I like chinese cabbage) and add to the sauce, and serve over pasta or potatoes.

Panzanella: a Balm for Grad School Phobias

Grad school starts tomorrow. I'm spazzing out.

I wish I could tell why I'm spazzing. It's not the the material, it's not the return to the papers-and-problem sets rhythm of life, and surprisingly it's not concern that Do and I are going to lose our daily dinners routine. I think it's the people. I'm worried about the social networking component, which seems ever so much more important in a Masters program than in college. I'm talking about the semi-professional relationship building, not the making new friends part. Eep! My tummy is churning just thinking about it. Maybe I should crawl back into bed and read sci-fi.

I've been leaning towards comfort food recently. Surprise, surprise.

Panzanella started as a way to use up leftover Sourdough, and ended as summer's equivalent of beef stew (insert your go-to winter comfort food here). This Italian salad is fresh and flavorful and light, yet also satisfyingly filling (because of the bread). It's the perfect summer dish: it uses leftovers, it's fast, requires no heat, it's beautiful, and it's so good that Do had to restrain himself from adding it to our "All Time Favorites" list. (He's worried that we use the term too liberally. I think that we just cook damn fine food on a regular basis).

And it's addictive. Maybe we'll start a new category, a tier 2 All Time Favorites, and label it "Addictive." As in, you can't keep yourself from going back for seconds, and thirds, and fourths....

The flavor is great. You know how satisfying it is to dip your bread in oil&vinegar at an Italian restaurant, while you're waiting for the food to come? Top quality bread, dripping with yumminess but not soggy (Do feels very strongly that soggy = bad). Add the crunch of red onion and the freshness of basil, the lightness of cucumber and a whole lot of perfectly ripe summer tomatoes. It's summer in a bowl.






Panzanella from Gourmet Cookbook
Serves 4-6.

1/2 lb day old crusty sourdough bread (or another thick, dense bread), cut into 3/4" cubes (6 cups)
4 large tomatoes (1 1/4 lb total), cut into 3/4" pieces OR 2 pints of cherry tomatoes, halved
3/4 seedless cucumber, cut into 1/2" pieces.
1/2 cup diced red onion
1/2 extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbs red wine vinegar
1 clove minced garlic
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
2/3 cup thinly sliced fresh basil leaves.

Stir together bread, tomatoes, cucumber, and onion in a serving bowl.
Whisk together oil, vinegar, garlic, salt, and pepper in a small bowl. Add to bread mixture, along with basil, and toss to combine. Let stand at room temperature, stirring occasionally, for 20 min before serving.

Living off of Fried Rice

Do and I got back from vacation last night to our beautiful, FUNCTIONAL FRIDGE. Thank Goodness: that week without it was pretty miserable. Since daily grocery runs à la Parisienne were out of the question (no grocery stores within reasonable walking distance, and Do's schedule was too swamped to drive), we were reduced to cooking out of the pantry (ramen, anyone?) or surviving on take-out. It was pretty impressive how quickly food, in our imaginations, was reduced to fuel. In case this ever happens to you, let me recommend fried rice.


As innumerable other bloggers have pointed out, fried rice is tasty, quick, and a great way to use almost-dead veggies (read: clean out your fridge before vacation). It's more of a technique than a recipe: scramble eggs, remove. Sauté misc. veggies, add leftover rice, add soy sauce and/or oyster sauce, add scrambled eggs. Voilà!

But! Now that we are back from vacation and our fridge works, and I've still got another seven days of freedom left, expect lots of tasties in the near future. Whole Foods had fresh sardines in from Monterey today...

Good Day: Front Stoop Visiting and Recycled Leftovers

Yesterday was a good day. An old friend called while I was making dinner: she was walking someone else's dog and wanted to swing by. A couple of beers later, some homemade tomatillo salsa, and our front stoop was used exactly as it was meant to: for impromptu visiting. Our upstairs neighbor swung by and chatted, we all petted the dog. It felt so... endearingly neighborly. Like out of a fairytale book for urban planners.

The easygoing setting fit right in with the company: B. and I met two summers ago in Ségou, Mali, where we were both doing research for our undergraduate theses. It was a very West African meeting ("Ah, you seem to be a friend of my friend! Can I sleep in your one-room house for the next 7 days?"). B was studying the Tuareg people and how their cultural identity changes as they migrate south from the Timbuktu area; I was studying Jeffrey Sachs' Millennium Village Project (ever heard of the One Campaign?). B. had been in Ségou for a while and spoke Bambara, the local dialect, so I stuck to her like glue and we became quite close. But then the summer ended and we returned to our respective Universities to write the darn theses and finish our senior year. So imagine how cool it was when, almost exactly two years later, on my very first day in Oakland, B. and I bumped into each other at an intersection!

By the time B. and I had caught up on the past two years, we'd polished off our beers and made a serious dent in the tomatillo salsa (hey, talk about a great way to use leftover Enchilada ingredients!). B. took the dog home and I went back to the less endearing activity of turning almost-dead leftovers into dinner.

As this post and this post show, I have a history of being completely inept when it comes to recycling leftovers. It doesn't help that our new fridge was not set to a sufficiently cold setting and our food spoiled faster than normal this past week (the problem is now fixed, but our compost bin is a lot fuller). A potato, three carrots, and some sour cream had survived the initial massacre, but needed to get used pronto. Remarkably, my brain clicked... how about a kugel?

My brain doesn't usually put two and two together and come up with a delicious dinner (definitely more than the sum of its parts). It's just not how I think, even though I've been wanting to try kugel for a while now and have several recipes bookmarked. No, shamefully, kugel occurred to me only because I had just spent the afternoon at San Francisco's Contemporary Jewish Museum. Side note: they have a lovely exhibit on William Steig, the guy who wrote Shrek!, Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, Doctor De Soto, Amos & Boris, and who was a New Yorker cartoonist for 73 years. Does anyone else remember his books from their childhood? I now know that "Shrek" is Yiddish for "Fear."

So, improvised Potato Kugel it was. I've been wanting to make Kugel because, reading ingredient lists, I just couldn't imagine what the final product would taste like. And you know, it wasn't half bad. The texture was a cross between a casserole, mashed potatoes, and an omelet. "A very German texture, very creamy," Do adds. It could have used more mustard, maybe some paprika, and Do felt that it absolutely shouldn't be any sweeter (there go my aspirations for Apple Kugel or sweet kugel. Do other folks serve these as desserts?). But for a first try, with no Ashkenaz cooks or cookbooks in sight, I think we did just fine. In fact, we'd like to share the Kugel at Ben's new bi-weekly I love Baking event. In the mean time, anyone have any tips, stories, or insights on Kugel?

It was a good day.

Potato-Carrot Kugel (serves four as a side)

1 potato, cut into chunks
3 carrots, cut into chunks
1/3 cup milk
2 large eggs
1 cup Parmesan, grated
Half an onion, sliced
3 Tbs sour cream or plain yogurt
2 Tbs mustard (maybe more)

In a medium saucepan cook potatoes and carrots, covered, in boiling water about 12 minutes or until carrots are tender.

In a large mixer bowl, mash potatoes and carrots with a potato masher or an electric mixer on low speed. Gradually beat in the milk till mixture is creamy. Stir in eggs, the 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese, onion, mustard, and sour cream or yogurt. Transfer to a 1-quart casserole.

Bake, uncovered, in a 350F oven for 20 minutes. Sprinkle with leftover Parmesan cheese, and bake for 15 minutes more, or until center is set.

Tomatillo Salsa (makes 3 cups)
1 1/2 lb tomatillos
Half an onion, chopped
1/2 cup cilantro leaves
1 Tbsp fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon sugar
3 Jalapeño peppers, stemmed, chopped
4 tsp ground cumin
Salt and black pepper to taste

Remove papery husks from tomatillos and rinse well. Cut in half and place cut side down on a foil-lined baking sheet. Place under a broiler for about 5-7 minutes to lightly blacken the skin.

Place tomatillos, lime juice, onions, cilantro, Jalapeño peppers, sugar, and cumin in a food processor (or blender) and pulse until all ingredients are chopped and mixed. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cool in refrigerator and serve.