my favorite

This is it.
These last weeks of August leading into the first weeks in September--I could live in this time forever.
 
In New England, the shift always comes in one day. Wednesday, it is summer, and the air is hot, and the fan stays directed at the bed all night. Cooking means watermelon, because who could actually decide to add heat to the world.
Then it's Thursday, and all of the sudden the air moves instead of stands still, and for the first few hours of the day, you've done it. You've worn a sweater. Here, this change is always accompanied by mist that rises from the ground in the morning, and that's what I remember from every late August that I ever got ready to go back to school. Standing in that mist waiting for the school bus to come, cold earlobes, new notebooks.  It still feels the same. And every late summer blends together in a wave of mist and corn and books and tomatoes, and every year at this time, I miss every other year and memories hit me with astounding clarity. It must be in the air, because it always happens.
10 years ago, I think maybe to this very day, I met Joey.
I had seen him before and maybe we'd said a few words to each other, but on this day we stood side by side watching the new freshman nervously make their way through the opening ceremonies of college. We were about to be seniors, and we stood in the back with the amused superiority of those who think they have put in their time.

 Joey critiqued the the freshman girls' fashion as they walked across the stage and the college president took each of their hands in his, one at a time. I laughed, and then we compared schedules (identical), agreed on the benefits of living off campus (neighbors!), and then we walked out into the cool, 5 o'clock air. We have spent nearly every day together since then.

I have finally come to terms with the fact that I love to miss things. I love to miss people who might be far away, and I love to miss other times in my life. It makes me feel more here, and alive, and when I close my eyes and imagine what I miss, I remember again that my imagination is that good, and that all the things I miss can be almost with me if I try hard enough.

My friend Lissa taught me how to use this sense in the kitchen. More than anyone I know, she can close her eyes and know what she misses. In her imagination, she can taste it and smell it and decide that it is exactly what she needs.  Then, she knows what to make for dinner. Just get her started talking about cold blanched greens with scallion dressing on some hot July night.  You'll end up going home and making them yourself.
 
I've been getting more "I'm so uninspired in the kitchen- what do I do?" questions lately.  I think that that feeling too is dependent on the time of year. In this last chance at summer, there is so much to do and eat and see and finish before the kids go back to school and the routine starts again. Around here, we have produce bursting out of every seam.  Some of it is tragically rotting already, but the rest is perfect, and in the absence of time to think and dream and chop and cook the most marvelous dinner, we end up snacking through the day on tiny golden cherry tomatoes and salted cucumber slices and wedges of sinfully juicy peach.

Of course, sometimes dinner actually has to be made, and the goal is some vehicle that can hold the produce that would normally get shoved in the mouth, juice running down the arm. Pasta always works, as does the trusty galette.  Platter salads of any variety will will never get dull, as long as there is a mix of cooked and uncooked vegetables all tossed in a good vinaigrette. But a few weeks ago, Lissa brought a tomato tart to the little lake where we all swim. It was on puff pastry, and the tomatoes were thinly sliced so that they could dry out a bit. There were dallops of goat cheese throughout, and a few different herbs that I'm guessing she had on her counter. It was beautiful, and delicious, and when we oohed and ahhed over it, she said that of course it was easy, and that earlier that day she had started dreaming of it and she knew it was exactly what she wanted to make.


I have a silly habit of sometimes not buying the foods that I know how to make from scratch. I'll think- why buy it? I'll just whip up a batch! And it will be better, and cheaper, and, well, you know the drill. In the case of some foods, like ricotta cheese or granola, this is an entirely logical train of thought. But puff pastry? It took Lissa's tomato tart to convince me to stop saying that I was going to whip up a batch of puff pastry and just buy the damn stuff.  And it turns out that on a night when you don't know what's for dinner, a box of puff pastry in your freezer might just be the secret weapon.

On this particular night, I wanted my tomatoes to keep their juice.  That was what I tasted when I closed my eyes and imagined the taste of my dinner. So I cut the tomatoes thick, and I scattered a little olive oil and parmesan and the herbs that I had on my counter. This tart had a bit of basil and a scatter of my favorite herb right now, summer savory. But the beauty of it all is that it could of been anything on that pastry, and dinner would have been perfect. I know that this is all simple and easy enough that you know it! But I needed a reminder from Lissa, and so I pass it on to you. And if you're not sure what's for dinner, close your eyes and see what you taste. It might be easier than you think.

Vegetable Tart

2 sheets puff pastry, thawed at room temperature for 30-40 minutes
Olive oil
Cheese: parmesan, goat cheese, ricotta, mozzarella, or none at all
Vegetables: sliced tomatoes, sliced and sauteed zucchini, sliced and lightly roasted potatoes, caramelized onions or fennel... (the list goes on!)
Fresh herbs, chopped
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Lay the puff pastry sheets out on baking sheets. Brush a bit of olive oil on each sheet. Top with vegetables, leaving 1 to 2 inches of space around the perimeter of each square of puff pastry.  Then the herbs, the cheese, and the salt and pepper.
Bake for 25 to 35 minutes, or until the crust is golden.

pasta with lemon, sardines and capers

How's the cookie making going over there?   Maybe some candy happening on your counter? Dipping something in chocolate?  Caramel in your hair?
Good.  Good.  I'm glad it's all coming together. And if it's not, it will, it will.  And if it doesn't, it's okay!  We'll all forgive you--we've got enough sweets anyway. Put your feet up and watch an old episode of Buffy or something.  You deserve it.
This is the time for all of that sweet inspiration--the internet is filled with cookies that will amaze and astound you.  There are whole magazines on the news stand right now devoted entirely to the marriage of butter and sugar and flour, and then of course there's that new book I've had on request form the library for a while now.  It is a blogger's responsibility to fill the month of December with giftable and sendable sweet inspiration, and I take that responsibility seriously.
Except that I have some idea about what might really be going on over there.  Maybe you are on top of your holiday baking and gifting, and you've knocked out 400 fleur de sel caramels today.  Or maybe your days have just been filled with all of that stuff that December seems to be filled with--parent teacher conferences and holiday parties and days when it takes really long to get places because no one knows how to drive in the snow.  Whatever you did, I'm guessing it kept you busy, and now it's 5:30, and what the hell is for dinner? 
How about some pastry ends and left over cream cheese frosting?
I wouldn't recommend it.
We need some decent dinner ideas, and we need them fast.
I was talking to my friend Meg last week on the phone.  Life's been a little crazy for her lately, and a little more stressful, and she's been having a bit of a time getting dinner out.  We were talking about those fabulous things that involve ingredients that we almost always have, that are cheap and take 20 minutes and are so delicious that everyone is so excited that it's that night, you know the night you didn't have time to make something else.
You know I'm talking about carbonara.  And I said so to Meg, like well at least there's carbonara, and
said, yeah there's definitely carbonara, and then of course there's pasta with lemon, sardines and capers, which is cheaper and faster and really truly only uses one pot.  And I said, yeah, totally, like I knew just what she was talking about, like I had eaten it a million times.
I was just going with the flow of the conversation.  But afterwards I started thinking, and it kept repeating over in my head...pasta with lemon, sardines and capers.
That's right, PASTA WITH LEMON, SARDINES AND CAPERS.
How come I've never thought of this?

 

For days, I thought about it--it was in the back of my head like a little song, repeating over and over in a rhythm of ease and craving and dinner planning.  Pasta with lemon, sardines and capers, pasta with lemon, sardines, and capers.  And then it was dinner.

PASTA WITH LEMON, SARDINES AND CAPERS!

It's possible that I've lost you with the sardines--I know it can happen.  But if that's the case, let me push a little on this one.  Do you really not like sardines?  Or are you confusing them with anchovies?  Or do you just think you don't like sardines?  This would be a time to look deep inside yourself and  get some answers.

Because I'm offering you a dinner plan here, and it can be ready by six.  I think it's in your best interest to give it a try.  Because I bet you have a jar of capers in your fridge.  And a lemon too.  And maybe, just maybe, there's a tin of sardines in your pantry that your cousin from France left when he was visiting last summer. 

I've always thought of sardines in the context of a sandwich.  When I was a teenager I was handed my first sardine sandwich on white bread with butter and I never looked back. But this?  This takes it to a whole new level.  Besides being so so tasty, sardines are high in omega 3's, low in mercury, and inexpensive to buy.  In this age of dangerous fish eating, it's a good idea to stay small--sardines and anchovies and smelts and those fish that are low on the food chain are your best bet.  And on white bread with butter? Hoo-ray.  And on pasta?  I'm adding an exclamation point.  Hoo-ray!

PASTA WITH LEMON, SARDINES AND CAPERS!

(with thanks to Meg)

1 pound fetuccine, spaghetti, or some other long and skinny pasta

2 tins sardines (about 8 ounces), can be in water or olive oil

juice of one big lemon

1/4 cup capers

olive oil

salt and pepper

optional: 2 tablespoons fresh chopped rosemary

Cook the pasta as usual.  Drain, and toss with sardines, lemon juice, capers, rosemary if you're using it, a few good glugs of olive oil, and a flurrying of salt and pepper.  Taste, and either adjust the seasonings or keep on eating.  Dinner is served.

nori-wrapped salmon

Oh, how we love salmon.
The girls, like little seals, will eat as much salmon as I can throw them. Joey, voraciously opposed to white fish, loves his salmon too.
Salmon is so good for us. It has super oils to help those smart little brains grow, and it is something other than bread, which is a good reason to let Rosie have all the salmon she desires.

But instead I just give her a little. We try only to eat wild salmon, and although I would give an arm and a leg if I could to buy it, I think that those limbs are better off staying with me.
So I look for ways to eat more wild salmon for less money. Canned Salmon does pretty well on a bagel for lunch, and now I don't waste my time doing math at the fish counter. I skip right to the frozen section. There is always frozen wild salmon, and at my store, it is usually on sale. I don't know why, but it's fine with me.

Sometimes, frozen salmon is just not quite as tasty as fresh. I have tried to give it a quick broil with oil and lemon and tamari, but that perfect preparation just doesn't quite do it for the frozen stuff. That is absolutely no reason to give up on it. It only means that we must be more inventive, and that's where it gets fun, right?

My friend Kelly taught me how to cook salmon this way. It was years ago, and I made it so many times, and then I forgot about it. Now, it's back.

There are a few reasons why this is a good way to stretch a little bit of salmon, especially frozen salmon. The portions are small, and in cooking it this way, I can feed the four of us on under a pound of salmon. Frozen salmon tends to be less perfect in appearance, and so by wrapping it in its nori dress, I can remedy that issue. And it soaks in the marinade, and gathers up all the wonderful flavors that you give it. With some rice, a salad, and a little bowl of miso broth, it is dinner, and a lovely one at that. Even better, start at 5:00, and dinner will be out by 5:45, unless you decide to add sake to the mix and then it might take a whole lot longer.


Nori-Wrapped Salmon
serves 4 (lightly)

1 pound wild salmon, skin removed, and cut into 1 1/2 inch strips (if frozen, defrost first)
4 sheets sushi nori
the juice of one medium lemon
2 tablespoons tamari
1 tablespoon miso
1 tablespoon olive oil

Make the marinade: combine the lemon juice, tamari, miso and olive oil until well mixed. Let the salmon soak in the marinade for at least ten minutes but up to 3 hours. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Line a baking dish with parchment paper. Fill a small bowl with water and have it available to you where you will be assembling the nori and salmon. Lay out one sheet of nori, and dip your fingers in the water. Drip the water over the sheet of nori, making it uniformly damp. Place one piece of salmon in the center of the nori and wrap it up like a present, first wrapping the nori around it, then folding the edges under. The wetter the nori, the better it will stay put. Place it on the parchment and repeat with the remaining pieces. Bake for 20 minutes.

Bouchons au Thon

Well, it's been a bit of a week, and I can't say I've quite met the challenge head on. Maybe it's that the garden is picking up, maybe it's the other ninety-three things I've foolishly committed myself too, but I'm feeling a bit weepy. My copy of Molly Wizenberg's book finally arrived at the library (well mine for a few weeks anyway) and one my way home I closed my eyes, opened the book, and pointed, hoping I might find something exciting for dinner. And I did. Although these are, in essence, tuna muffins, don't be turned off, and just continue to call them by their French title. I didn't have any creme fraiche in my fridge (fraiche out! oh, sorry , I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! I won't ever joke again), I used some heavy cream mixed with buttermilk, or I'm sure that sour cream would do in a pinch. I also used cheddar cheese- that's all I had- but I'm posting the original recipe here because I trust that Molly's really got it right.

Bouchons au Thon
from Molly Wizenberg's A Homemade Life

1 6 oz. can of tuna in water (preferably chunk light), drained
3 Tbs tomato paste
1/3 cup creme fraiche
3 large eggs
1 cup finely grated gruyère cheese
Salt
Pepper
2 Tbs finely chopped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley
¼ cup minced onion

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit, and spray 8 wells of a muffin tin with cooking spray.

In a medium bowl, break up the tuna with a fork, smashing it to a rough paste. Add the tomato paste, crème fraîche, eggs, gruyère, a good pinch of salt, Italian parsley, and onion, and mix well. The batter should be relatively smooth.

Spoon the batter evenly into 8 wells of the muffin tin, and bake for 20-25 minutes, until set and golden around the edges. [If you choose to use a 7-inch mold as mentioned above, the baking time will be longer; bake until the batter looks set and does not jiggle.]

Serves 4 as a light meal with side dishes.

A Little Weeknight Meal

As I've mentioned, inspiration's been lacking a little bit lately in my kitchen. I spend some time here and there hunched over cookbooks, or better yet, hunched over a blank piece of paper trying to plan out the week a bit. I sit there, muttering to myself about nothing in particular, and I'll think of something, and I'll whisper "chicken soup with dumplings," and Rosie will drift by in her tutu, and will say, "No Mom, I only like squash soup". And I'll curse quietly, and then I'll say, "swiss chard pie!" and Sadie will yell from across the house, "I won't eat it. I hate feta!" and well, you get the idea. And then I just say screw it, you girls won't starve- I'm just making what I want. Sound familiar? Anyway, here's a nice little dinner for you.


Green Frittata with Beet Salad

For the Frittata:
(serves six)

1 large bunch kale, washed, stemmed, and roughly chopped
9 eggs
5 ounces cream cheese
1 3/4 cups milk
4 T olive oil
1 1/2 T white flour
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup grated parmesan
Freshly ground pepper

Put eggs, cream cheese, milk, flour and salt in the blender. Blend until smooth.
Heat 3 T of the olive oil in a heavy oven proof skillet. Add the kale and a splash of water. Cover and cook until wilty, about two minutes. When cooked, use the other 1 T of olive oil to coat the sides of the pan. Pour the egg mixture over the kale. Cook on low to medium heat without stirring until the egg starts to firm up around the edges.
Sprinkle the parmesan on top.
Set a rack in the center of the oven and set your broiler to low. Cook the frittata in the oven under the broiler for about five minutes, watching carefully. It will puff up, turn golden, and be firm to the touch. This may take a while, depending on your broiler, so really keep an eye on it. When it looks ready, stick a butter knife in it, to make sure that there is no runny egg. Season with freshly ground pepper and cut into wedges after it has cooled a bit.

For the Beets:

1 large bunch of beets
About 2 T olive oil
1 T mustard
1 tsp sherry vinegar
a handful of parsley, chopped fine
salt
pepper

Peel the beets and chop into bite sized chunks. Steam them for 20-25 minutes, or until tender. Let cool to room temp.
Combine olive oil, mustard, sherry vinegar, salt and pepper. Whisk together, adjusting to your own tastes. Toss dressing with beets and parsley.