Dessert Is Important, or What Have You Done For Those People--Right Over There--Lately?

“What’s for dessert?” I asked the teacher at the ethnic foods cooking class.

“We won’t be making dessert,” she said.  “I don’t care for it.”

* * *

Someone once asked Miss Manners what to do when people are rude, which were the best words to use?  Miss Manners wasn’t biting.  She said that actually, you shouldn’t say anything. The person who corrects another person is rude.

“But people need to know what they’re doing wrong!  They need to know what people are thinking!” said the person, wondering if perhaps Miss Manners had lost her touch.

Au contraire, said Miss Manners.  “You really don’t want to know what people are thinking.  Because many times they are thinking you are a fool.”

* * *

One of the tellers at the bank told me that this year she had given up Facebook, Twitter, and something else I’ve forgotten for Lent.  45 days.  I know how she feels.  I’m off chametz (wheat, oats, rye, barley, and spelt) for Passover.  I’ve been observing that aspect of the holiday for a few years now.  The first year, I said to a rabbi I know, “I’ve been thinking, ‘Well, I won’t really miss it, I don’t eat that much bread anyway.’  But then I thought, ‘Maybe you’re supposed to notice it.’”

She laughed.  “Good, Laynie,” she said.

* * * 

Somewhere I read that it’s a good idea to do a thing or two each day that you don’t want to do, just for exercise.  (For example, that cooking teacher—never mind.) 

So, right now, I'd like to go to bed.  But I promised Jason, who is also off chametz this week, that I would give him a salad recipe.  (Matzo has an interesting effect on the digestive tract.)  And I promised Beth, who gave me a ride home from a party even though it was absolutely not on her way, that I would give her this very recipe before blood orange season was over, and Cindy, who brought Meyer lemons from her own tree to my singing class, that I would give her a version of this recipe without blood oranges, which her partner hates. 

Do It Anyway, Honey, Salad (serves 2—maybe you and that cutie?)

For the salad:

A healthy handful of baby Swiss chard
   (or cut up regular Swiss chard into small pieces)
A purple mustard green or two, including the stem, which is just heaven
   —watery, like celery, but with a kick
Fennel top (usually called the “frond”—looks like dill)
One organic blood orange (unless you are Cindy, in which case, a navel)
One organic Meyer lemon

For the dressing:

2-3 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon Amoretti pomegranate balsamic vinegar*, or a good aged balsamic
Smidgen of dijon mustard**
Pinch of your favorite salt (try the Himalayan one)
Freshly-ground black pepper (not too much; the mustard green takes that role here)

Rinse greens and fennel frond.  Mince the fennel frond, and slice the Meyer lemon very thinly—you don’t need to peel it—and remove the pits.  Peel the blood orange or navel as you would to section it, reserving the peel to dry later (for the item we’re not talking about this week but next week you can find by searching on the blog for “Laynie’s Morning Miracle.” Shhh.  Don't tell anyone.  Okay.). 

Put that smidgen of lemon zest and/or mustard in the bowl, followed by the olive oil and vinegar.  Add seasonings and whisk together, then add the greens, then the blood orange, minced fennel frond, and Meyer lemon.

You’re welcome.

And now I am going to bed.

*If you are off vinegar for Passover (“Pesach”), use fresh lemon juice and an extra blood orange.
** Dijon is made with wine, but if you want to be on the safe side, substitute lemon zest for mustard during Pesach.

©2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

Save That Daylight, or Better Than Fine

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.

Have It Your Way

Dear Love at First Bite:

You must be joking. You're not serious about putting $35/lb. pine nuts in that salad, are you? Yes, it's delicious--mesclun lettuce, Fuji apples, a balsamic vinaigrette, goat cheese. But it's January, honey. How about something a little less pricey?

The Penny-Pincher

Dear Penny:

Happy New Year. Honey, promise me you didn't leave your imagination under the bed again.

Now, we could reflect on some simple facts:

a. The salad in question requires merely two tablespoons of pine nuts (which translates to a bit more than two bucks, especially if you comparison-shop).

b. That coffee you're so fond of puts the pine nut prices to shame.

c. Life is short.

But why spoil the fun? Instead, let's look at the basics of the ingredients in the original salad from the dinner party: lettuce, apples (well, sweet and slighly crunchy fruit), nuts, a vinaigrette. Let's leave out the cheese for now.

As we know, the key to eating well without spending a fortune is--say it with me--a well-stocked pantry. See "What a Little Minneola Can Do, Part Three," then try this:

Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise Salad:

For the salad:

1 Arkansas Black apple or Bosc pear
2 tablespoons raw cashews
Mesclun lettuce

For the dressing:

2 teaspoons toasted sesame oil
1 teaspoon sherry vinegar
Smidgen stoneground mustard
Pinch grated ginger
Pinch tangerine zest

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. On a baking sheet, toast raw cashers until slightly darkened.

Slice apple or pear, divide slices in four.

Why four?

Because they look like little pieces of pie. Feel free to slice, chop, dice--it's your salad, Toots.

Rinse greens and place in bowl with sliced apple or pear. Whisk together dressing ingredients and add to apples and greens, toss, add toasted cashews, toss again, and serve.

Very nice. But that's not the same salad.

Fine. Here's a closer approximation.

Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise Salad #2:

For the salad:

1 D'Anjou pear (or, if you prefer, a Fuji apple)
2 tablespoons raw walnuts
Mesclun lettuce

For the dressing:

2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
Smidgen Dijon mustard
Pinch fresh or dried basil
Pinch orange zest

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. On a baking sheet, toast raw walnuts until slightly darkened.

Slice pear.

Rinse greens and place in bowl with sliced pears. Whisk together dressing ingredients and add to pear and greens, toss, add toasted walnuts, toss again, and serve.

Spread some chevre on your favorite bread and start the year.


©2011, 2012, 2013. 2014 Laynie Tzena.

Take a Bow, Part One

Part One: Green is Good.

Lucky me, to stumble on the Bay Bass Band a few years ago at Old First Church. All these years I'd loved the bass, but never questioned its role as the often invisible anchor of an ensemble. Suddenly here was a band of basses, playing music written or adapted just for bass. And the music was great: the first time, I got to hear Francois Rabbath; the second, Ray Brown. But it was more than that. It was finding amazing music in a place you hadn't thought to look. God bless Barry Green.

I thought of that recently as I noticed a fine bunch of Italian parsley lounging on the top shelf of my refrigerator. Sure, I'd used parsley before--in green drinks, in Joyce Goldstein's wonderful Sephardic eggplant salad. Parsley has graced the top of that miso-soba soup we talked about a while back, and many other things, too. But like the bass, it had never been front and center.

Until now.

Parsley Salad:

For the salad:

Small bunch or 1/2 large bunch Italian parsley

For the pesto:

2 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley
1-2 garlic scapes, 1 stalk green garlic, or 1 garlic clove
Drizzle walnut oil*
Healthy pinch lemon zest
Pinch of salt
Pinch of freshly-ground black pepper

For the dressing:

1 to 2 teaspoons olive oil
1 teaspoon walnut oil
1 teaspoon freshly-squeezed lemon juice
Zest of 1/2 lemon
Pinch of salt
Pinch of freshly-ground black pepper

Rinse and dry the parsley. Mince garlic of choice. Pound pesto ingredients using a mortar and pestle, or blend in a food processor, adding enough oil to achieve desired consistency. If you want to be more traditional, use grated Asigao, Parmesan, Romano, or Dry Jack cheese instead of the oil; you could also add toasted walnuts. I just used the parsley au naturel because I wanted it to be the star for a change, to take a bow.

Whisk together oils, lemon juice and zest and seasonings, add parsley and toss, topped with parsley pesto.

*Yes, I know pesto usually has more oil. But remember, this is served on top of a salad with a dressing on it. If if will make you happy to use more oil, be my guest.

Next Time: Red, I said!

©2010, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

International Relations

On the way to make black bean salad at my friend Pam's the other night, I asked if she had any chiles. Nope. And I had forgotten to bring some. So, since the black bean salad we'd had in mind was of the cilantro-jalapeno variety, the question became how to get the heat the chile would normally provide into the salad. I decided to use a healthy pinch of paprika (same family) and some extra black pepper (extended family). And we'd already decided to have soy chorizo with the salad, so that would add some firepower.

Tasting long beans at the Civic Center farmers' market last week, I thought their great, slightly chewy texture would make them a good substitute for corn in a black bean salad. So I brought those along to see. (Pam had corn in the house, so we used that, too.) Also in the bag: purslane, a lemon, a lime, an orange, a red bell pepper, a couple of scallions and a torpedo onion. Oh, and a can of Whole Foods' organic black beans.

Lucky me: Pam turned out to be the Herb and Spice Queen, with an impressive array of dried varieties on hand--a real break since neither of us had fresh cilantro.

She made a strawberry smoothie, which fueled us while she whipped up some yummy mashed potatoes and I got to work on the salad. Here's what greeted us at the finish line.

Long Black Bean Salad:

For the salad:

1/2 can black beans
1 ear of corn or equivalent amount cooked corn
1/2 bunch long beans
1/2 red bell pepper
3-4 stalks (with leaves) purslane
1 scallion, minced, including the greens
1 small clove garlic

For the dressing:

2 tablespoons plus one teaspoon olive oil
1 tablespoon plus one teaspoon lemon juice and lime juice, combined*
Zest of 1/2 lemon
Zest of 1/2 lime
Smidgen Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch dried cilantro
Healthy pinch crushed dried coriander
Healthy pinch paprika
Freshly-ground black pepper
Pinch of salt

Drain beans. (You could reserve the liquid for soup.) If you're starting with fresh corn, shuck, rinse, and cook, then shave kernels off the cob. Steam long beans, then chop into one-inch pieces. Chop purslane and dice red pepper. Mince onion and garlic. Whisk oil, lemon and lime juice, mustard, zests, herbs, and spices together. Add black beans and toss. Add remaining ingredients, toss again, and taste. (I added another squeeze of lime here.)

Pam had mentioned having spinach on hand. So we decided two salads were better than one.

Spinach Meets Orange:

For the salad:

1/2 package baby spinach
1 small head radicchio di Treviso
A few leaves of ancho cress
1/2 orange
1/2 torpedo onion or small amount other red onion

For the dressing:

2 tablespoons plus one teaspoon olive oil
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon fresh orange juice
Healthy pinch orange zest
Smidgen Dijon mustard
Healthy pinch dried mint
Healthy pinch dried basil
Freshly-ground black pepper
Pinch of salt

Rinse, dry, and loosely tear greens. Slice half-orange; remove white pith and seeds; separate into segments. Whisk together oil, vinegar, orange juice, mustard, herbs, and spices. Add spinach and other greens with onion, toss; then add orange segments, toss again, and serve.

Remembering that long black bean salad later, I decided to recreate it. But this time I had a serrano chile along for the ride. I've been roasting them over a gas flame lately. So I did that. And the cilantro? Out of stock. And no dried cilantro flakes, either. So into the mortar and pestle went dried whole coriander, accompanied by some cumin seeds. I used stone-ground mustard this time around for an earthier feeling, and lemon since I was out of limes.

One more thing: Don't use Progresso black beans. Or, at least, not here: When I opened the can I found the wrong baby in the crib. Were they black beans? Some other variety, I suppose. Certainly not what I usually think of, which I suppose is Mexican black beans. But I made the salad anyway, and it tasted just fine. I had a corn tortilla and a bit of yogurt on the side--and a solution to Lamb Tagine au Pere de Venice. Stay tuned.

*Why lemon and lime juice combined? Because I just had one lime on hand.

©2010 Laynie Tzena.

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.

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.

What a Little Minneola Can Do, Part Three

Part Three: Bringing It All Back Home, or
There's Got to Be A Recipe Here Somewhere

Thought for the day: Why not approach preparing food as you would getting dressed? Choose the combination you like best this time around.

Remember that orange you were about to toss? (See “Hello, Gorgeous!") Say you've also got some spinach and leftover roast chicken on hand.

Here's what I'd do:

Ze oil: A teaspoon canola or safflower oil, a teaspoon sesame oil (sesame oil has a strong flavor, so the canola or safflower mellows it out a bit).

Ze acid: A teaspoon of Minneola juice.

Ze supporting actors: A smidgen of stoneground mustard, a pinch of salt, a pinch of freshly-ground mixed peppercorns, a bit of minced onion (shallot, scallion, purple onion--just make it very little pieces so it doesn't dominate your salad). And a splash of sherry vinegar. Whisk together.

Slice the orange and add to the bowl with the dressing. Toss, and refrigerate.

Warm the chicken a bit. Leave the skin on and decide to eat one less cookie tonight.

Now carve slices of the roast chicken, or just cut it into chunks. Rinse and dry the spinach. Take the marinated orange out of the refrigerator and let it sit for a minute so it's not ice cold. Add the chicken and spinach and toss. (Idea for next time: Toss it with asparagus and pasta or basmati rice and fresh peas, instead of making a salad.) Arrange on a nice plate, especially if you're eating solo. What is this leaning over the sink? Please sit down. Put on some music.

 

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.  All Rights Reserved.

Try the House Salad

Well, it certainly has been a while. Let me be the first one today to wish you a Happy New Year. And do remind me to tell you about the Fancy Food Show. (For starters: I am still madly in love with Santander chocolate. And Charles Chocolates' almonds. I could eat them for days. And I have a new love, Harry London, including their flavored chocolate. I am usually eager to avoid flavored chocolate, but I brake for their raspberry dark chocolate. Plus, while I've loved Valrhona for years, I just discovered a little item of theirs called Guanaja [which is apparently how you say "heaven" in el idioma de la comida]).

In the meantime, the tatsoi at Heirloom Organics was irresistible yesterday at the market, and after talking with Mary about something she had tasted with a green that sounds like kamasutra and was served with gomasio and bonito flakes and something else I can't remember, I suddenly saw a salad in my head with sesame oil, tatsoi, and tangerines.

Of course the sesame oil has vanished and even though I love tangerines deeply, the navel oranges are simply amazing right about now and so the original plan went sailing out the window and we have something even better.

Tatsoi Salad with Oranges and Sherry-Walnut Vinaigrette:

For the salad:

Healthy handful of tatsoi (about the size of a head of romaine or butter lettuce)
1/2 orange
1/4 Shallot, 1 scallion, or equivalent amount of red onion (optional)

For the dressing:

2-3 teaspoons walnut oil
1 teaspoon sherry vinegar
Pinch stoneground mustard
Black pepper
Pinch of salt

For extra credit:

Sesame seeds (This did start out as a sesame salad, after all.)

Rinse and drain tatsoi. Slice oranges and remove peel and white pith. Mince onion of choice. Whisk together dressing ingredients. Add tatsoi and other salad ingredients and toss. Top with toasted sesame seeds.

If you have cold chicken on hand, add that to the salad before tossing it and topping it with the sesame seeds. If you don't have cold chicken on hand, invite a friend over and ask her to bring the chicken. (It's only fair, after all you've done for her.)

©2010, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

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.

Fraternal Twins

Well, just when you thought you'd managed to avoid science projects in the refrigerator, surprise! That chicken is not going to make it. But wait! There's broccoli. And arugula.

And as you're chopping the broccoli stalks, you remember one of the asparagus vendors at the market who, when you said you always went for the skinnier asparagus because the bottoms weren't so woody, asked if you didn't peel the bottoms.

No, you said. You didn't add that you usually ate the top part of the bottom stem raw while the rest of it was steaming but still ended up tossing a lot of those stems and thinking, "What a waste."

Fast forward to the moment after the chicken has officially bitten the dust. You're chopping broccoli stalks. You're not even thinking about asparagus--skinny, fat (excuse me, "jumbo"), or otherwise.

And then it happens. You think of another object that looks a bit like this broccoli stalk. Yes! It is the asparagus stem.

Broccoli Salad with Arugula and Asparagus Stems in Lemon-Walnut Vinaigrette:

For the salad:

1 large head or three to four small heads of broccoli
Large handful arugula (or arugula rabe)
Bottom stems of one bunch of jumbo asparagus
2-3 tablespoons walnuts

For the dressing:

2T olive oil
2T walnut oil
2T balsamic vinegar*
Zest of one lemon
Pinch sea salt or kosher salt
Pinch medium-grind black pepper

Rinse arugula (or rabe) and drain; tear into small pieces. Break off broccoli florets from stalk(s). Peel stalk(s) and chop into small pieces. Remove very bottom of aparagus stems; slice stems into 1/2 inch circles. Peel them, if you wish. Steam broccoli and asparagus stems.

Dry-roast walnuts in a skillet or on a baking sheet at 400° for 5 minutes or so. (Keep an eye on the walnuts; they should be just slightly darkened.)

Combine oils and vinegar with lemon zest, salt, and pepper. Toss salad with dressing, add walnuts, toss again and serve.

*Real balsamic, not the fake kind in the store. V. G. Buck makes a great balsamic vinegar and a white balsamic vinegar as well, which is very good with fish.

©2009, 2014 Laynie Tzena.

New Food, Part Two

The first time I tasted kale was at dinner at Chris and Nancy's house. It might as well have landed on the plate from outer space: a multi-layered green object with curling leaves. In-ter-es-ting. I believe someone also told me it was good for me.*

"Thanks," I said.

Who could tell that kale would become one of my favorite vegetables? Beautiful dark green lacinato with a raised surface like the relief maps in sixth grade. Russian kale, which looks like a little tree (including one with a purple center I just saw at Happy Boy Farms the other day, so gorgeous I had to take it home with me).

The market has been full of rabe lately, too--not just broccoli rabe, but tatsoi, bok choy, arugula rabe. The broccoli rabe made its way into this salad:

Carrot-Kale-Rabe in Avocado Vinaigrette
with Cilantro, Cumin, and Lime**

For the salad:

1 bunch young kale (without large ribs)
Large handful broccoli rabe
2 carrots (white and yellow are especially pretty)

For the dressing:

2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon medium-grind black pepper
2 tablespoons brown rice vinegar
2 tablespoons lime juice with lime zest
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
½ avocado

Place all ingredients except the oil in a blender, puree until smooth. With blender on puree slowly add oil until combined. Taste and correct seasonings.

Wash and drain greens and tear into pieces--or, if you want to be fancy about it, slice into large rectangles. Cut carrots into 1/4 inch half-moons and steam.

Combine salad with half the dressing. Add more dressing as needed.

The dressing is quite thick and also works beautifully as a dip for steamed artichokes or asparagus.

*True. Loaded with nutrients. But don't let that stop you.

**This all began with a delicious kale salad with avocado vinaigrette I tasted at Whole Foods. I found a wonderful recipe created by chef Matthew Pneuman online: http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/recipe_cilantrocumin.htm., which I then adapted since a) I wanted to use the avocados from Brokaw Farms I had on hand, rather than avocado oil; b) A lovely brown rice vinegar has been calling to me from my counter while I've reached past it for the red wine or balsamic; and c) I have yet to develop an affection for white pepper.

©2009, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.