Hot Salad

When I say hot salad, I don’t mean fancy hot bacon-grease-wilting-fresh-spinach hot salad. I am talking about that salad-feeling you get in the summer when you pile so many ripe, juicy fresh things together that you become full without even noticing. When going to the farmers' market and chopping is as good as cooking dinner. I miss that already. I need salad. Hot salad.

So on a jog, a few weeks ago, my brother and I decided we needed to make hot salad with a warm and cozy, fall slant.

My first attempt, two weeks ago, was a simple beef stew. So ordinary and ho-hum that I didn’t want to burden you with reading about it. This week, however, I went for an oldie-but-goody and made a slightly modified version of a minestrone soup that my mom has been making since I can’t remember.

I spruce it up with freshness and green—some kale and fresh parsley to add the healthy hot-salad feeling that I am jonesing for, post summer. I’ll enjoy this hot salad all week long. You should have some too.

Minestrone
¼ cup olive oil

5 cloves garlic, sliced

2 medium onions, diced

2 cups chopped celery (about 5 stalks)

2 cups chopped carrots (about 4 large carrots)
1 t dried oregano

1 t dried basil

1 t cumin
1 can chopped tomatoes
1 can tomato paste
5 cups water

1 # dried white beans, cooked

2 t kosher salt
2 cups kale, chopped
1 cup parsley, chopped

• Heat the oil in a large, heavy, pot, cook the garlic for a few minutes, and add the onions. 
• Cook until the onions are translucent and add the celery and carrots. Cook for 10 more minutes. 
• Add the oregano, basil, cumin, tomatoes, tomato paste and water, bring to a boil, and simmer on low for about 45 minutes, until carrots are cooked through. 
• Add the cooked beans, salt, kale and parsley and cook until the kale is tender, about 10 minutes. 
• Serve with parmesan cheese and crusty bread.

Momma's Garden

My mom was out of town for a few weeks, so I went to her house last weekend to take care of business. Watered some house plants, deadheaded the geraniums, took out the recycle. Best of all, I got to check in on her garden. It was like my own personal farm box—a random bounty of what was ripe from my momma’s garden.

After a few hours of shuffling around in the sun, here’s what I harvested to bring home:

• A giant shopping bag full of green beans. I pickled most of them with red pepper and garlic, and served the rest alongside trout with sour cream, lemon juice, lemon rind and fresh dill.
• An herb bouquet. Basil, thyme, Italian parsley, and mint to sit on my counter and use at will all week long.
• Zinnias. They’re short stemmed little buggers, so make for a casual arrangement, but the bundle of coral, orange and yellow feels like summer’s last gesture.
• Four stalks of rhubarb. My mom’s not a big fan of rhubarb, so I think she might plant it for the garden drama alone. Those big leaves sure make a show. I chopped the stalks up for one of my all-time favorite tart recipes, and served it to deserving dinner guests on Sunday night. I also ate it for breakfast this morning with coffee. And just had the last piece for an after dinner snack.

Rhubarb Tart

2 cups flour

2 T + 1 cup sugar
1 t vanilla
1 t lemon peel
¼ t salt
1 cup butter, frozen, cut into bits
1 egg
4 cups chopped rhubarb
1 cup crème fraiche
3 egg yolks
2 T honey

• Combine flour, 2 T sugar, vanilla, lemon peel and salt in a food processor.
• Add the butter and egg and pulse until blended and powdery.
• Press the mix into an 11 inch tart pan and chill for 45 minutes or so.
• Toss the rhubarb with a little sugar and let it drain while the crust chills.
• Sprinkle the chilled tart shell with a tablespoon or so of sugar and bake for 15 minutes.
• Fill the tart shell with the drained rhubarb, cover with the remaining sugar, and bake for another 15 minutes.
• Mix the crème fraiche, egg yolks and honey. Pour over the rhubarb and bake for another 15 minutes.
• Serve with unsweetened whipped cream.
• Swoon.

Kale for all Seasons

This weekend was ambiguously seasoned. We were caught with indecision mid-stride—with one foot in summer and the other on its way to fall. There were blueberries and strawberries at the farmer’s market, and the first winter squashes. I ate sliced heirloom tomatoes with salt and olive oil for lunch, and saw my friend off as he went home to make mushroom soup. Coral red and hot pink are giving way to orange and buttery yellow.

It’s that time of year, I guess. I haven’t come to terms with saying goodbye to summer yet, but fall has some nice things to say, and I’m looking forward to it.

So it felt like the right time to make one of my all-time favorite salads that truly is a season-trotter. Because of the hearty kale that grows well in the cold and dark, this salad is the queen of carrying me from the end of summer through to the beginning of winter.

Kale salad with shallots and ricotta salada was first served to me with pork sausage by my dear friend in San Francisco, as a welcome lunch when I flew in from Seattle. Since then, I have made it countless times, across the seasons. I crave it. If I have cooked for you, I have probably made you this salad.

It’s great with sliced radishes and avocados, or alongside any strong dark meat. Perhaps the best thing about it is that it stays tasty days after you dress it. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true.

Tonight I was lucky enough to share it with my amazing friend Shannon. We ate it with boiled egg, Italian plums, and a 2009 Adelsheim Pinot Gris.

Kale with Shallots and Ricotta Salada
1 bunch lacinato kale
1 ½ T minced shallot
2 t champagne vinegar
¾ t kosher salt
Fresh ground pepper
4 oz ricotta salada, grated

• Wash the kale, remove the spines, and chop into 1 inch squares.
• Make the dressing: whisk shallots, olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.
• Toss kale with dressing and ricotta. Serve or store.

Road Trip Math

Five days, four swims, three beds, two ferries, one wedding. And 74 cookies. That’s what I call road trip math.

I just got back from a fresh and summery getaway to Orcas Island. Though I had little doubt, the trip confirmed for me that Gravel Cookies are the best road trip cookies. They are chocolatey, but they don’t melt. Their flavor is sophisticated to match the extravagance and novelty of escape. They are bite-sized and irresistible. So irresistible, in fact, that two of us ate 74 of them in five days.

On Thursday morning, when I was packing my Tupperware full of cookies for the road, I envisioned sharing them with new friends—maybe even bringing some home for lunches. But not one was shared, wasted or saved. We ate them all.

And we still had room for pie.  

Please consider bringing Gravel Cookies on your next road trip.  But be advised, they are hard to resist, and your cookie supply may equal zero before you know it.

A note about the name: Years ago, my mom discovered this recipe in the New York Times Magazine. The original recipe refers to them as Cacao Polenta Cookies and calls for instant polenta. Both my mom and I agree that coarse grind cornmeal is a superior substitute, but it brings with it a rather gravelly texture. They are loud to chew, and leave behind bits of “gravel” in your teeth. Instead of fighting it, I prefer to own their gravelly texture.

Gravel Cookies
Adapted from Cacao Polenta Cookies, New York Times Magazine, March 20, 2005.

1 cup unsalted butter
¾ cup sugar
2 egg yolks
2 cups flour
½ cup coarse grind cornmeal
½ cup toasted, chopped hazelnuts
Pinch of salt
½ cup cacao nibs

• Cream the butter and sugar, then beat in the egg yolks.
• In a separate bowl, mix together flour, cornmeal, hazelnuts and salt.
• Mix the dry ingredients into the butter mixture until combined.
• Stir in the nibs.
• Make two long logs, one inch in diameter, wrap them in plastic, and refrigerate until firm (about 4 hours).
• Slice the dough into 1/3 inch pieces, and arrange them on cookie sheets covered with parchment paper.
• Bake at 350 degrees until slightly golden, about 22 minutes.

Watermelon Swim

Cold skin after a long lake swim has a solid position on my list of favorite things. It’s a reminder of the great swim you just had, it cools you down even after your skin is dry, and it usually means that the weather is nice enough to warrant a jump in the lake.

I've been doing a lot of lake swimming recently.

I had a little party last week and wanted to make a special, non-alcoholic drink. I chose a fresh, watermelon-mint cooler. It was really good, and certainly a crowd pleaser. Its lip-smacking corally-pink color and refreshing flavor made it festive enough to go head-to-head with a nice Sauvignon Blanc—in a wine drinking crowd.

The day after the party, while tidying up, I had a glass of the watermelon juice straight, without the mint syrup. I think it’s even better that way.

Watermelon juice is a bit like lake swimming. It’s refreshing even after you’re done, and its presence means that summer is here. I grew up lake swimming, and I'm pretty sure I will grow old that way. Maybe I'll add watermelon juice to that mix.

Watermelon Mint Cooler (or just plain watermelon juice)

1 mini seedless watermelon (about 16 cups of cubed flesh)
1 bunch of fresh mint
1 cup sugar

• Peel and cube the watermelon, and puree it in batches in a blender. Thin it with about 2 cups water total to ease the blending.
• Strain the puree with a fine sieve. Discard the flesh.
• Chill and enjoy. Or:
• In a small sauce pan, bring 1 cup water and the sugar to a boil until the sugar is dissolved. Add the mint and let it sit for 20 minutes or so until the leaves are wilted and the syrup has taken on the mint flavor.
• Strain and discard the mint.
• In a tall glass with ice, mix the watermelon juice with a tablespoon or two of the mint syrup.

Please note, watermelon juice is WAY better cold.  If you'd like to serve the juice shortly after you make it, refrigerate the watermelons.

I Scream for Cheese

When we were kids, our ice cream maker was two coffee cans, ice and salt. I am not sure how many times we actually did it, but rolling those cans up and down the deck in anticipation of strawberry ice cream pride has certainly stuck with me.

Maybe it’s because I don’t really have coffee cans in my life anymore—or maybe I’m just getting old and lazy—but when I decided to make ice cream this week, instead of digging around for cans I traipsed over to my brother’s and borrowed his electric ice cream maker. Those things are great.

I made a recipe from an old issue of Gourmet (moment of silence) that called for Mahon cheese, but I substituted Manchego. The result was quite good—creamy and rich with a subtle enough cheese flavor to be interesting but not overwhelming. I highly recommend it.

It’s the name that I’m getting hung up on. “Cheese ice cream” just sounds bad. And “Manchego ice cream” is only mildly better. We endearingly called it “cheese cream” for a while, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. Frozen cheese cake is probably the best description of its flavor, but that sounds like something you'd get out of the case at Baskin-Robbins. Still working on a name…

Manchego Ice Cream
Adapted from Gourmet, January 2005

3 cups whole milk
3 eggs
½ cup sugar
Pinch of salt
4 ounces cream cheese
4 ounces Manchego, grated
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

• Bring milk to a boil.



• In a separate bowl, whisk eggs, sugar, and salt. Pour the hot milk into the bowl slowly while whisking.



• Pour the mixture back into the pan, and cook on low heat, stirring, until it reaches 175°F.



• Pour custard through a sieve into a clean bowl, then add cheeses and vanilla, stirring until cheeses are melted.



• Cover and refrigerate until cold, then freeze it in an ice cream maker. Or two coffee cans.

Lavender Destiny

I had been dreaming about the lavender apricot pickles from Poppy since Thursday night, and it was Sunday. There was no shaking them. I walked out of the house thinking, who do I know that has lavender in their yard? It seemed silly to buy lavender because it’s growing everywhere in Seattle right now, and I didn’t feel good about snatching it without permission (though I’ll admit, it did cross my mind.)

I rounded the corner, less than a block from my front door, and there was a man shoving an old lavender plant on to his yard waste bin. I am not much for fate or destiny, but it seemed pretty clear that Sunday was the day to make the apricot pickles. It was my lavender destiny. I tore off a handful (with permission) and headed to the farmers market for apricots.

I am pretty sure that Poppy’s pickles were quick pickles, and I wanted something to last in the cupboard. I also wanted to up the savory quotient a bit, so I added more vinegar and salt than I think they used. I am not going to give you the recipe here because I haven’t tasted them yet. Maybe they're horrible, or totally unlavendary. They’re still pickling, but they've already started looking lovely and making me smile.

I will, however, share my favorite recipe for sweet pickle brine. Most often, I prefer an unsweetened pickle. But some treats—like spicy onions and lavender apricots—call for a sweeter brine like this one.

Sweet Pickle Brine
Adapted from the Pickled Cauliflower recipe in Eugenia Bone’s Well Preserved
4 cups white vinegar
1 cup sugar
3T canning salt
Something special: lavender, red pepper flakes, mustard seeds, garlic…