The Good Life

I'm growing strawberries this year.  Here's the entire crop thus far. 

BAM!   I used one for a pie and made jam out of the other.  Don't be jealous.

What it lacks in fruit, the garden has been making up for in terms of greens:  kale, spinach, chard, beet tops, lettuce and arugula.  I've been picking them and making this stunningly simple dish a few times a week:  saute your greens in olive oil and/or butter, then use the corner of your spatula to make two or three "nests".  Crack an egg into each nest and cook until set.  Salt and pepper, some toasted bread.  Ten minutes to awesomeness. It's my new favorite lunch, which I have given the temporary name of "Daffodils Peeking Through Winter's Melting Snows."  I am open to other suggestions.

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So that was the spring lineup.  Now we're cruising into summer and I can tell it's going to be a unique year because I got TWO crops of peas.  AND I was here to eat both of them!  Usually I have massive garden-depression because the peapods are at their peak right around the week when we are down at the Jersey Shore, and my neighbors end up eating them for me.  But this year's sullen, late spring and her persistent chilliness paid off in my favor.  The evening of the day we got back, I was out in the garden with a colander, pulling pods hand over fist.  Jeeps and I shelled them over the sink (eating every third or fourth one) until we each had a green thumbnail.  Blanched and served up as part of a Cobb Salad, it was the perfect summer kickoff meal.  The next night I picked another colander full of pods, which I blanched and served with some candy-striped pasta that Panda had picked out at the store, along with a mongrel pesto I made from basil, argula and parsley.  I didn't have a good amount of spinach, otherwise I would have made Amy's Pesto Pea Salad.

Then I made a blueberry pie, because I felt like it.

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I was particularly proud of the Cobb salad because everything was local.  The lettuce and peas were mine; the tomatoes, eggs, chicken and bacon all came from Harvest Moon Farm and Orchard in North Salem.  I joined their CSA this year, both to support local business and to take the edge off my crops being not always reliable.  Plus the program goes into October; my garden tends to die a sudden death in August and my late-sown crops never seem to take off.

Anyway, our first CSA pickup is tomorrow and we've already gotten advanced notice of what'll be in the bushel basket:

• Red beets
• Baby carrots
• Kale
• 2 heads of lettuce
• Fresh garlic
• Spring onions
• Swiss Chard
• EGGS!  (Their emphasis because eggs are not usually included in the CSA shares, but apparently this year their hens are out of control.  Goody for us!)

I'm so excited and I've already devised mental menus through the weekend using all this booty and supplemented by my own garden beds.

Naturally with the eggs, kale and chard one can make Daffodils Peeking Through Winter's Melting Snows.  One can also pick up the supplemental ingredients and repeat the Cobb salad with lettuce and spring onions.

I confess I've never made a frittata, but I bet you anything a very nice one could be made from eggs, garlic and chard.  Or with eggs, kale and onions.  I'll let you know how it goes.

mybeets

Carrots and beets:  endless possibilities.  You can grate them both raw, and toss with parsley and vinaigrette for a crunchy and colorful slaw.  Or if raw isn't your thing, you can toss them with lemon thyme sprigs, olive oil, salt and pepper, then slow-roast them - together or separately - in the oven, wrapped in foil.  Serve as a side dish or in greens as a roasted beet salad.

Of course there's roasted beets and fava beans, but I'm a little anxious about my favas - they all set flowers, but I don't see any pods developing yet.  Of course, this is my first time growing them so maybe I just don't know what I'm looking for.

Needless to say, knowing that all this produce is going to be available on a weekly basis makes food shopping a lot easier.  It was nice to walk out of the grocery store for once with just four bags, and those containing just dry goods and pantry items.  And I like the idea of letting vegetables dictate what's going to be for dinner.  It shall be the summer of eating seasonally!

(Ish)

Small, Snobby Miracles...

It's that time of year when small miracles come out of the garden. It's that time of year when I'm a total snob in the grocery store, self-righteously pushing my cart past the greens, carrots and peas because (sniff) I have my own thank you very much.

I gave peas a chance and as usual I'm glad I did. There's nothing like them. True, it's a lot of work for a small yield, but shelling peas is almost as satisfying as eating them. As for eating, I've been observing and I noticed that as a side dish, you really don't consume more than a serving spoon of peas at a dinner sitting. A little is enough. And when you picked them twenty minutes ago, blanched them for 30 seconds and served them with a pat of butter and a little salt and pepper, it's plenty.

Now you know what else is awesome? Swiss chard. I've never grown it before and frankly, where the hell have I been? I picked yellow and pink because hey, if vegetables come in yellow and pink, you should grow them. And it is a snap. Sow. Grow. Pick. Wash. Chop or don't chop. Saute in a bunch of garlic cloves, olive oil, butter, salt and pepper until wilted. Add a little chicken broth, cover and braise. Flush proudly when your husband drinks the pot liquor and demands, "Grow more."

Oh, by the way, these turkey-veggie meatballs are a knock-off the famous Martha Stewart meat loaf recipe. It's a great way to get rid of any leftover steamed broccoli or cauliflower, or both.  Carrots, celery, onion, garlic—just throw it all in there.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

Creamed Tuna and Peas on Toast (Tuna Optional)

I crack up looking at this picture. I lived here. 

Once upon a time, another lifetime ago, this was my apartment. The door on the left (your left), that was my door and the big window on the left, that was my bedroom. 

Jesus. 

At the time, this was it: this was everything, this was the freakin' best thing ever. It was my first place, and the first time I was completely on my own in the big world (or as big as it got in Dunkirk, NY). 

I lived here and worked two or three jobs and I paid the bills and food shopped and cooked and cleaned. Eventually my boyfriend moved in and together we lived in this dumpy little place on the ground floor with no windows, except for that big picture window that faced the street so the curtains were always drawn.

From Howard Avenue it was a nice walk to the shore of Lake Erie (ironically, years later, when I was heavily into family tree research, I would come to find out my great-uncle Max lived in Dunkirk, on 2nd Street, barely half a mile from my apartment). But one of the best things about Howard Avenue was that it was adjacent to the railroad tracks that served the Norfolk Southern Railway. 

I grew up around trains and I love the sound of them going by. My childhood house in Croton-on-Hudson was clear across town from the Metro North Rail Yard, but you could still hear train whistles echoing around. It's a sound I've always associated with home. And in Dunkirk, trains rolled along the tracks just across the street from my bedroom window, long freight trains trundling through at two in the morning. Some people might find this unbearable. It felt like home to me.

The kitchen was actually pretty good in the apartment. It had no dishwasher, but the landlord had just put in a new stove before I moved in, and it was a gas stove—something I'd never cooked on before. 

What the heck did I cook? I'm sure a lot of split chicken breasts marinated in Italian dressing and baked in the oven. Pasta, naturally. A thousand boxes of pierogies, at least. Salad, scrambled eggs, canned soup and grilled cheese, I'm sure. I remember trying to broil a steak once and it being a smoky disaster.  I remember once splurging on baby lamp chops because I was missing my dad.

And then there was creamed tuna and peas on toast.

This was my boyfriend's contribution to the dinner menu, one of the few things, possibly the only thing he knew how to make. When he first suggested it, I gave him a skeptical look and a lot of teasing. Creamed tuna and peas on toast, what was this, the 1950's? Did he know how to make chipped beef and salmon loaf, too? 

He busied himself at the stove and I stayed out of the way, and when he came over to the couch with two plates balanced on his hands and a triumphant expression, I took my plate and nicely ate it. 

And it was absolutely fabulous. 

I used the last crust of toast to mop up the last bit of cream sauce and handed a pristine plate back to him. "You're making that again," I said, licking my fingers.

He made it often. One memorable time he made it and as we were running toast around the plate rims, he stopped suddenly with a puzzled expression. 

"I didn't put the tuna in," he said.

"What?"

"I just realized I forgot to put the tuna in. This is just creamed peas on toast."

I shrugged and ran my finger across his plate, catching what he'd missed. "It was terrific anyway."

We're in touch on Facebook these days and I asked if he still had the recipe (I could Google it, sure, but what fun is that?). After realizing I was serious, he said he couldn't really remember it anymore, but we went back and forth on the process and I finally figured it couldn't be that different from creamed spinach so I adapted the white sauce from that.

Howard Avenue Creamed Tuna and Peas on Toast

• 1 cup milk
• 2 tbsp unsalted butter
• 2 tbsp flour
• 1/2 tsp kosher salt
• 1/4 tsp pepper
• 2 tbsp half-and-half
• 1 can tuna, drained
• 1 can peas, drained, or equal amount frozen peas, thawed and drained
• 2 slices toast per person

Melt 1 tbsp butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in flour. Cook for 1 minute, whisking constantly.  

Gradually whisk in milk. Whisk another 3 minutes until sauce thickens. Stir in salt, pepper, and half-and-half. Stir in tuna and peas.

Put toast slices on plate and ladle tuna mixture over. 

Best eaten with a lover on the living room couch while watching TV, or standing over the kitchen sink, staring into space, remembering a lover.

Photo is courtesy of A Good Appetite, who takes their recipe for CT&POT up several notches by preparing it with bacon, pearl onions and thyme. I suppose you could even marry this to a tuna melt and add cheese to the white sauce as well.  Experiment with the bread, too: an artisan, multi-grain boule would be dynamite.

Clean your plate, dear.

Yellow Rice and Peas

I promised Stacie I'd tell her about yellow rice and peas although there's really not much to tell. I buy it pre-made in the store and it makes itself in like 20 seconds. Yes, one can make their own Mexican-style saffron rice but I've never had good luck with the recipes. I think it's the turmeric. Turmeric and I do not get along.

So Vigo brand it is, Goya also makes a nice mix. For the last five minutes of cooking I throw in half a bag of frozen peas. Redman is very passionate about yellow rice and peas, it's one of his very favorite things for dinner. I love it for sheer convenience but also because it goes with just about anything: it can be the backbone of a vegetarian meal, or it cozies nicely up to roast chicken, breaded chicken, grilled fish, grilled shrimp, meat loaf, tuna cakes. It's the little black dress of your pantry.

I have a soft spot for rice and peas myself. My junior year of high school, I went for two weeks to La Rochelle, France on an exchange program. My host student was named Christophe Roland. He had a reputation as a punk and I didn't know how we were going to get along. We had zero in common yet within two days we were brother and sister. He loved American music and I spent many an hour mooching his cigarettes and translating lyrics for him.

"Listen, what is this," he said, putting on Modern English. "These words...making love to you was never second best. What does that mean?"

I gave him a look. "What does making love mean?"

"I know what making love means, stupid," he said, laughing out a cloud of smoke. "What does he mean was never second best?"

Christopher was something of a loner within the Lycée. His best friend was in his twenties and lived alone in the center of La Rochelle. Christophe took me to his apartment one night and the two young men cooked for me. I was not allowed to help. They were like Oscar and Felix. It was hilarious, and also touching, to watch them collide and bicker in the kitchen, earnestly working to make this meal. Finally they marched out, beaming, bearing grilled fish with a side dish of rice and peas. I was seventeen and felt I had arrived among the ultra hip.

That dinner was not second best.

Amy and the Pesto Pea Salad

Two...no, three summers ago...maybe four...oh forget it. Once upon a time, we were out in Montauk with our friends Chris and Amy. Amy is a personal trainer, triathlete, and a completely insane cook. Wherever she is, there will be something good to eat.

Before this particular long weekend, I was only vaguely aware of the name Ina Garten (I refer to this era as my ignorant youth). From her kitchen bookshelf, Amy pulled out Barefoot Contessa: At Home, began flipping through pages and said, "There's this little salad I really want to try..."

Little salad. Yeah right. This turned out to be a tremendous salad. It is baby spinach tossed with pesto, peas and pine nuts. Amy whipped it up our first night in Montauk and served it with...I think it was flank steak but I honestly don't remember, I was so consumed with the salad. There wasn't a shred left at the end of the meal and I picked every last pine nut out of the bowl.

The next day, Jeeps and I were hanging around the kitchen while Amy mused about what to make for dinner that night. 

"I have shrimp," she said, poking around in the fridge. "There's this scampi recipe I want to try and I could serve it over pasta, I think I have linguini..."

Jeeps and I exchanged one single, telepathic glance.

"Can we make the spinach salad again?" I asked. "And just serve the shrimp on that?"

Amy popped her head out of a cupboard with raised eyebrows. "Sure!" she laughed. She is an exemplary hostess.

So we ate the salad again with shrimp. That night I ordered my own copy of Barefoot Contessa: At Home so I would never again be without this recipe. I went back home a changed woman. I began bringing that salad with me to parties. Everywhere I took it, it was a hit. 

I give it now to you. Go forth and be a hit.

Barefoot Contessa Pesto Pea Salad

(This is the exact recipe measurements from the book; eventually it becomes something you don't measure)

• 2 cups frozen peas, thawed (about 1/2 bag)
• 2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted (toast them in a dry saute pan over medium heat, tossing often, until browned. Babysit them as they will burn easily. And by the way, 2 tablespoons turned into more like 1/3 cup for me because I do love me some pignolis)
• 2 1/2 cups baby spinach (I know, I've never measured cups of salad leaves either)
• 4 tablespoons pesto (according to your methods, you can hear about mine here)

To assemble the salad, put the spinach in your salad bowl, sprinkle 3/4 of the peas and 1/2 of the pine nuts over the spinach.  Add the pesto and toss. This is more blithe than it sounds. In the beginning the pesto will just be glop and you will fret that it will never distribute evenly over the leaves. It will. Keep scraping it off the salad spoons and keep tossing. It eventually incorporates and it will be beautiful. 

Once it's beautiful, sprinkle the rest of the peas and pine nuts attractively over the top, and then give a nice sprinkle of parmesan. Step back and admire. It's beautiful. You are beautiful.

This salad goes with everything and it can even stand alone. It's terrific with steak, chicken, shrimp and fish. In summer, it goes great with a big platter of corn on the cob, and another plate of sliced tomatoes.

Note: if you bring this salad to a party, don't bring it composed. Bring the ingredients and your salad bowl and assemble it just before the meal is served. Reason being the salad leaves absorb the pesto and very quickly go limp. Which is not beautiful.

A Creative Use of Leftovers

Redman loves rice, all kinds. Yellow rice and peas especially. But what can you do with the rest of it two days later? Or any kind of leftover rice/pea or rice/bean dish?

You can mix 2 or 3 eggs into it, form into patties and fry them up. They go well on top of a salad, or on the side of soup. Served with steamed broccoli and fennel-celery slaw, it all makes for a very nice vegetarian meal.

Speaking of which, some of you have asked if I am striving towards more vegetarian fare. I'm not, although it is a healthier way of eating and I get a lot of good ideas from the Moosewood Cookbook, and also from Stacey Snacks, who has her Meatless Mondays. We're not shy about eating meat around here, but Jeeps and I are pretty in sync about when we need to pull back and go with the plant life. When my vegetable garden is in full swing, we definitely eat less meat.

By the way, the rice-and-pea patties were the perfect vehicle for pickled red onions. Even Pandagirl tried them in combination and liked them.

Asparagus Ricotta Tart (With Variation)

I've long wanted to try this Asparagus Ricotta Tart that I saw on Stacey Snacks. Look how pretty:

I've held off for two reasons. First, I had a feeling 50% of the household wouldn't dig it. Second, despite being the season for asparagus, I have to say what I've seen in the stores looks pretty awful. Maybe it's not yet quite the season?

But that box of frozen puff pastry in the freezer is calling me. I think it's the concept of the tart that I find so appealing, more than the ingredients. Can I make this more kid friendly, or at least appeal to 75% of the household? Forget Redman, he can have a scrambled egg. Let's see...

Ricotta Tart with Ham and Peas

• 1 sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed
• 1 egg
• 1 cup ricotta cheese
• 1/4 cup cubed prosciutto or ham
• 1/2 bag frozen peas, thawed and drained
• zest of a whole lemon
• salt and pepper

Roll out puff pastry in a tart pan, or lay free-form on a baking sheet. You can use whole, or cut into individual "tartlets."

Mix ricotta cheese, egg, zest, salt and pepper. Spread in the center of puff pastry. Sprinkle with ham and peas (if you are making an asparagus tart, use pre-blanched spears).

Let cool 5 minutes then slice with a pizza cutter. This wasn't as pretty as Stacey's, but it was a total hit. We killed it to the crumbs. "We" meaning 75% of us: Redman took no notice of it but Panda had three pieces. Definitely making this for a party, and with the asparagus.

Gnocchi with Ham and Peas

A ham steak is a useful thing, I'm finding. I bought one a while ago, on impulse, either vaguely recalling an interesting recipe that called for a ham steak, or simply figuring I could use it for something, by golly. I threw it in the freezer and promptly forgot about it. Such is how I roll.

But recently pried from its frozen grave, I've used this one steak on two occasions. Half of it went into split pea soup, made in David Crockpott. 

I used a quarter of the remaining steak tonight with gnocchi and peas. I almost used all of it and I'm glad I didn't because it's really quite salty, especially when paired up with a packaged sauce mix. I used Knorr Garlic & Herb. Remember these? They came out in the 90s, I still remember the radio commercials. Being young and broke in the city, Jeeps and I lived on pasta and we became Knorr Whores for a while. I don't use them as often now but they are handy to have around.

Gnocchi with Ham and Peas à la Knorr Whore

• 1 package potato gnocchi (bowties or oriechiette are a nice substitute)
• 1/2 ham steak, diced
• 1/2 bag frozen peas
• 1 packet Knorr Garlic & Herb pasta sauce mix, made according to package directions

Bring water for pasta to boil but do not salt water. Add gnocchi and cook until they rise to the surface. Add the peas and cook another 1-2 minutes. Reserve 1/4 cup pasta water, then drain pasta and peas in colander.

Return pasta to pot, add diced ham and the sauce and toss well.