When I first joined Team Vegetarian, the summer between middle school and high school, I loved mock meats. Loved them. Couldnt get enough. I should remind you of the time: 1990. There werent a lot of options. Saying "veggie burger" didnt conjure up frozen packages of Boca or Gardenburger, or debates between soy- or gluten-based. Veggie burger meant a package of Fantastic Foods veggie burger spice mix combined with a squealchy package of trembling, aseptically-packed tofu. Youd mix them, squeezing it between your fingers, and then pan-fry it into some semblance of solidity. These burgers werent winning any converts.

But at the summertime folk festivals, with their seitan fajita stands and gluten burger booths, you could find something that reminded you of meat. Something that had a savory toothsomeness, and the protein you craved. I ate them every chance I got. And when these products started making their way into grocery stores, I bought them up. I experimented with veggie meatballs, home-made gluten loaf, "notso" bucco, and the like. But the years passed, and I started care more and more about qualities of food beyond how closely it resembled bacon. The mock meats faded away.

Tempeh piccata is something of a holdover from those days. And yet its so much more. Yes, the tempeh is used as a meat substitute, taking the place of the traditional chicken or veal in this Italian dish. But its not really pretending to be meat, no ill-advised soy sauce or nutritional yeast trying to add some umami. The tempeh tastes like tempeh, but fried to a savory crust, and in a deliciously piquant sauce, sharp with capers and wine, deep with mushrooms. I daresay even meat-eaters might enjoy.


Tempeh Piccata
serves 3-4

This makes a fairly saucy version, perfect served over noodles in a bowl. Any leftovers will thicken somewhat overnight. If you prefer a drier version, use only 1/2 cup broth.

8 oz tempeh, sliced into 1/2 inch fingers
1/3 cup flour
salt and pepper
2 Tbsp olive oil (or half olive oil and half butter)
1/2 lb mushrooms, thinly-sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup white wine
1 cup vegetable broth
3 Tbsp capers
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 bunch spinach, washed and roughly chopped

Heat the oil to a medium heat in a deep skillet. Season the flour with salt and pepper, and dredge the tempeh fingers until theyre well-coated, shaking off excess. Fry in batches until golden-brown, about 5 minutes per side. Remove from the skillet and set aside.

In the same skillet (adding more oil if needed), add the mushrooms, and leave them there until the liquid is released and evaporates (at which point a nice browning should have occurred). stir, and continue to cook until well-browned. Add the garlic, and cook for a few minutes until the garlic is lightly browned. Add the white wine, allow to simmer for a minute, and then add the vegetable broth, and simmer for several more minutes, until reduced and slightly thickened. Return the fried tempeh to the pan, and season with the capers and lemon juice. Add the spinach, and cook a few more minutes, until the greens are wilted and the flavors have blended. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve over pasta.

Theres a certain comfort that comes from the cyclical rhythms of life. Of doing the same things that youve done in years past, the same thing your parents and grandparents have done. Which, in April, means scrubbing out the dust in a fit of spring cleaning. And baking macaroons.

Ive long been a fan of this version, but was seeking a little variety. And I was smitten with these shaved coconut beauties as soon as I saw them. Pretty little piles, all golden and toasty and perfect. These shaved coconut macaroons follow a similar format to the others, soaking up a cooked-in goo of egg whites and sugar, then baking up into golden crisp edges and sweet chewy insides. Admittedly, these are a bit more toothsome than the shredded version. But sometimes its nice to have a cookie with a bit of chew. And it seems a fair price for all that pretty.

And if you want to move on to Passover appetizers (now that weve taken care of dessert), you can find my rundown of options over at NPRs Kitchen Window — if I may recommend, the deviled eggs with horseradish-orange gremolata are a particularly delicious option. Happy Passover! Happy Spring!


Shaved Coconut Macaroons

adapted from Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-in-Your-Mouth Cookies by Alice Medrich
yeilds ~26 cookies, depending on how you size them

The first day, these cookies have crisp edges and tender insides, but gradually become more tender throughout. If youre making them any time in advance, I recommend freezing them to preserve the texture.

4 large egg whites
3 1/2 cups unsweetened dried flaked (not shredded) coconut
3/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
hefty pinch salt

Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

Combine all of the ingredients in a large metal mixing bowl. Set the bowl over a pot of barely simmering water, and stir, scraping from the bottom, until the mixture is very hot to the touch and the egg whites have thickened slightly and turned from translucent to opaque, 5 to 7 minutes. Set the batter aside for 30 minutes to let the coconut absorb more of the goop.

When the cookies have sat for half an hour, preheat the oven to 350° Fahrenheit.

Scoop the batter up into a heaped tablespoon or scoop, making little mounds on your prepared cookie sheets. Bake for about 5 minutes, just until the coconut tips begin to color, then lower the oven temperature to 325° Fahrenheit.

Bake another 10 to 15 minutes, until the cookies are a beautiful cream and gold with deeper brown edges. If the coconut tips are browning too fast, lower the heat to 300° Fahrenheit. Set the pans or just the liners on racks to cool completely before removing the cookies. Eat, or freeze for future consumption. And a drizzle of ganache doesnt hurt.

This past week brought a spate of traveling and holidays and celebrations. I have eaten cookies and latkes and New York pizza; I have finished unconscionable amounts of wedding appetizers and Thanksgiving courses and birthday cake. And now, I am home. I will snuggle my dog in my own comfy bed (farewell, pull-out couches!). I will do my laundry. I will read a book and spend a full 24 hours without making smalltalk with strangers. And I will make vegetable soup.

This soup is my go-to recipe, a sort of homely and humble minestrone-ish hybrid that I make every couple of weeks throughout the winter. Its an easy way to get a good shot of vegetables (whether or not youve had a deficit of same in your recent overindulgent Thanksgivukkah diet), and it freezes beautifully for a grab-and-go lunch on leftover-free days. And beyond a few basics (the building blocks of onions and carrots and tomato, the welcome sweetness of long-cooked cabbage), it is ridiculously adaptable. Ive snuck in kale instead of chard, and a bunch of chopped parsley when I had neither. Ive poured in leftover tomato juice instead of tomato puree, and stirred in handfuls of fresh basil in the summer. Beans have ranged from frozen leftover pigeon peas to quick pressure-cooked navies to none at all. No matter the variation, it tastes just like home.


Go-To Vegetable Soup

yields two full pots

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large or 2 small-medium onions, cut in a small dice
4 cloves garlic, sliced
1 tablespoon paprika
1/2 cup barley
~8 cups vegetable broth (I tend to use homemade freezer stock or Rapunzel bullion these days)
6 carrots, peeled or scrubbed, and sliced into thick coins
3-4 stalks celery, thinly sliced
1 small head cabbage, thinly sliced/shredded
4 cups tomato puree
2 bay leaves
1-2 cups cooked (or par-cooked) beans
1 bunch chard, leaves and stems, washed and chopped (leaves can be roughly chopped, but make sure the stems are sliced thinly, like the celery)
1 handful chopped fresh herbs (dill, parsley, basil, or whatever you have — optional)
salt and pepper

Heat a large soup pot over a medium flame (if you have a mega stockpot you could make this in a single batch, but if not youll need another pot later). Add the onions, along with a pinch of salt, and saute until they become translucent but havent totally collapsed, ~10 minutes (adjust head as needed so that they soften without coloring). Add the garlic and paprika, and cook for another minute or two to soften. Add the barley and vegetable broth. Raise the heat until it reaches a boil, then reduce until its just high enough to simmer. Cook for about half an hour, until the barley is par-cooked (you can use this time to prep the remaining vegetables).

After half an hour, transfer half the mixture into a second soup pot (unless your pot is epically large). Between the two pots, divide the carrots, celery, cabbage, tomato puree, and bay leaves. If the beans are only par-cooked, add them as well (if theyre fully cooked, theyll come later). Add water to cover the mixture by a generous few inches. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce heat until its somewhere between a very gentle boil and a healthy simmer. Cook ~45 minutes, until the carrots are fully softened and the cabbage is mostly translucent and softened. Add the beans (if fully cooked and not yet added) and the chard and fresh herbs. Simmer another 30 minutes, until everything is fully cooked and the flavors have blended. Season to taste, and serve. Soup improves upon standing (and isnt so bad after freezing, either).

There are times, as I mentioned last week, to rage against the shackles of winter. To take yourself on a culinary holiday and cook up something befitting a spicier, sunnier clime. And then there are times to embrace the cold slog. To cook up something roasted or long-simmered, something hearty and comforting. Ideally enriched with a few Eastern European spices and a swath of sour cream, and served over buttery noodlebits.

A few months ago I received a package from a European friend — one who had previously expressed an aversion to spices, no less — with two little parcels of paprika from his recent trip to Hungary. Foreign post and imported foodstuffs? Needless to say it was a thrilling day for me. Ive been spooning the rich, red spice into my everyday cooking here and there, but wanted to find a recipe where it could really shine. So why not go with the dish named for it?

Paprikash (or paprikás, if youre feeling Hungarian) is a simple homey recipe, usually made of chicken stewed in a creamy, paprika-scented sauce. I swapped out mushrooms instead, and a splash of sherry (because I couldnt help it), and put my own slight tweak on that rich red sauce. Egg noodles would make a fine bed to sop it all up, but when I couldnt find any in the pantry, I decided to complete the Hungarian theme with a batch of nokedli. These little dumpling are cousin to spätzle, a simple egg-and-flour dough thats formed into small, sauce-grabbing bits. A spätzle-maker would work well, but I just used a spatula to push the batter through a large-holed cheese grater, and it made for surprisingly quick and easy work. And while this meal isnt the most photogenic, its crazy delicious and satisfying, perfect for fortifying you against a cold winter day.


Mushroom Paprikash with Nokedli

serves ~4

2 tablespoons butter, plus more if/as needed
1 onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, pressed
1 pound mushrooms, sliced (thinly or thickly, as you choose)
splash sherry
2 tablespoons paprika
1 tablespoon flour
1 cup broth
1/2 cup sour cream
salt and pepper
a few tablespoons minced parsley, dill or chives (optional)

Nokedli:
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup water
1 1/2 cups flour
few pats butter for finishing

Melt the butter over a medium heat in a heavy saucepan. Add the onion, and saute until softened and translucent but not colored, ~10 minutes.

While the onion is cooking is a fine time to start your nokedli batter. In a bowl, mix together the eggs, salt and water until combined, then stir in the flour. Mix gently until smooth, though a bit of lump is okay (they may dissolve while the batter rests). Set a lid or towel over the top, then set aside to rest. Put a large pot of salted water to boil, then go back to your mushrooms.

When the onions are done, add the garlic, and cook another minute. Add the mushrooms, and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and the liquid has mostly evaporated, ~7 minutes. Add a splash of sherry, and let it cook off.

If the pan is dry at this time, add another pat of butter. Add the paprika and flour, and stir until theyre coated with the fat and liquid in the pan. Add the broth, pouring it in slowly at first, and cook until the liquid comes to a simmer and thickened (raise the heat as needed if your broth is cold), ~5 minutes. Stir in the sour cream, and turn off the heat. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Now to finish the nokedli! At this point your water should be at a boil, and your batter rested a bit. Grab a large-holed cheese grater or colander, and a spatula.

Hold your grater or colander over the pot of water, and place a blob of batter in it. Using your spatula, wipe the batter over the holes, firmly pressing it through. Little noodly bits of dough will form, and fall into the water below. Working quickly, press the batter through, stopping once or twice to give the pot a stir. The nokedli will float to the top and be done in just a few minutes. Repeat with all the batter. I found the process surprisingly quick and easy, and did it all at once and then dumped the mass in a strainer set in the sink. But if you find it slower going (and dont have the magic cheese grater I seemed to have), you can just scoop the nookedli out with a simmer as you go, and dump into a waiting bowl. Either way, place your cooked nokedli in a bowl, and toss in a few pats of butter to keep them from sticking together (and to make them more delicious).

Serve the nokedli with the paprikash, and top with the chopped fresh herb if desired.

One of the things I loved best about working in a bakery growing up (beyond the buttery samples) was the opportunity to be part of someones little treat. Going to the bakery isnt an errand. Its a sweet indulgence, a small moment that can light up your whole day. You can see it in the customers eyes, and you get to be a part of that. Its not a bad way to make your way in the world.

Last week I attended one of the 0—3 concerts I annually make it to these days, a lovely folk-ish singer with some family ties to the bakery where I worked growing up. And so I came home, with those sweet bakery memories going through my head (along with those sweet songs). And the next day, I baked this cake.

This isnt a recipe from my bakery. But its a lovely little seasonal treat, a way to create that happy bakery moment in your own oven. A cardamom scented cake is topped with thin slices of apple, and a deliciously high ratio of crisp, sugar-crusted topping to tender, buttery crumb. Its got a lot going on in a delicate little package, and served warm from the oven its just about perfect. Sadly I dont get to bring this sort of day-changing taste of happiness to everyone walking down the street anymore. But for myself and a friend, paired with an afternoon cup of tea, it made for a moment as sweet as those memories.


Apple Cardamom Cakelets

adapted from Simones Kitchen

~18 cardamom pods
150 grams (1 1/4 cups) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt, plus an additional pinch for the topping
150 grams (1 1/3 sticks) butter, softened to room temperature
150 grams (2/3 cup) granulated sugar, plus an additional 3 tablespoons for sanding the tops
3 eggs
3 crisp apples, peeled, cored, and thinly sliced

To prepare,  preheat your oven to 350° Fahrenheit. Grease and flour your baking dish(es), and set aside. Bash the cardamom pods and pick out the seeds, then grind to bits with a mortar and pestle. Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt, and set aside.

In a stand mixer or large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. One by one, beat in the eggs. Add the sifted flour mixture and half the cardamom, folding gently until combined (dont overmix).

Spread the batter into your prepared pan(s) — its thick, so an offset spatula or finger is helpful. Take the apple slices, and place on top — you can fan them artfully, or just sort of place them upright like stegosaurus plates and let them slump as they will. Mix the reserved 3 tablespoons sugar with the reserved cardamom, along with a pinch of salt, and generously sprinkle this mixture over the top.

Transfer to the oven immediately, and bake until the exposed cake is starting to turn golden, ~25-35 minutes, depending on cake size and various variables. Serve warm, with tea and friends and music.

As someone who allots about 15 minutes to shower, dress, and get out the door most mornings, its possible I underestimate the importance of physical appearance. We should care about inner beauty, right? Not the creative hairstyles resulting from my shower-then-apply-bike-helmet morning ritual. Similarly, food should be eaten because its delicious, right? Not because its pretty or artfully fussed-over. Right?

Well, kind of. When it comes to food, sure, were after delicious. But aesthetics are actually a kind of delicious, too. A counterpoint of colors, careful placement of items on the plate — all of these can shape your whole experience. Im not talking about 80s-style fussy towers of food, or sauces applied with squeeze bottles in the home kitchen. Im just talking about taking the smallest of moments to highlight something about the food itself, about the ingredients and occasion and wonder of it all. Im talking about this salad.


This combination is classic Ottolenghi, just a few simple ingredients that come together in deliciously unexpected ways. And also: so gorgeous! Eggplant is roasted until butter-soft, then topped with a bright yellow saffron yogurt, fragrant green basil leaves, pine nuts, and pomegranates that provide a punchy little pop of tart flavor (as well as garnet-bright color). Its surprising, perfectly balanced, and easy. And beautiful.

Just as the fiery fall palette of leaves makes you take a deep breath in awe of the seasons, this gorgeous plate of late-fall produce captures a bit of that on a smaller scale. Sure, its just a salad of fall vegetables, a bit of yogurt and nuts. But — as this presentation makes clear — that, in and of itself, can be beautifully amazing.


Roasted Eggplant with Saffron Yogurt

Both the eggplant and saffron yogurt can be prepared in advance, making this a perfect make-ahead dinner party dish. I tripled the amount of eggplants and salad elements and doubled the yogurt, and fed a Rosh Hashanah dinner party of 18 people with a bit of leftovers. You can also substitute a saffron tahini sauce for the yogurt sauce (as we did for one platter) for any dairy-free/vegan guests.

adapted from Ottolenghi: The Cookbook
serves ~4-5, or more as part of a larger spread

2-3 good-sized Italian eggplants, unpeeled
olive oil for brushing
2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
1 handful of pomegranate seeds (maybe 1/3 of a pomegranate, depending upon size)
1 handful of basil leaves

Saffron Yogurt:
1 pinch saffron, infused in a few spoonfuls of hot water for a few minutes
2/3 cup Greek yogurt
1-2 garlic cloves, crushed
juice of 1/2 lemon
3 tablespoons olive oil
salt to taste

To cook the eggplants: Preheat your oven to 425° Farenheit. Cut the eggplants into 1/2-inch thick rounds, brush each side with oil, and place in a single layer on a baking tray (you may need to do this in a few batches). Sprinkle with salt, and bake until they soften and brown on the bottom, ~7-10 minutes. Flip over, sprinkle with salt again, and return to the oven until the second side is browned and the eggplant is butter-soft. Transfer to a container and cool (if you dont use a ton of oil, the eggplant may dry out a wee bit on the edges, but if you transfer them to a covered glass container while still warm, theyll soften up beautifully). Let cool, and, if desired, refrigerate up to three days.

To make the saffron yogurt: Whisk together all ingredients until smooth, and adjust seasonings to taste (I was initially wondering whether olive oil was necessary, but it does a lovely job of rounding out the flavors). This can also be made up to three days in advance.

To assemble the salad: If you made the eggplant in advance, allow to warm to room temperature. Lay the eggplant slices on individual plates (or, ideally, a nice dramatic platter). Drizzle generously with the saffron yogurt, then sprinkle the pine nuts, pomegranate seeds, and basil leaves. Serve.

I basically remember just two things from my middle school home ec class: that sour milk can be substituted if you dont have buttermilk, and over-mixing results in muffins with a tougher crumb and a peaked top. I was reminded of both of these facts when I made these delicious corn muffins.

Please forgive these muffins, all pointy instead of nicely domed on top. Thats entirely my fault, the result of my refusal to heed my own advice. So take it from me: you really should mix until *just* combined. And I mean just. Still see a few lumps of flour in the batter, instead of a homogeneous mixture? Totally okay. Thats what you want, in fact, and youll be rewarded by muffins with tender delicacy.

But even with my heavy hand (heavy wooden spoon?), these muffins were totally delicious. The crumb is tight and moist, sweet with sugar and whole kernels of corn (for the corn-on-corn taste alluded to in the title). Theyre sweet enough for a dessert, especially with a swipe of butter and drizzle of honey, but not so sweet that you cant pair them with a bowl of chili. And with frozen corn, and a substitution of soured milk for buttermilk, they can be easily whipped up at the last minute. And if you happen to have leftovers? Toast them. Amazing.


Corniest Corn Muffins

adapted from Dorie Greenspans Baking: From My Home to Yours

yields 12 muffins

1 cup flour
1 cup cornmeal
6 Tbsp sugar
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
pinch nutmeg
1 cup buttermilk (or soured milk)
3 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
3 Tbsp neutral oil, like corn or canola
1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 cup corn kernals (thaw and dry, if using frozen)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Grease or line 12 muffin cups.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt and nutmeg. Set aside.

In another bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, butter, oil, egg and egg yolk until well combined. Pour this mixture into the dries, folding until just combined but still lumpy. Do not overmix. Fold in the corn kernals, and divide the mixture evenly into the muffin cups. Bake 15-18 minutes, until the tops are beginning to get golden, and a tester comes out clean. Remove from the oven, let rest in the pan for a few minutes, and then turn out onto a rack to cool.

Theres always a thrill of pride when you figure out how to coax some restaurant-only type dish out of your own humble kitchen. And find out how its been within reach all along. Blistered loaves of bread, say, or an airy souffle. Or perfectly seared fish.

I have come a bit of a ways from my always-overcooked-all-the-time method of fish preparation (the secret: pull it from the heat just before you think its done, a method I long heard but only recently followed).  But even though my technique improved, I could never get that perfect treatment I found in restaurants, where the fish is butter-soft and just barely flaking, yet the skin is a beautifully crisped omega-filled chip. What sort of kitchen wizardry are they using?

Turns out its surprisingly user-friendly. All you have to do is get a good piece of fish, glug of oil, and use a ridiculously high heat. I picked up a fillet of steelhead from a local shop, followed the instructions carefully laid out on this blog, paired it with a tangle of salad made from a fennel bulb and dollar bag of arugula, and turned out a meal worthy of any restaurant (and if the blog and my own homes case study are any indication, this restaurant-worthy assessment will be a universal reaction). Who knew that simply turning up the flame (and conquering my fear of fire/oil burns) would yield such an amazing result? Its the sort of kitchen magic that should be trotted out at dinner parties (except for the whole smell-of-hot-oil-and-fish part), but its also the sort of kitchen magic that you should bust out any time you get a good piece of fish. Its the sort of magic thats going into the regular kitchen rotation.


Perfectly Seared Fish with Fennel Arugula Salad

serves 2
inspired by Kenji Lopez-Alt, as prepared by The Amateur Gourmet

Dressing:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon meyer lemon juice, or mild vinegar
dollop honey
salt and pepper
Salad:
2 handfuls arugula
1 small bulb fennel, or 1/2 large bulb fennel, shaved into thin slivers
1 orange, supremed into sections
1 handful olives, pulled into pieces

Fish:
3/4 pound skin-on fish fillets, all pin bones removed, cut into two pieces
2-3 tablespoons high heat oil, such as grapeseed or canola
salt and pepper
olive oil

Take the fish out of the refrigerator, and let sit at room temperature for a few minutes to take the chill off. Mix together the dressing ingredients until combined. Toss the salad with the dressing, and divide onto two plates.

Blot the fish dry with paper towels or brown paper bags, and season each side with salt. Heat a large skillet or two small ones over a high heat. Add the oil, and let get really hot, almost to the point of smoking (handy tip: when the oils hot, if you stick a wooden spoon in it should bubble vigorously around the edges). Add the fish, skin side down, and turn down the heat just slightly. Cook until the skin detaches from the skillet, and the fillet slides around a bit when you shake the pan (~2 minutes). If its a thick fillet, wait another minute past this point, then flip the fillets with a spatula (in order to avoid dramatic fires that can result from hot oil splashes, I pull the pan away from the burner for the few seconds it takes to execute this maneuver). Cook on the other side until the fillets are cooked through, another two minutes or so, depending upon thickness (Lopez-Alt recommends cooking to 120 degree internal temperature, but I just went by sight and then tested them).
Use a spatula to remove from the pan, let the fry oil drain a bit, then plate with the salad. Season with salt and pepper, and drizzle with additional olive oil.

The majesty and impact of some images can be difficult to capture on film (or its digital equivalent). The soul-stirring drama of a sunset, for example. The misty rush of a waterfall. Or, in this case, cilantro soup. This soup, loosely adapted from a Portuguese recipe by the lovely Tea and Cookies, tastes like spring itself. Its kind of unfortunate that the picture looks like a bowl of mulch.

If you cant trust the image, trust me: this soup has a brothy, herbal lightness, but also a depth of flavor from the leeks and hefty dose of garlic. And two secret weapons: a crusty slice of garlic-rubbed toast at the bottom of the bowl, and a poached egg on top. If you, like me, are thinking that a slice of soggy bread doesnt sound like the most awesome idea, I ask you to think again. Its lovely. The original recipe called for white beans, but I opted for a can of the similarly-Iberian garbanzos. Its sort of like the best of garlic bread, soup and salad all in one bowl.


Acorda (Portuguese Cilantro Bread Soup)

adapted from Tea and Cookies, as inspired by San Francisco Magazine

serves 4

2 Tbsp olive oil
3 leeks, washed, dried and chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced, plus 2 whole cloves
8 cups stock (vegetable or chicken)
1 bunch chard, washed, dried and coarsely chopped
1 can garbanzos or white beans, rinsed and drained
~2 cups cilantro, washed, dried and coarsely chopped
4 large or 8 small slices peasant-style crusty bread
salt and pepper
4 eggs

In a large pot, heat the olive oil over a medium flame. Add the leeks and a pinch of salt, and saute until softened. Add the minced garlic, and saute until the garlic is soft but not brown. Add 6 cups of the stock, the chard, and the beans. Bring to a gentle simmer, and cook for a few minutes to soften the chard.

While the soup is simmering, puree the cilantro with the remaining stock in a food processor until its fairly smooth. Pour this into the pot, continue to simmer to blend flavors.

While the soup is on its final simmer, Bring a pot of water to boil to poach the eggs. In the meanwhile, toast the sliced bread until lightly browned. Take the remaining whole garlic cloves and run them over the toasted sides (toasted bread does a remarkably good job of grating the garlic into a fine paste to coat). Place a slice of toasted garlic bread at the bottom of each of 4 bowls.

Poach the eggs in the boiling water (if youre not an experienced poacher (hee), you can find a nice tutorial here). Season the soup to taste, and ladle a serving over each bread-filled bowl. Top with a poached egg and serve.

I am something of a teacher-pleaser. I am also somewhat lazy, which means I was never consistently A+ material. But that desire to meet expectations, to be thought of as a pleasure (and not, as those of us with questionable parenting occasionally fear, a burden) runs deep. And this compulsion extends to surprising places. Such as, on a recent Tuesday, doggie daycare.

Now, I am wholly convinced of the virtues of my dog, and the appeal of his gentle nature and all-around positive attitude (not a family trait). But I figure it doesnt hurt to stack the deck. And so, when I drop him off to spend a few hours at doggie daycare, Im not above throwing in a little sugar to help make him the teachers pet. Like these orange pistachio muffins.

I am normally a hard sell on the sweet breakfast, preferring the protein hit of the humble egg. But these muffins are perfect — a light and lovely mix of rich green pistachios and punchy orange zest, tender and sweet without veering into cupcake territory. While I do love to start the day with an apple (Ive been obsessed with the Pink Lady recently), Id argue that these make an even better gift for the teacher. Gold star!


Orange Pistachio Muffins 

yields 10 muffins (you can portion the batter to make an even dozen, but I favor a nearly-overflowing muffin, as whats the fun of a muffin without a nice muffintop?)

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 stick butter, melted and slightly cooled (if you fancy, brown the butter in a small saucepan, melting it until it takes on a toasty color, for an even more delicious depth of flavor)
2/3 cup sugar, plus additional for topping
1 egg
3/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup orange juice
zest from 1 orange
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon orange blossom or rosewater (optional)
1/2 heaping cup chopped pistachios, plus additional for topping

Preheat your oven to 375° Fahrenheit. Grease 10 muffin cups, and set aside.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, mix together the melted butter, sugar, egg, sour cream, orange juice and zest, and extract(s) until well combined. Add the wet ingredients to the dries, give a turn or two, then sprinkle in the pistachios. Mix until just barely combined (better to under- than over-mix).

Quickly divide the mixture into muffin cups, coming just a bit below the lip of the cup. Sprinkle a dusting of sugar over the batter (you should need just a few spoonfuls for the whole tray), and then top with a sprinkling of pistachios. Bake until lightly golden and a tester comes out clean, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly, then pop out of the muffin tin, wrap in a clean tea towel, and present to your teacher (or anyone else you desire).

When it comes to food allergies, there are some real rough ones out there. People so sensitive to cross-contamination that they can never eat at restaurants, or passengers who can scarcely breathe the air on planes serving in-flight peanuts. Compared to them, my sister has it pretty easy. All she has to avoid is sesame seeds. Beyond a proper tahini-laden falafel and the occasional bun or bagel, theres not much she misses. But these days, I feel a bit sorry for her. Because she cant eat these sesame-ginger rice krispie treats.

This recipe comes from the mad geniuses at Momofuku Milk Bar (via Gilt Taste), and for the most part follows the standard 1920s formula. Youve got the usual sticky-sweet goo of melted marshmallows and a bit of butter, used to pull together a pile of rice cereal into something far more delicious than the sum of its parts. But heres the simple addition that takes it up several notches: toasted sesame seeds and fresh ginger juice. Thats it, but it feels like so much more. The seeds give a nutty depth, and the ginger juice gives a shot of spicy-hot flavor. Together they cut through the sweetness a bit, keeping things from getting too cloying, but still keeping it firmly in the realm of a sweetly addictive dessert. Its comfort food gone elegant, and unless your allergy restrictions require otherwise, I strongly recommend giving it a go.


Sesame-Ginger Rice Krispie Treats

adapted, but hardly, from Helen Jo at Momofuku Milk Bar, via Gilt Taste
yields ~50 (the original recipe made twice this amount, which I think would lead to some very poor choices, so I halved it)

1 Tbsp white sesame seeds
1 Tbsp black sesame seeds (if you cant find them, feel free to use all white sesame seeds)
1 1/2 Tbsp butter
1/2 Tbsp ginger juice (I like to grate the ginger and then squeeze the juice out with a garlic press)
pinch salt
2 cups miniature marshmallows (I used vegan marshmallows, which took a while to melt but worked fine in the end)
3 cups Rice Krispies (or its hippie equivalent)

Butter an 8" square pan and set aside. Heat a large pot over a medium-low heat, and dry-toast the sesame seeds, moving them around so they toast evenly, until the white ones have darkened slightly (~4-5 minutes). Transfer to a small dish.

Add the butter, ginger juice, salt and marshmallows to the pot. Cook, stirring, until the marshmallows are totally melted. Remove from heat, then add the Rice Krispies and sesame seeds, stirring well until the mixture is well-combined. Turn the mixture out into the buttered pan, pressing firmly to compress it evenly. When it cools, turn it out and cut into bite-sized pieces (seriously, go for bite-sized -- these pack a wallop).

Sometimes cooking inspiration is easy to come by. If you have a well-stocked refrigerator and a well-developed cookbook collection (or blog-reading habit), sometimes a recipe ex machina seems to beam down like a shaft of divine light. Leftover potatoes, newly-harvested garlic scapes, nuts and cheese combine to become my new favorite pizza. Or baby lettuces, fresh cilantro, barely-blanched asparagus, feta, radishes and lemon zest turn into an essence-of-spring salad that Im still kicking myself for not photographing.

And then there are the other evenings. The fridge is empty, the pantry is uninspiring, and you have neither the time nor the will to go to the market. These are times when I cant remember what it is that I know how to cook anyway, and will literally thumb through the recipe index of my very own blog to remind me. Its a bit ridiculous. But it does happen, more often than Id like to admit. And so, for times like these, I add another Iron Pantry Chef recipe to the list: Senegalese red rice.

My experience with African food has primarily been limited to regular meals at a local Ethopian restaurant. But last year I checked out The Soul of a New Cuisine, by the Ethopian-born, Swedish-raised Marcus Samuelsson. The recipes are intriguing yet approachable, and are a lovely introduction to African flavors. But for all of the exotic menus in the cookbook, this humble red rice became my favorite dish. In some ways its similar to a Mexican red rice, consisting of a simple starch, tomato, chili, and fresh cilantro. But its somehow much more. Its unabashedly soupy, creating more of a stick-to-your ribs risotto-type dish than a fluffy pilaf. The dried shrimp (if you use them) give a nice briny note, but its equally nice without them. With the exception of cilantro (which required a trip to the front yard for a quick garden harvest), all of the ingredients were in my house last night. Who knew I had the makings for an African meal in my theres-nothing-to-cook pantry? And I dont know if I need to even say this, but the leftovers, when topped with a fried egg, make a fabulous breakfast.

Senegalese Red Rice

adapted from Marcus Samuelssons The Soul of a New Cuisine: A Discovery of the Food and Flavors of Africa

yields 3-4 servings

2 Tbsp canola or peanut oil
1 smallish red onion, diced
1 jalapeno, finely diced (you can omit if you dont like it spicy)
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp chili powder
2 tsp shrimp powder (Ive substituted 1 Tbsp asian dried shrimp, soaked and chopped, but have also omitted entirely for an equally nice dish -- I also imagine crumbled nori or other seaweed might make a good vegan substitution)
1 cup chopped tomatoes, canned or fresh
1 cup short-grain white rice
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 sprigs thyme (or 1/2 tsp dried thyme leaves)
1 cup tomato juice
2 cups water
1/2 bunch cilantro, coarsely chopped

Heat the oil in a large pot over a medium flame. Add the onion and cook until translucent, ~5-7 minutes. Add the jalapeno, garlic and chili powder, and cook another minute. Add the shrimp powder (if using) and tomatoes, and stirring occasionally, until the oil separates out from the sautee (~10 minutes).

When the oil has separated out, add the rice and stir to coat. Add the salt, thyme, tomato juice and water, and raise the heat to bring to a boil. When the mixture is boiling, reduce heat until its just high enough to maintain a simmer, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, check to see that the rice is al dente, just shy of being done. Turn off the flame, stir in the cilantro, and let sit, covered another 1o minutes for the rice to finish absorbing the liquid (it will still be a somewhat moist dish). Serve.

Ive never been one to buy a lot of cookbooks. While I love to pore over the pages for inspiration, or drool over the glossy pictures, I have trouble making a purchase. Sometimes Ill talk myself out of it, figuring that although the pictures draw me in, realistically Ill only end up making one or two of the recipes. But even with cookbooks I love, cookbooks that make me daydream about the author becoming my best friend and inviting me to dinner parties, the books stay on the bookstore shelves. Because if I start with buying one cookbook, where and how will I stop? So I stick to the library.

The Slow Mediterranean Kitchen, an amazing cookbook by Paula Wolfert, trumped my cookbook-purchasing hesitation with just one recipe. I checked her book out of the library, made the Herb Jam with Olives and Lemons, and walked over to the bookstore and bought my own copy. Ive since made another half dozen of the recipes, and theyve all been wonderful.

I cant pretend that this herb jam isnt a good bit of work. While some of the entries in this cookbook earn their "slow" designation because of a long simmer, or a few hours in a cool oven, this one is slow because it takes a lot of labor. Youve got to clean and stem a whole mess of herbs and greens, steam them until they soften and shrink disappointingly, chop them up, and then saute them with olive oil and a few spices until they become a smooth paste. But the results are like nothing Ive ever tasted.

Wolfert adapted this spread from a traditional Moroccan recipe, in which local greens and herbs are cooked over charcoal embers. The jam has a "green" flavor, but its also got a surprising depth from the cooking method and smoked paprika (which replicates the traditional charcoal smokiness). The herbs soften and mellow, adding flavor without their customary sharpness. The original recipe calls for adding some oil-cured olives, but the complex flavor of the greens is so lovely that you dont need the distraction.


Moroccan Herb Jam
adapted from Herb Jam with Lemons and Olives, Paula Wolfert, The Slow Mediterranean Kitchen
makes about 1 cup (I often make a double batch)

In addition to being delicious as written below, this recipe can easily accommodate other additions. Ive replaced the celery leaves with some Asian celery greens, swapped out chard for spinach, and added the celery-sharp lovage leaves that grow like weeds here in the Northwest. All make for delicious herb jam.

4 large garlic cloves, halved
1 lb spinach leaves, stemmed (or baby spinach, or chard)
1 large bunch flat-leaf parsley, stemmed
1/2 bunch cilantro, stemmed (~1/2 cup)
1/2 cup celery leaves, or lovage
1/4 cup olive oil
1 1/2 tsp smoked Spanish paprika (Pimenton de la Vera)
1 pinch cayenne (if using sweet Pimenton, omit if using hot)
1 pinch cumin
1 Tbsp lemon juice, or more to taste
salt

Set a steamer basket above simmering water. Place the greens and garlic, and steam until tender (about 10 minutes -- you may need to do this in batches). Set the garlic cloves aside. Press the greens into a strainer to wring out the excess water, and finely chop.

Set a heavy skillet over a medium flame, and heat 1 Tbsp of the olive oil. Press the garlic cloves into the oil, and add the Pimenton, cayenne, and cumin. Stir until sizzling and fragrant (it should take less than a minute). Add the greens and cook, stirring occasionally and mashing a bit with a wooden spoon, until they have begun to break down and become somewhat dry, smooth mixture (~20 minutes). The color will darken a bit.

Remove from heat and let cool. Stir in the remaining oil, making a smooth spread, and season with salt and lemon juice to taste. Serve with flatbread, crackers, or sliced crusty loaves. The flavor improves if you make it a day ahead of time (stir in the lemon juice the day youre serving), but I seldom want to wait.

A few years ago, I spent Thanksgiving with some friends in a little rented cabin, where we opened (for reasons too ridiculous to go into) a $100 bottle of wine. Nobody at the table had ever drunk that much money before, so we made some jokes, took some deep breaths, and sipped. After a pause, everyone looked around the table, sighed deeply, and let loose with a "holy shit." Well, everyone except me.

While my friends were gasping over how amazing it was, and lamenting that it would make it that much harder for them to enjoy the cheap stuff, I was just sitting there saying yeah its good, or well sure it tastes different from other wines, but doesnt every bottle of wine taste different from every other bottle of wine? and other such statements that caused people with discerning palates to roll their eyes.

As much as it should be a point of shame in my culinary identity, Im totally fine being a cheap date when it comes to certain things. While I dont doubt that some can appreciate the difference, I figure there are some foods where the line between gourmet and grocery store wasnt all that significant. I mean, once you leave the chemical stuff behind and go for real salt, can you really appreciate the trace minerals in salt harvested in one sea versus another? Or does ricotta, the blandest of cheeses, really taste all that much better when it comes fresh-packed in a $10 artisanal bucket instead of an industrial $4 plastic tub? Well for the last one, it turns out it the answer is yes. A lot. Who knew?

Fancy ricotta is not an everyday purchase for me. But for a salad with just a few simple ingredients, I figured Id seek out the quality stuff. Our local natural store had stopped carrying it, but in a spectacular feat of customer service, they not only allowed me to taste spoonfuls of the two brands of ricotta on the shelf, but then (when the staff person told me that those flavors didnt compare), called their supplier to make an extra stop on their afternoon run and drop off a special case of the best stuff (in related news, I now have lovedreams about New Seasons market). I picked up a tub after the special delivery that night, and made this salad. And its amazing (and, as an added bonus, the leftover fancy ricotta made for a stellar baked ziti).

I am in awe of the person who thought up this inspired combination. Creamy, cold cheese, smoky kale, and punchy plums, tied together with a thyme-scented vinaigrette. Even setting the kale on fire a few times (I have grilling issues) did nothing to diminish the impact. Altogether, its like nothing else Ive ever tasted. I imagine regular ricotta would be alright in this salad, but the milky-fresh, sweet-tasting version makes it just amazing, and its sure to go on my list of summertime scene-stealers.


Grilled Kale Salad with Ricotta and Plums

adapted from Bon Appetit
serves 4-6

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided