The courtship of a squash blossom

Mention zucchini anywhere within earshot of my mother and sister and I guarantee what will follow will go something like, "Remember that year we planted about a dozen zucchini plants? We must have eaten zucchini at every meal in every variation on earth that summer!" Then, like Bubba in Forrest Gump..."fried zucchini, sauteed zucchini, zucchini bread, zucchini cake, raw zucchini..."

My senior year of high school we moved from Kansas town-living to a house in the country overlooking rolling wheat fields. The closest neighbors a half mile away. The house came with an old three-room chicken house, several barns and garages, thirteen acres of pasture, an apple and pear orchard and a nearly acre sized garden. Our naive ambition that first year completely ruined my mother on future vegetable gardening. We filled the entire plot with rows and rows of vegetables. And of course the aforementioned dozen zucchini plants. By the end of the summer, we let the weeds take over, and she never planted a garden that size again. A few years later the garden was tilled up all together and turned into a horse riding pen. Every once in a while she'll throw a tomato plant in with the flowers, but that's about the extent of it.

Now that I live in an apartment in-town, I pine for that garden. I've been lucky this year. We have friendly neighbors who tilled up my very own plot and I've been able to grow a few things. Still being a little leery of zucchini plants, I chose summer squash instead. Four of them. Which is still more than one family can eat,but I'll suffer through the abundant squash for the chance to harvest the blossoms. About six years ago, my mother sent me an Italian cookbook that included a recipe for stuffed, fried squash blossoms, and ever since I've been waiting patiently (well, not really) to be able to make them. They don't keep well, so I never see them sold in stores.

Yesterday (!!!) I was able to sneak a few of the male blossoms for stuffing! Only three, but still! There is a fair amount of expectation riding on a recipe you've been waiting six years to cook. You're set up for pretty big disappointment if it's not what you'd thought it'd be. On the other hand, if it's everything you thought it would be and more, the satisfaction is that much greater. Which is exactly the case here! They were fantastic! Really. Good enough that in the future I might consider growing a dozen squash plants. And that's saying something.

Fiori di Zucca Fritti
(fried, stuffed zucchini flowers)

1 cup all purpose flour
1 tsp salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup cold sparkling mineral water
1 tblsp vegetable oil, plus oil for deep-frying
2 oz mozzarella cheese
10 anchovy fillets, cut in half crosswise
20 large squash blossoms

In a small bowl, stir together the flour and salt. Add the eggs, mineral water, and the 1 tblsp vegetable oil and whisk just until blended. Cut the mozzarella into sticks 1 inch long by 1/4 inch thick. Pat the anchovies dry with paper towels

In a heavy frying pan at least 3 inches deep or in a deep-fat fryer, pour oil to a depth of 1 inch. Heat to 375 degrees on a deep fryer or until a bit of the batter sizzles when dropped into the oil.

While the oil is heating, gently spread open the petals of each flower and carefully pinch out the filaments inside. Insert a piece of the cheese and the anchovy into each flower. Press the petals closed.

One at a time, dip the flowers into the batter, turning to coat completely. Lift out and drain off the excess. Working a few at a time, slip the flowers into the hot oil and fry until golden brown on all sides, about 4 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels to drain. Continue with the remaining flowers. Serve immediately.

I think there are innumerable variations for stuffing the flowers. I stuffed mine with a middle-eastern cream cheese, an anchovy fillet, and a basil leaf.

This much I do remember

"This much I do Remember"
by Billy Collins....

It was after dinner.
You were talking to me across the table
about something or other,
a greyhound you had seen that day
or a song you liked....

and I was looking past you
over your bare shoulder
at the three oranges lying
on the kitchen counter
next to the small electric bean grinder,
which was also orange,
and the orange and white cruets for vinegar and oil.....

All of which converged
into a random still life,
so fastened together by the hasp of color,
and so fixed behind the animated
foreground of your
talking and smiling,
gesturing and pouring wine,
and the camber of you shoulders....

that I could feel it being painted within me,
brushed on the wall of my skull,
while the tone of your voice
lifted and fell in its flight,
and the three oranges
remained fixed on the counter
the way that stars are said
to be fixed in the universe.....

Then all of the moments of the past
began to line up behind that moment
and all of the moments to come
assembled in front of it in a long row,
giving me reason to believe
that this was a moment I had rescued
from millions that rush out of sight
into a darkness behind the eyes.....

Even after I have forgotten what year it is,
my middle name,
and the meaning of money,
I will still carry in my pocket
the small coin of that moment,
minted in the kingdom
that we pace through every day.....


Forgive me. I can feel myself getting overly sentimental.

At its very essence, a shared meal is an intertwining of lives, a minted moment we carry with us. That is why I so very much enjoy creating meals with others, and sharing recipes, especially those that already come with their own stories and history. Because those recipes and meals become a part of me, intertwined in my own life, maybe even for generations to come, if I’m lucky.

A certain Brussels sprout recipe will forever conjure memories of a friend and the Thanksgivings we’ve shared for the past three years. I cannot make galumpkies without thinking of my Papa, and my mother too, who caught a batch on fire once and had to run the smoking pot into the front yard. There are many many more recipes I’ve gotten from family and friends that feed more than just my body when I make them; meals that remind me of certain houses, certain kitchens, times of year, smiling faces, music, and always the sound of laughter.

Just this last Sunday, a friend came over to share his mom’s recipe for stuffed grape leaves. I wish I could say I had photos and a recipe to share, but the three of us devoured them before I could even break out the camera (a sign of a delicious meal indeed!)

What I can share, is what I did with the leftover ground lamb. There wasn’t enough lamb to make two burgers, so I added a little bulgur (soaked in water for about 30 minutes,) stuffed them with goat cheese, and pan fried them. Once on the bun, I topped them with a caramelized red onion relish I made a few days ago, a little spinach and kewpie mayo mixed with a little lemon zest. Very very good! And a recipe that will definitely stay in my repertoire.

Caramelized Red Onion Relish

From Small Batch-Preserving by Ellie Topp and Margaret Howard

This recipe boasts it is best served with barbequed or broiled meats such as steak, lamb chops, and chicken.

Ingredients

2 large red onions
¼ cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 cup dry red wine
3 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1/8 tsp of salt and freshly ground pepper

1.Slice onions into very thin slices. Combine onions and sugar in a heavy non-stick skillet. Cook, uncovered, over medium-high heat for about 25 minutes or until onions start to turn golden and start to caramelize, stirring frequently.

2.Stir in wine and vinegar. Bring to a boil over high hear, reduce heat to low and cook for about 15 minutes or until most of the liquid had evaporated, stirring frequently.

3.Season to taste with salt and pepper. It can be refrigerated for up to 3 weeks.

Cheers to future meals and memories and the people who have woven themselves into our lives through shared meals!

The lost week

Meet the Sour Patch Kids. Hands down my favorite non-chocolate candy since I was a kid and could walk to the corner store for penny candy. You've never seen a kid weed and water flower gardens so fast and thorough for a dollar. Even recently, I've been known to ruin a whole day of eating by devouring several packs in one sitting. I can't keep them in the house, that's how much power they have over me. So what does my sister do a week ago, but bring me a 5 pound bag of them. Well, not exactly 5 pounds. More like a pound and a half, but that's still around 500 sour patch kids! I was simultaneously ecstatic and furious. Simultaneously hugged her and screamed, "I swear to god you want me fat!!!" These little guys are to blame for my recent lack of posting. It's because of them I've had to eat plates of meat and protein to counter near sugar and carb induced comas and shaking sketchiness. Last Sunday's dinner consisted of two and half chicken breasts. Tuesday I sat down to a one pound bowl of sauteed shrimp with nothing else. I don't have anything against meat, but this is a little much, even for me. Over the week, after more stomach aches than I care to confess, I've slowly phased out of the meat-fests and reintroduced myself to a more balanced diet.

First meal "back?" Pizza. My pizza crust has been something I've been pretty proud of for the past few years. I finally had a recipe (thanks to Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle) that was easy and consistent and tasted good. I'd baked it and grilled it both with very good results, so I'm not sure what possessed me to try a different one, but I'm very glad I did. I still use the Kingsolver recipe whenever pizza is a last-minute idea because it only takes an hour from starting the dough to pulling the pizza out of the oven, but for those occasions when you have a little more time, and want a more sophisticated, complex crust, I would highly recommend a recipe from Jim Lahey's cookbook, My Bread: The Revolutionary, No-Work, No-Knead Method. My only complaints with this recipe are that it's somewhat fickle and takes about 3 hours from start to finish. Though it's always turned out delicious, it's always been a little touch-and-go as well. The consistency is never quite the same and stretching it to fit the pan is not always easy. But if you have the patience and time, it's completely worth it. It's a moderately chewy, buttery flavored crust, with a wonderfully crunchy exterior and a lovely humble, artisan look. It may be my favorite crust of all time, and I don't say that lightly.

Basic Pizza Dough a la Jim Lahey

(just a warning...though the work is minimal, it takes about 2 1/2 hours until you're even ready to put dough in the oven)

3 3/4 c. bread flour (I've used all-purpose and it's been fine)
2 1/2 tsp. yeast
3/4 tsp. salt
3/4 tsp. sugar
1 1/3 c. water at room temperature (I almost always end up using about a 1/4 to a 1/3 c. more water than is called for)
olive oil for the pans


1. Stir together flour, yeast, salt and sugar. Add the water and using a wooden spoon or your hand, mix until blended, 30 seconds. Dough will be wet and slightly sticky. Cover and let sit at room temperature until doubled, 2 hours. (This is the beauty of this recipe: no kneading, no nothing. Stir for 30 seconds and let it sit!)

2. Remove from bowl onto floured surface. Gently form into a round ball. Divide dough into two halves, spacing them 4" apart and cover with a moistened towel for 30 minutes.

3. When you're ready to make your dough, pick up the dough and invert and stretch the length of the pan. Floured side should be facing up. Gently pull to fit entire pan. No need to make a "crust" or a "lip." Objective is to have an even layer of dough. If the dough sticks to your fingers (which it will!) lightly dust with flour or coat your hands with olive oil. Pinch any holes together. Repeat with second piece. Bake 500 degrees for 25 minutes. (I lower mine to 450, and it rarely takes that long.)

My recent favorite topping? Drizzle the dough with olive oil. Top with spinach, pine nuts, mozzarella and Parmesan cheese and another drizzle of olive oil. Delicious!!!!

If you only have an hour to put dinner on the table, try Barbara Kingsolver's recipe for pizza dough.

Beauty that rivals taste

Sometimes I feel like all I do is rip off other people's ideas. What's the quote, "I'm not original, I'm resourceful"? Yeah. That. Maybe originality is overrated. I don't know. Anyway, I was talking the other day with someone about salads, and thought, "Salads. That's a great idea." And so, a few days later, when it was 90 degrees and I could not be paid to turn my oven on, a salad graced our dinner table.

Now, there is nothing particularly "original" about this salad. Salads in our household are made in much the same way I make my soups, which is to say, with whatever needs to be used up in the refrigerator, but I just happened to have a particularly harmonious group of ingredients lying around. I started with a mix of spring greens, topped with paper thin slices of strawberries and cucumbers, followed by chopped coconut, avocado, shrimp, and some fresh Greek basil, then drizzled with a lite raspberry vinaigrette and accompanied by "homemade croutons" (or, ummm...the last bit of stale baguette coated with butter and garlic powder and stuck under the toaster oven's broiler for a few minutes.) This salad's beauty quite rivals its taste.

An excuse

Today's short little post is really just an excuse to direct you here, to a wonderful alternative to Nutella which uses, instead of hazelnuts, you guessed it....tahini! (Thanks, Gaps!)

Ants on a Log, using the tahini-tella instead of raisins.

This is, for now, the maximum quantity of this stuff I an allowing myself to eat at one sitting, as I really could eat it by the spoonful.

A holdover

Not much about a cloudless, 75 degree evening screams Chana Masala, so I'm not sure why I passed up the grill, winking at me from its new patio spot, to spend an hour over a hot stove top. But I did. I blame it on my inability to repurpose the chickpeas I bought a few weeks ago, while it was still chilly, with the intention of making Indian food. Sometimes I get a one-track mind, and I just can't let go. At least momentarily turning my kitchen into a sauna was worth it.

This recipe is an adaptation of Molly Wizenberg's, over at Orangette. I've been following her blog for about a year and half, have read and proselytized her book, and even had the pleasure of meeting her a few months ago...(and looking all silly when I waited for an hour after her reading to thank her and tell her what an inspiration she is. I might have even gotten teary. I can't be sure. Let's move on.)

Chana Masala

1/4 cup good-quality olive oil
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp fresh, minced ginger
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp ground cardamom
1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes
1/2 pint diced grape tomatoes
1 tsp kosher salt, or to taste
1 Tbs cilantro leaves, roughly torn, plus more for garnish
1 28-ounce cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed

* 6-8 Tbs plain whole-milk yogurt, optional
A few lemon wedges, optional

Saute the onion in the olive oil over medium heat, stirring frequently, until deeply carmelized, and even charred in spots. Be patient. The more color, the more full-flavored the final dish will be.

Reduce the heat to low. Add the garlic, ginger, cumin, garam masala, and cardamom, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add ¼ cup water, and stir to scrape up any brown bits from the bottom of the pan. Cook until the water has evaporated away completely. Pour in tomatoes with their juices and the salt.

Raise the heat to medium, and bring the pot to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer the sauce gently, stirring occasionally, until it reduces a bit and begins to thicken. Taste, and adjust the seasoning as necessary. Add the chickpeas, stirring well, and cook over low heat for about five minutes. Add 2 Tbs water, and cook for another five minutes. Add another 2 Tbs water, and cook until the water is absorbed, a few minutes more. This process of adding and cooking off water helps to concentrate the sauce’s flavor and makes the chickpeas more tender and toothsome. Taste, and adjust the seasoning as necessary.

Stir in the yogurt, if you like, or garnish with lemon wedges and cilantro. Serve.

*I chose to leave out the yogurt of mine.

I'll take that in a gallon size, please

A few friends and I were eating at a creperie in NYC and mounted on the wall, like a prize buck, was a gallon sized jar of Nutella. This of course made me wonder, "If you could have one over sized pantry item, what would it be?" Joe went with the Nutella. I can't remember what Rachel picked. Mine? Tahini. I'm not sure it would be my all-time, definitive answer, though thinking about it now, I can't think of what I'd rather choose. It's strange I should pick tahini because I'm not very knowledgeable about Middle Eastern food, but the few things I've had it in I could eat daily, my favorite being tarator to go on things like kibbe, shwarma, and just about anything other poor vegetable or meat that happens to be helplessly trapped in my fridge.

Yesterday, during my first trip to a Lebanese bakery and market I came across this...

Do you know what that is? It's Tahini. In a BUCKET!!! And if I wasn't on such a minuscule budget, I might have brought it home. (Forgive the pixelated stock photo. I couldn't bring myself to embarrass my poor friend by whipping out a camera in the middle of the tiny market, though the thought did cross my mind.) I was a good girl and only brought home a little jar, some Arabic bread and a spice packet of sumac, which I have no idea how I'll use, but it was such a gorgeous red I couldn't resist.

Tonight I put the tahini and Arabic bread right to use, along with the shwarma seasoning that's been taunting me from my spice cabinet the last few months and made a (non authentic, but at least in the ballpark) chicken shwarma wrap, along with asparagus and roasted potatoes with a garlic-cilantro pesto. I don't think shawarma is supposed to be grilled, but it was an unseasonably warm night, and L surprised me with supplies for a bonafide cocktail hour so there was no way I was going to spend the evening's waning light inside.






I marinated the chicken for 4 hours in a 1/2 c. of malt vinegar, a few tablespoons of oil, 1/4 cup of sour cream (because I didn't have plain yogurt,) a few tablespoons of shwarma seasoning, a teaspoon or so of allspice, and a few pinches of sumac and cardamom. Oh, and of course a little salt.

The potatoes came from a site a friend recently turned me on to... Taste of Beirut, which I haven't had a chance to properly explore, but will, especially since I now know how to get to both Lebanese markets.

Link to the potato recipe.