complete in every detail; perfect

That's how Merriam-Webster Online defines the adjective form of the word consummate, and that's how I would describe the dinner I had on Sunday. (And no, I could not have written about it sooner than Thursday morning. I am a busy lady, and a terrible blogger, and this should come as no surprise to you.) Sunday was roastingly hot, and the temperature took such a toll on me that by about 5 pm I was already shaky and needing food and so, so ready to start cooking. That I was extra-hungry by the time dinner was ready no doubt made it that much more enjoyable.

Which isn't to say it wasn't still an incredible meal. Because it was. As is often the case with me, simple meals can be outrageously, unexpectedly good--perhaps because the straightforward ingredients and preparation don't seem like anything extraordinary, but then something happens when they're combined, and I am blown away by the result. This is how I felt about the grilled tuna with mustard sauce we made on Sunday. The recipe was a variation of the same one I used to make swordfish last month, but I have to say this was far more interesting and delicious than the original. It was the first meal of the year that we cooked on the outdoor grill, an annual event that always excites me because it means summer (my favorite season!) is coming.

Grilled tuna with mustard sauce
Adapted from How to Cook Everything (Wiley, 1998) by Mark Bittman
Makes 4 servings
Time: 45 minutes, plus time to preheat the grill

2 (1-inch thick) tuna steaks totaling 1 1/2 to 2 lbs.
1 Tbsp. plus 1/4 c. olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
3 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1/4 c. minced shallots
2 Tbsp. minced fresh parsley leaves
2 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice

1. Preheat your grill or broiler.

2. Brush fish with the tablespoon olive oil and season on both sides with salt and pepper.

3. Grill fish 3-4 minutes on each side, then check for doneness. Check sooner if you like your tuna still red in the middle (as I do); cook longer if desired.

4. While fish cooks, combine remaining 1/4 c. oil, mustard, shallots, parsley, lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste. Drizzle fish with a bit of the sauce, then pass the rest at the table.

While I worked, I sipped a homemade shandy--half lemonade, half beer--which I had been craving since the temperatures had begun to rise. The beer I used was Sam Adams Cherry Wheat, which is great on its own but also mixes well with lemonade. (It may sound weird, but just try it once and you'll understand why I love this combo.)

We also had simply blanched snow peas and emergency boxed tabbouleh (emergency, because I wanted to make brown rice but didn't have enough in the house; also, because I was tomato-less and therefore so was my tabbouleh) with lots of cucumber and lemon juice. For my perfect dessert, I scooped myself some of this awesome cinnamon ice cream I recently spotted at Wegmans and sprinkled some chocolate chips and a little maple pecan granola on top.

jamaica roundup

Hello, dear reader(s)! I trust that all 1.5 of you have noticed my lack of posting recently. I haven't cooked much in the last week because I was in Jamaica for five days. The trip was relaxing, the Port Antonio area completely gorgeous, the sunshine omnipresent. Perhaps best of all, there were plenty of new foods to try!

A trip to Portland (the parish where Port Antonio is located) wouldn't be complete without sampling jerk, the spicy and flavorful preparation of chicken, pork and other meats that hails from this parish. Although I've eaten jerk-seasoned foods in the states, they don't come close to the real deal. In Jamaica, the meats are seasoned with allspice (aka pimento) and Scotch bonnet peppers, then placed on pimento wood covering a fire and essentially grilled. We sampled jerk at this roadside stand in Boston Bay.


Our first breakfast on the island was a traditional Jamaican dish called ackee and saltfish. The "meat" of the ackee fruit grows inside a pink exterior that opens like a flower and yields three pieces of the fruit, each attached to a large, shiny brown seed that looks like a chocolate-covered cherry. Salt cod is the fish in this dish, which comes served with fried dumplings sometimes called Johnny cakes (second from left) and a fried cassava cake (right). Ours also came with fried plantains (left).


While rafting one afternoon, we stopped at a riverside spot where lunch is served daily. On my plate, you'll see (clockwise from top) rice and peas, another traditional Jamaican dish of red beans, rice and coconut milk; another Johnny cake; breadfruit, which I found delightfully soft, comfortingly bland, but still quite satisfying; cooked bok choy; curry goat (at center); and a salad of lettuce, cabbage, carrots and peppers.

For our dessert at the same spot, we were served sweet-potato pudding (left), which had the consistency of a very dense pumpkin pie filling, and chewy, uber-gingery cookies called coconut drops. In the cup? The best lemonade e-ver! Belinda, the cook, told us she had added lime juice to the mixture.

On the second night, we dined at a casual restaurant where the first food we were served was an otaheiti or Jamaican apple. It was quite petite (you see I photographed it next to my Red Stripe for a sense of scale), pear shaped, with flesh that reminded me of a cross between pears, plums and apples. The flavor was remarkably floral, almost like the scent of roses. Our escort from the tourist board told us this was eaten before the meal to aid in digestion.

One of my favorite food experiences on the trip happened not at a restaurant, but at a small roadside produce stand. After seeing countless signs advertising "ice cold jelly" during our two-hour drive from the airport in Kingston to our hotel in Port Antonio, we asked our escort what the signs were all about. Rather than tell us, he had the driver stop at the next sign for the stuff and told us to all get out so we could try it. The jelly turns out to be the inside of the cavity of a young, green coconut. (The hairy brown things we think of as coconuts are the mature version, smaller than their young counterparts.) In the picture below, the innermost, whitest layer is the jelly.
The owner of the roadside stand, who identified himself to us as Watches, hacked off the tops of a few green coconuts with his machete, then passed a handful of straws to us. After we sipped the delicious coconut water out of the center, Watches cut open the coconuts and demonstrated how to use one half to scoop out the jelly from the other half in ribbony sheets. Its flavor was mild, and the consistency reminded me of scallop sashimi.

Our tour guide then borrowed Watches's machete and cut open a mature coconut to let us sample the flesh. It was quite firm and required extensive chewing, but I was surprised by how much I liked it. The flavor was much less concentrated or coconut-y than what we find here in the states, perhaps because by the time coconuts reach our shelves (or in the dried, shredded or flaked form) the water content is so much less and, therefore, the coconut flavor more intense.

Not pictured, but also consumed: okra, dolphin, wahoo, Ting (a lightly sweet grapefruit soda), and insanely fresh ginger beer. All in all, lots of new flavors and foods!

pea risotto

Easter dinner was an awesome, delicious success. I was determined to make it springy all around and so chose foods that evoke this season in my mind. Lamb seemed an obvious choice, but since I don't cook or eat it often, I let my dad decide how to handle that. He decided that rack of lamb would be fancy and festive enough for such a holiday, and after letting it hang out with some herbes de provence overnight in the fridge, he roasted it in the oven. (It was tasty, but after talking to my favorite cooking friend about her Easter lamb preparation--boned leg of lamb first marinated in yogurt, then roasted with garlic, rosemary and lemon--I was a little disappointed with what we decided. Plus the whole bones-on-my-plate thing wasn't awesome, but I dealt.)

I wanted a gorgeous spring vegetable to be part of the equation, and immediately thought: asparagus! But after hearing my cousin (who would be eating at our house and who has a good foot, and many pounds, on me) proclaim that asparagus is the one food in the world that he absolutely despises, I abandoned that thought. Instead, we made a simple, satisfactory (and super easy to throw together) salad of mixed baby greens, English cucumber and grape tomatoes, all dressed in a basic vinaigrette (balsalmic vinegar, olive oil, Dijon mustard, salt, pepper and minced shallots).

My main contribution to the meal was pea risotto, which I tackled with some trepidation because I had never made it before. The thought of cooking a dish for the first time when I'm feeding other people freaks me out a bit--What if they hate it? What if it all goes horribly wrong?!--and the labor intensity I associate with risotto-making has always given me the impression that the dish is the result of a mysterious, complicated, counterintuitive process. This is the same reason I am daunted by homemade pasta, ice cream, bread and anything that requires a candy thermometer.

I found a Nigella Lawson recipe that looked good, and I asked several trusted cooking friends for input and tips to steer me away from disaster. But other than making WAY too much for a group of eight, it was an utter success. I kept my stock hot, I didn't skimp on butter, I stirred until my arm felt like I would fall off. Everyone was pleased, except for my sister who doesn't like peas (but who was a trooper and sampled it anyways). I asked her ahead of time if she thought she'd like it, and she said it sounded good, but she still couldn't get past the pea-y-ness of it.

Sadly I don't have photo documentation of the meal. Chatting with family + keeping everyone's glass full + synchronizing every part of the meal to be ready at once = I didn't have time to screw around with my camera.

Pea risotto
Adapted from How to Eat by Nigella Lawson (Wiley, 2002)
Time: 40-50 minutes, depending on how slow you are
Serves 2 (I quadrupled it to feed 8 as a side and probably still have half of it left over)

4 Tbsp. (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1 c. frozen young peas, thawed or not
4 c. stock, hot (Nigella says anything light is good, such as chicken, veal or veggie stock)
4 Tbsp. freshly grated Parmesan, plus extra at the table
Freshly ground black pepper
Whole nutmeg
A drop of oil (evidently this is nothing to sniff at; omit, and the butter will burn)
2 shallots or 1 small onion, minced
1 c. arborio or Canaroli rice
1/3 c. white wine or vermouth
Kosher salt and more black pepper to taste
Chopped fresh parsley for garnish

1. Melt 1 Tbsp. butter in a medium saucepan. Add peas and cook, stirring occasionally, about 2 minutes. Remove half the peas and reserve for later.

2. To the peas remaining in the pan, add a ladleful of stock. Cover and cook gently about 5 minutes, until peas are soft. Add 1 Tbsp. Parmesan, another 1 Tbsp. butter, some grinds of black pepper and a grating of nutmeg. Puree all these things together and reserve for later. (Note: I did these first two steps the night before and stored the whole and the pureed peas in the fridge overnight.)

3. Melt 1 Tbsp. butter and the oil in a large saucepan or small-to-medium stockpot. Cook shallots about 4 minutes, then add rice and "stir till every grain glistens with the oniony fat" (direct quote from Nigella; pretty much sums up why I love her; not to be omitted or paraphrased).

4. Add wine and let it bubble away and absorb. If it's not bubbling, raise the heat and cook until it does bubble away and absorb.

5. Add a ladle of hot stock and stir, constantly or nearly constantly, until absorbed. Continue doing this for 10 minutes.

6. Add the whole peas to the rice, and continue with the stock/stir method for another 8 minutes. At this point, check for doneness: the rice should be cooked, just a smidge al dente, and the risotto should be creamy. You may have leftover stock, or you may run out and need to continue with hot water.

7. When risotto is done, add pea puree and beat it well into risotto. Taste, add salt and pepper to taste, then beat in remaining butter and Parmesan. Garnish with parsley, and serve hot with more Parmesan at the table.


Off to make dinner! I'm having . . . leftover risotto.

chickpea stew

Thanks to my newest friend, Julia (no, not Child), I had company in the kitchen on Wednesday! At her genius suggestion, we decided to make dinner together. I was thrilled to have a buddy with whom to cook, and I realized that although it's rare that I make myself a real dinner in the middle of the week, it never takes as much time as I expect and the payoff is more inspired and satisfying than many of the usual low- maintenance suspects. It was easy to choose a recipe that we both liked, since she's a vegetarian and I often eat like one; many of the ingredients were already in one of our kitchens, so the meal was easy on our wallets, too. Bonus: she let me keep the leftovers of everything, because her mom wanted to clear out their kitchen in anticipation of Passover!

Although the recipe is extremely simple, the results were ultra tasty and quite filling. We left the stew to simmer while we nibbled on our salads (beets, zucchini, romaine, gorgonzola--all thanks to Julia!), and there wasn't much liquid left when we checked on it. Not a problem, but it made it a little less stew-y. Also, the original recipe includes russet potatoes, but we nixed them and cooked up some barley instead.

Middle Eastern chickpea stew
Adapted from The Big Book of Vegetarian (Chronicle Books, 2004)
Serves 6
Time: Who knows? We talked and talked and talked, so it took us forever!

1 1/2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 medium red bell pepper, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. ground cumin (the addition of which made Julia murmur, "Mmm! Smells like fajitas!")
1/2 tsp. dried oregano
1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes and their juice
3 Tbsp. chopped fresh cilantro
3 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley
3 Tbsp. tomato paste
2 c. vegetable broth
2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.

1. In a large, nonstick skilled over medium-high heat, warm olive oil. Add onion, bell pepper, garlic, cumin and oregano. Cook, stirring often, until vegetables soften, 5 to 6 minutes.

2. Add tomatoes, cilantro and parsley. Cook, stirring occasionally, until most of liquid has evaporated and mixture has thickened, about 5 minutes.

3. Stir in tomato paste and cook for 1 minute. Add broth and bring to a boil. Add chickpeas, lower heat and simmer until sauce thickens, about 10 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper, and serve hot, preferably with cooked barley or other grain and with pleasant company. ;)

dinner for one, on the fly

Last night, I cooked dinner just for myself. Because I live with my parents, my weekend meals are generally a larger affair because we cook for three. And while I feed myself every day of the week, I don't typically put much effort into my weeknight meals: cereal, leftovers, salad, the ubiquitous peanut butter sandwich. But I like to make weekend meals special, and since my parents were not eating with me last night, I thought it would be a good opportunity to try out something more daring than they're used to. (I was also going to say "something vegetarian" when I realized that we do cook a lot of vegetarian meals together . . . although sometimes, about an hour later, I find my dad rummaging in the kitchen for something to nibble.)

Looking in the refrigerator, I saw the leftover barley pilaf still hanging out, and I wanted to try to use it all before it got funky. There was most of a can of white beans I'd opened for my lunchtime salad also in the fridge, and knowing my tendency to open a can of beans, use about half a cup and forget the rest until a strange odor emanates from the tupperware, I pounced. Burgers, I thought. I'm going to make a bean burger. Remembering that beans and grains, two sources of incomplete proteins, make a complete protein when combined, I thought I'd build a bean-based burger that also contained barley. (If the previous sentence didn't make sense, you can read more about complete proteins here.) I was disappointed that white beans and barley are both pretty sad looking, and I wanted a little more color in the burger, so I threw in some shelled soybeans (which, I found out later, contain a complete protein themselves, so never mind all that nutritional mumbo jumbo from before) and some minced parsley. I didn't season the burgers much more than that, since the pilaf had onions and thyme and would, I hoped, flavor the patty enough. But I did throw in a few pinches of whole wheat flour, because I had a feeling that might prevent the burger from falling apart when I cooked it.

I didn't take notes or measure anything, but these are my guesses:

• 1/3 c. white beans, mashed
• 2 Tbsp. barley pilaf
• 1-2 Tbsp. thawed frozen shelled soybeans
• 2-3 tsp. minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
• a few grinds black pepper
• 2 tsp. whole wheat flour

I rolled all these things together into a ball, flattened into a patty and refrigerated for 20-30 minutes. I had a feeling that refrigeration might help the patty set, to further prevent it from falling apart, but I don't know if it actually did anything. The burger didn't fall apart, though, so that's encouraging.

An almost-too-old sweet potato lurking in a cabinet also called to me, and I knew exactly how I wanted to prepare it. I cut it into rounds, halved the rounds to make little moons and seasoned on both sides: extra-virgin olive oil, smoked paprika and kosher salt. If you're not familiar with smoked paprika, it is a bangin' spice unlike any other--smoky, sorta spicy, definitely awesome--that I bought a couple of years ago for an eggplant and garbanzo stew recipe. I really like it paired with the sweetness of the sweet potatoes. I baked the slices at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for ~45 minutes (I wasn't really timing), flipping and rearranging the slices every 15 minutes.

When the sweet potatoes were close to done-ness, I heated a little extra virgin olive oil in a sautee pan over high heat and seared the burger on both sides, to brown but not burn it. Then I lowered the heat and cooked it a little longer on both sides to heat it through.

The only thing I had to buy for the meal was a green veggie. I went with sugar snap peas, and kept some water simmering in a small saucepan until the burger and sweet potatoes were nearly done. Then I cranked up the heat, dropped in the snap peas and let them play for a minute, then drained.

Overall, everything was awesome. I'm most excited that I experimented with the burger and didn't follow any specific recipe. It was so much more flavorful and interesting (and less fake-tasting) than a manufactured veggie burger, and the success of the experience encourages me to branch out and try different combinations of ingredients.

treats

Yesterday, the pictured beauties came into my possession. The smaller, a jar of wild Maine blueberry jam, was a gift from my mom who was stocking up on her favorite Stonewall Kitchen mustard and added one of my favorites to her order. The larger was a gift to myself: a salad spinner. I confess that I have long been a critic of salad spinners and those who own/use them; it's just seemed so silly to me to have this contraption taking up space in one's kitchen or pantry 95 percent of the time, when it's not being used to . . . dry leafy vegetables? How lazy are we here in America?

I have reformed, and I now know why I was such a harsh critic of said culinary convenience item. I couldn't understand why drying greens was such a big deal, because I was a BSB (Bagged Salad Buyer) and I never had to dry my greens. I just snipped open the plastic package and dumped the contents into my bowl. Bang, boom, dunzo. But the combination of my recession-induced hyper-thriftiness and my growing interest in buying the freshest, most healthful foods available to me has steered me away from the bagged salads and straight to bag-free (and, when affordable, organic) lettuces, spinach, kale and other leafy veggies. Of course, this abandonment of my BSB status has given way to my being a FSGW (Frustrated Salad Greens Washer), and in recent weeks I have spent what feels like an eternity letting lettuces air-dry after washing. When truly pressed for time, or about to gnaw off my own hand, I've tried to speed up the process by rolling them up in a kitchen towel and squeezing, which has the effect of smooshing, bruising and/or tearing the leaves while still failing to rid their surfaces of excess water.

And don't you even get me started on fresh herbs! Don't get me wrong, I love me some basil on my pasta, some cilantro in my salsa, some parsley . . . right outta my hand (don't judge!), but I have such a hard time accepting that in order to enjoy them, I have to remember to wash them multiple hours ahead of time and leaving them sprawled out over the kitchen counters to dry. We don't have enough counter space for such an arrangement while still trying to use the kitchen for, you know, cooking.

Well, I've had enough. I don't want to be a FSGW. I don't want to be a EoSS (Eater of Soggy Salads), either. And I certainly want fresh herbs to continue to be a presence on my plate. So now I am a PSSO (Proud Salad Spinner Owner). And a bona fide dork, for inventing all these preposterous, unpronounceable acronyms.

I'm having salad for lunch today. And maybe tomorrow. And maybe every day after that, too.