Welcome back! (I know, that's your line.)
So: My new illustrated story, "Mirror, Mirror on the Floor, or The Evolution of the Feminine," which I spent the last two months creating for the BJE show (bjesf.org, ask me about it sometime) is now up at the Jewish Library. And no, you don't have to be Jewish to go and see it. You do have to be in San Francisco, though. But hey, it's everybody's favorite city, right?
What? Food, you say? Oh, honey, do I have recipes for you. Let's start with "Hickory Dickory Chicory," from here:
http://cookwithlaynie.blogspot.com/2010/06/identical-cousins-or-that-reminds-me-in.html
You know, I have really been missing that salad and trying to think of what to use until cherries come back into season.
Yeah, sure, dried cherries, but no. They just weren't right for this.
I kept asking people, "So what do you think would be a good substitute for fresh cherries in a salad?" and they kept looking at me funny.
Then one day I thought, "Turkish apricots!"
Now, I often think of Turkish apricots. But this time it was because of their luscious texture, which seemed closer to a fresh cherry than a dried cherry would be (families are like that) and a sweetness that's not over-the-top and might provide a nice balance to the slight bitterness of the radicchio.
And the verdict? They were just fine. In fact, better than fine.
So here, for our dining pleasure, is the tail-end-of-winter version.
Hickory Dickory Save-That-Daylight Chicory:
For the salad:
1 head radicchio di Chioggia (the roundish red one)
Healthy handful (say 1/4 lb. or so) dried Turkish apricots
For the dressing:
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon canola oil
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon toasted walnut oil
1 tablespoon port vinegar (I love O vinegar for this)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Tiny pinch of salt
Cut off the very bottom of the radicchio, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.
Chop the apricots into half-inch pieces, then gently pull those pieces open so the fleshy part of the apricot soaks up the vinaigrette. Be sure to eat a couple of pieces as you go, in the interest of science.
Whisk the oils, vinegar, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Add salt as needed. Now add the radicchio and toss; add the apricots, toss again, and serve.
And yes, I think extra daylight is a fine idea. I am past the days of thinking, "Maybe I won't switch," which is a great approach until you realize the rest of the world will view you not as brave and independent, but simply late.
©2011, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Showing posts with label radicchio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label radicchio. Show all posts
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me (Part Two)
Part Two: Don't I Know You From Somewhere?
When I tasted Vesta Flatbread's melt-in-your-mouth lamb sandwich the other night at Porchlight's "Kitchen Confidential" (where I also got to meet one of my heroes, Nikki Silva of the Kitchen Sisters), I immediately thought of my favorite lamb tagine.
Lamb Tagine with Fennel:
(from Hilaire Walden's North African Cooking)
2-1/2 lb. lean shoulder of lamb, cut into 1-1/2 inch cubes
1 onion, grated
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
Pinch crushed saffron threads
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
1 cup water
3 fennel bulbs, thickly sliced
2 tablespoons lemon juice
Salt
1 preserved lemon in salt, quartered, rinsed*
1/2 cup kalamata olives
Mix the lamb, onion, garlic, cilantro, and spices together in a heavy, flameproof casserole. Pour the water over the lamb and herbs, bring to a simmer, then cover and cook gently for about 1-1/4 hours until the lamb is almost tender.
Add the fennel, lemon juice, and salt, cover and cook for another 20 minutes or so, until the lamb and fennel are tender. Transfer the lamb and fennel to a warm serving dish. Scatter the preserved lemon and olives over the lamb, cover and keep warm.
If necessary, boil the cooking juice to reduce and thicken it, then pour it over the lamb and fennel and serve.
And go straight to heaven. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
Well, it turns out the reason the sandwich put me in mind of the tagine was that it contained lamb, fennel, and kalamata olives.
And speaking of olives: When I saw Dirty Girl's gorgeous radicchio family the other day I realized the Hickory Dickory Chicory salad** had a cousin.
Hickory Dickory Chicory Goes Green:
For the salad:
1 head radicchio di Traviso (the long maroon and green one)
1/2 to 3/4 lb. Castelvetrano olives
For the dressing:
2 tablespoons Spanish or Portuguese olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Healthy handful grated lemon zest
Small handful chopped lemon basil (optional)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Even tinier pinch of salt than last time
Cut off the very bottom of the treviso, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.
Slice the olives into half-moons.
Whisk the oil, lemon juice and zest, lemon basil, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Now add the treviso and toss; add the olives, toss again, and taste, adding salt if necessary. Toss again and serve.
You could also top this with toasted sunflower seeds, for a slightly more distant relative of the "Hickory Dickory Chicory."
*Walden says to discard the preserved lemon flesh, if you want. I include it in the dish--the more preserved lemon, the better, if you ask me.
**See "Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me, Part One: How Sweet It Is," http://cookwithlaynie.blogspot.com/2010/06/identical-cousins-or-that-reminds-me-in.html
©2010, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
When I tasted Vesta Flatbread's melt-in-your-mouth lamb sandwich the other night at Porchlight's "Kitchen Confidential" (where I also got to meet one of my heroes, Nikki Silva of the Kitchen Sisters), I immediately thought of my favorite lamb tagine.
Lamb Tagine with Fennel:
(from Hilaire Walden's North African Cooking)
2-1/2 lb. lean shoulder of lamb, cut into 1-1/2 inch cubes
1 onion, grated
2 garlic cloves, crushed
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
Pinch crushed saffron threads
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
1 cup water
3 fennel bulbs, thickly sliced
2 tablespoons lemon juice
Salt
1 preserved lemon in salt, quartered, rinsed*
1/2 cup kalamata olives
Mix the lamb, onion, garlic, cilantro, and spices together in a heavy, flameproof casserole. Pour the water over the lamb and herbs, bring to a simmer, then cover and cook gently for about 1-1/4 hours until the lamb is almost tender.
Add the fennel, lemon juice, and salt, cover and cook for another 20 minutes or so, until the lamb and fennel are tender. Transfer the lamb and fennel to a warm serving dish. Scatter the preserved lemon and olives over the lamb, cover and keep warm.
If necessary, boil the cooking juice to reduce and thicken it, then pour it over the lamb and fennel and serve.
And go straight to heaven. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
Well, it turns out the reason the sandwich put me in mind of the tagine was that it contained lamb, fennel, and kalamata olives.
And speaking of olives: When I saw Dirty Girl's gorgeous radicchio family the other day I realized the Hickory Dickory Chicory salad** had a cousin.
Hickory Dickory Chicory Goes Green:
For the salad:
1 head radicchio di Traviso (the long maroon and green one)
1/2 to 3/4 lb. Castelvetrano olives
For the dressing:
2 tablespoons Spanish or Portuguese olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Healthy handful grated lemon zest
Small handful chopped lemon basil (optional)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Even tinier pinch of salt than last time
Cut off the very bottom of the treviso, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.
Slice the olives into half-moons.
Whisk the oil, lemon juice and zest, lemon basil, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Now add the treviso and toss; add the olives, toss again, and taste, adding salt if necessary. Toss again and serve.
You could also top this with toasted sunflower seeds, for a slightly more distant relative of the "Hickory Dickory Chicory."
*Walden says to discard the preserved lemon flesh, if you want. I include it in the dish--the more preserved lemon, the better, if you ask me.
**See "Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me, Part One: How Sweet It Is," http://cookwithlaynie.blogspot.com/2010/06/identical-cousins-or-that-reminds-me-in.html
©2010, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Identical Cousins, or That Reminds Me
Part One: How Sweet It Is
Like most of the human race, I tend to think my noodle works pretty well. So how was it that I didn't bat an eye at Patty Duke's identical cousin? Was it just the power of that jingle?
Perhaps I accepted the notion of identical cousins so readily because I had a pretty magical childhood, in general. Far from perfect, but certainly magical. When I wasn't strolling on the roof or building houses in the eaves, I would climb down from the attic and right over there, inside that box, Jeannie would demonstrate how to travel by blinking, and Samantha worked wonders with her nose. Not to mention the Batman, Superman, the Green Hornet, Casper the Friendly Ghost, and My Favorite Martian. Identical cousins? Come on down!
Recently we had some hot days here in San Francisco, and one of them found me at the farmers' market. I asked if I could put my bag down for a minute so I could get my hair out of my face.
The fellow said fine. Then he said, "Do you want these cherries?"
"Sure," I said.
Soon I was home with two pounds of Bella Viva cherries, and two potlucks on the horizon. I started thinking about what a beautiful color those cherries were, and that got me thinking about other food in that color family, and next thing you know . . .
Hickory Dickory Chicory:
For the salad:
1 head radicchio di Chioggia (the roundish red one)
1/2 to 3/4 lb. bing or other fresh red cherries
For the dressing:
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon toasted walnut oil (my favorites are La Tourangelle and Glashoff)
1 tablespoon port vinegar (I love O vinegar for this; if you can't find that, sherry vinegar is fine)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Tiny pinch of salt
Cut off the very bottom of the radicchio, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.
Rinse the cherries. If you have a cherry-pitter, this would be a good time to use it. If not, you're in luck anyway, because as you slice the cherries into half-moons you have those wonderful bits of cherry that stick to the pit for a nosh. If you used the smaller amount of cherries, slice them in half again.
Whisk the oils, vinegar, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Add salt as needed. Now add the radicchio and toss; add the cherries, toss again, and serve.
Next time: Going Green
©2010, 2011. 2015, 2016 Laynie Tzena.
Like most of the human race, I tend to think my noodle works pretty well. So how was it that I didn't bat an eye at Patty Duke's identical cousin? Was it just the power of that jingle?
Perhaps I accepted the notion of identical cousins so readily because I had a pretty magical childhood, in general. Far from perfect, but certainly magical. When I wasn't strolling on the roof or building houses in the eaves, I would climb down from the attic and right over there, inside that box, Jeannie would demonstrate how to travel by blinking, and Samantha worked wonders with her nose. Not to mention the Batman, Superman, the Green Hornet, Casper the Friendly Ghost, and My Favorite Martian. Identical cousins? Come on down!
Recently we had some hot days here in San Francisco, and one of them found me at the farmers' market. I asked if I could put my bag down for a minute so I could get my hair out of my face.
The fellow said fine. Then he said, "Do you want these cherries?"
"Sure," I said.
Soon I was home with two pounds of Bella Viva cherries, and two potlucks on the horizon. I started thinking about what a beautiful color those cherries were, and that got me thinking about other food in that color family, and next thing you know . . .
Hickory Dickory Chicory:
For the salad:
1 head radicchio di Chioggia (the roundish red one)
1/2 to 3/4 lb. bing or other fresh red cherries
For the dressing:
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon toasted walnut oil (my favorites are La Tourangelle and Glashoff)
1 tablespoon port vinegar (I love O vinegar for this; if you can't find that, sherry vinegar is fine)
Smidgen of Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch of freshly-ground black pepper
Tiny pinch of salt
Cut off the very bottom of the radicchio, and pull the leaves off the base. Rinse and pat dry, then pile the leaves one on top of the other and slice into strips. Slice strips in half and set aside.
Rinse the cherries. If you have a cherry-pitter, this would be a good time to use it. If not, you're in luck anyway, because as you slice the cherries into half-moons you have those wonderful bits of cherry that stick to the pit for a nosh. If you used the smaller amount of cherries, slice them in half again.
Whisk the oils, vinegar, mustard, and pepper together, and taste the dressing. Add salt as needed. Now add the radicchio and toss; add the cherries, toss again, and serve.
Next time: Going Green
©2010, 2011. 2015, 2016 Laynie Tzena.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Doughnuts and Berries
Well, Bob's Donuts has done it again.
True, I had a piece of walnut bread not long after sundown--two pieces actually: one by itself, just to taste B-R-E-A-D after seven days, and the other, smothered with peanut butter because peanut butter on matzo doesn't work for me. (Almond butter, yes; peanut butter, no. Go figure.) But the real, official ending to Passover came when I moseyed over to Bob's and took the first bite of a glazed buttermilk doughnut that had come out minutes earlier, followed by an old-fashioned doughnut I literally watched the guy pull out of the fryer. If you listen closely, you just might be able to hear the sound of my arteries hardening.
My father, rest in peace, was a radiologist, and from him I inherited two things: medical handwriting and an affection for sweets. I loved helping him file X-ray films at the office. They were huge and wobbly then, and I soon learned it might be better to avoid having your name start with "M" or "S" because there were so many people in the same condition.
Dad would say he was going out for a minute and you knew he was back when the most heavenly smell wafted through the office as he strode into the kitchen, probably whistling, carrying a box of doughnuts fresh from Canelli's and still warm.
Among my favorites was one we called the "Persian." From the descriptions I've read recently it sounds more like a "Pershing." Out here they're called cinnamon rolls, and Bob's are the closest to Canelli's I have found. Unfortunately, cinnamon rolls are made at 1:30 in the morning and since I'm usually chatting with the Sandman at that time I buy them out of the case and heat them up in the oven.
Albion strawberries from Yerena Farms were a big hit at my French group today, especially when I told them the farmer's name was Apollinaire (Poli, for short). Try not to eat the whole basket at one sitting or, if you can't resist, buy an extra basket for this salad:
Strawberry-Chicory Salad with Red Wine Vinaigrette:
For the salad:
1 basket of strawberries
Mixture of chicories: radicchio, endive, etc.
2-3 leaves of mustard greens
For the dressing:
5T extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil or half of each
2T good red wine vinegar*
Smidgen of dijon mustard
Pinch kosher salt or sea salt
Pinch coarsely-ground black pepper
Rinse and drain the greens; tear into pieces. Rinse and slice the strawberries. Whisk the oil(s), vinegar and mustard together with salt and pepper, add the salad and toss. Now add the strawberries, toss again, and serve.
*Most of the red wine vinegar you find at the store is best left there. Kimberley Cabernet Sauvignon vinegar is delicious. I recommend this vinegar so often I should have stock in the company. Yes, it's $5 or 6 a bottle instead of $2 or 3, but a) one taste of it and you'll never go back; b) that's just one less mocha wah-wah latte a month. And the vinegar will last you more than a month--unless you take to drinking it by the glass, in which case just drink twice as much oil, eat some lettuce, and call yourself a salad.
©2009, 2011, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
True, I had a piece of walnut bread not long after sundown--two pieces actually: one by itself, just to taste B-R-E-A-D after seven days, and the other, smothered with peanut butter because peanut butter on matzo doesn't work for me. (Almond butter, yes; peanut butter, no. Go figure.) But the real, official ending to Passover came when I moseyed over to Bob's and took the first bite of a glazed buttermilk doughnut that had come out minutes earlier, followed by an old-fashioned doughnut I literally watched the guy pull out of the fryer. If you listen closely, you just might be able to hear the sound of my arteries hardening.
My father, rest in peace, was a radiologist, and from him I inherited two things: medical handwriting and an affection for sweets. I loved helping him file X-ray films at the office. They were huge and wobbly then, and I soon learned it might be better to avoid having your name start with "M" or "S" because there were so many people in the same condition.
Dad would say he was going out for a minute and you knew he was back when the most heavenly smell wafted through the office as he strode into the kitchen, probably whistling, carrying a box of doughnuts fresh from Canelli's and still warm.
Among my favorites was one we called the "Persian." From the descriptions I've read recently it sounds more like a "Pershing." Out here they're called cinnamon rolls, and Bob's are the closest to Canelli's I have found. Unfortunately, cinnamon rolls are made at 1:30 in the morning and since I'm usually chatting with the Sandman at that time I buy them out of the case and heat them up in the oven.
Albion strawberries from Yerena Farms were a big hit at my French group today, especially when I told them the farmer's name was Apollinaire (Poli, for short). Try not to eat the whole basket at one sitting or, if you can't resist, buy an extra basket for this salad:
Strawberry-Chicory Salad with Red Wine Vinaigrette:
For the salad:
1 basket of strawberries
Mixture of chicories: radicchio, endive, etc.
2-3 leaves of mustard greens
For the dressing:
5T extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil or half of each
2T good red wine vinegar*
Smidgen of dijon mustard
Pinch kosher salt or sea salt
Pinch coarsely-ground black pepper
Rinse and drain the greens; tear into pieces. Rinse and slice the strawberries. Whisk the oil(s), vinegar and mustard together with salt and pepper, add the salad and toss. Now add the strawberries, toss again, and serve.
*Most of the red wine vinegar you find at the store is best left there. Kimberley Cabernet Sauvignon vinegar is delicious. I recommend this vinegar so often I should have stock in the company. Yes, it's $5 or 6 a bottle instead of $2 or 3, but a) one taste of it and you'll never go back; b) that's just one less mocha wah-wah latte a month. And the vinegar will last you more than a month--unless you take to drinking it by the glass, in which case just drink twice as much oil, eat some lettuce, and call yourself a salad.
©2009, 2011, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
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