Möchten Sie einen Flügel?

Wings are awesome. Even after eating far too many of them at college in upstate NY, I still consider chicken wings the world's greatest "pick" foods. They are lovely to serve at a party (with five thousand napkins), but frankly I find the only true reason to make chicken wings is to have them around to eat cold for the next two or three or eight days, preferably alone with a dishtowel. 

Thanks to my dad, I can't say "wings." It's always die Flügel. Having outgrown Buffalo style, I actually prefer a very straightforward, garlic-and-herb-marinated, baked wing. Sometimes after marinating I'll dredge them in breadcrumbs, but usually I just make 'em au naturel. Jeeps doesn't care for them much, which is fine, more for me. Although Redman seems to be coming around...

Au Naturel Flügel.

This is my wings-for-a-party recipe, which involved two of those big wing-packs.

• Two of those big wing-packs
• 6-8 garlic cloves, peeled
• 1 cup herbs your choice - I used oregano, parsley and lemon thyme
• 1 cup cider vinegar
• 2 cups olive or canola oil
• Kosher salt and ground pepper

Chop garlic and herbs together fine.

Get 2 ziplock bags. Put a 1/2 cup of vinegar and a cup of oil in each. Divide the garlic and herbs equally between the bags.

Put wings into bags. Seal, pressing out air. Moosh wings around in bag until thoroughly coated with marinade. Refrigerate at least 2 hours, or overnight.

Preheat oven to 350. Line 2 baking sheets with foil and arrange wings on sheets. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Bake for one hour, rotating trays halfway through. Then turn oven to broil, and place each tray on upper rack of oven for about 5 minutes until skins are golden brown and sizzling.

Faux Focaccia

I bought 2 bags of frozen pizza dough yesterday. I used one to make my onion tart for a party last night, and thought I'd just figure out some creative use for the other bag today, or else throw it back in the freezer. I had a lot of ripe nectarines and plums around, and toyed with the idea of making some kind of fruit pizza dessert, but when I searched the Internet for ideas, all the fruit pizzas were made with cookie dough crust. The one I found that used actual pizza dough went on to spread vanilla frosting on the dough and arrange the fruit on top.

Vile. I looked no further.

But what about dough for bread's sake—wouldn't it make reasonable focaccia? And couldn't I pick some rosemary out of the garden and knead that into the dough first? Maybe some chopped garlic as well?

You bet I could, and with an abundance of veggies from the garden tonight, dinner practically made itself.

The green beans are going crazy. I love the purple "Velour" ones, they're so pretty in the garden; unfortunately when you steam them they turn plain old green, which the kids find fascinating to watch.

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Next, zucchini, yellow squash and eggplant, sliced lengthwise and thrown into a ziplock bag with the remains of the salad dressing cruet. Left to get happy for about 20 minutes, and then thrown on the grill.

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Last, the pièce de résistance:

Faux Focaccia

• 1 bag frozen pizza dough, thawed
• Olive oil
• Sea salt and ground pepper
• 2-3 sprigs rosemary, needles stripped
• 2-3 cloves garlic, peeled

Preheat oven to 400, spray a rimmed baking sheet with Pam.

Chop the rosemary needles and garlic cloves together fine. Spread out over the cutting board and sprinkle flour on top.

Pry the dough out of the bag, drop it right on top of the garlic and herbs, sprinkle more flour on top (a spouse or small child is a handy thing to have near for flour duty; your hands will be quite sticky).

Knead the dough a few times to fully incorporate the garlic and herbs.

Stretch out the dough on the baking sheet. It should look very sloppy and rustic. If you manage to stretch it into a neat rectangle, please leave my kitchen.

Drizzle olive oil on top of the dough, sprinkle with sea salt and ground pepper.

Bake for 20-25 minutes until golden brown. Slide off baking sheet back onto cutting board (serendipitous tip: don't wash off the flour and garlic-herb residue from the cutting board; the heat from the bread will pick it right up.  Yum)

Slice with a pizza cutter and serve. With the addition of some marinated mozzarella, and a jar of roasted red pepper spread I found tucked away in the pantry, this meal was awesome. Knuckles all around the table for Mom.

Thank you.

And good evening.

Honest and Reliable Blueberry Pie

99.9% of the time, when I make a pie, I use a ready-made frozen pie crust.  And no shame. But about once a year, usually in summer, I get the urge to make pie from scratch, including the crust. Pie crust and I do not get along.  And I have very high standards: I grew up on my mother's gorgeous, lattice-topped cherry pies which she made for holiday dessert and for my brother's birthdays. I make a so-so cherry pie (Billy Boy, Billy Boy). My signature pie is blueberry, and I owe that to Cook's Illustrated.

Cook's Illustrated is a nifty magazine. It doesn't really teach you any new recipes, it just takes tried-and-true favorites and makes them even better. It teaches you tricks. They dig into the science of cooking to discover how to make roast chicken better, how to produce juicy pork chops, which methods make the best brownies, and so forth. And if you are interested in the science, you can read the whole article, but if you want to cut to the chase you can just jump right to the recipe. But it is interesting knowing why what you're doing works.

Their blueberry pie works by using a grated apple as a thickener. What's the usual problem with berry pies? The filling never thickens properly, it runs out all over and makes your crust soggy. Or too much flour and/or tapioca leaves the filling gluey.  With the CI method, the natural pectin in an apple helps the berry filling gel, and with only a small amount of additional tapioca, the pie turns out perfect every time. You slice it and the filling holds. Every time.

Whether you use ready-made crust, or try CI's foolproof pie dough, which is made with vodka, you will have a signature blueberry pie that will knock 'em dead. Every time.

But full disclosure: pie crust and I, whatever the method, do not get along. I don't get no points for presentation. Which is why I only make it from scratch once a year or so. And you will see why shortly. But at least I know that with the vodka method, the crust might look like crap, but it will always taste good.

Signature Blueberry Pie

• 6 cups (about 3 pints) fresh blueberries (unthawed frozen ones will work just as well)
• 1 granny smith apple, peeled and grated on large holes of box grater
• Zest and juice of one lemon
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 2 tbsp instant tapioca, ground (their directions say to grind it in a spice mill or small food processor. I only have my large processor and if it's currently thrown in the sink after I've made pie crust, I am not keen to wash, dry, and assemble it to grind tapioca. So I put the tapioca in a ziplock bag and roll over it with the rolling pin until it's reasonably crushed. Don't sweat it)
• 1 pinch salt
• 2 tbsp unsalted butter, cut in 1/4" pieces
• Pie crust of your choice

Step One (I hate this step): Take 1 disk of pie-crust and roll out on generously-floured surface. Roll to 12" circle, about 1/8" thick. Roll dough loosely around rolling pin and unroll into pie plate, leaving at least 1" overhang on each side.

Ha.

This is what I'm left with after following Step One:

Fabulous. That's what happens every time. And I have to resort to what I call the "Patch and Pray" method. No finesse whatsoever, the bottom crust is just completely fudged, jerry-rigged, held together with cursing and philosophy. So you do your own treatment, get the crust in there, put the pie plate back in the fridge and let's just forget it ever happened.

Adjust the oven rack to lowest position; place rimmed baking sheet on rack and heat oven to 400.

Grate the apple, set aside; grind or pound the tapioca, set aside.

Place 3 cups berries in saucepan and set over medium heat.  Using potato masher, mash berries several times to release juices.  Continue to cook, stirring and mashing occasionally, until about half of berries have broken down and mixture is thickened and reduced to 1 1/2 cups, about 8 minutes.  Remove from heat and let cool.

Place grated apple in kitchen towel and wring dry (or just squeeze it out with your hands, that's what I do). Transfer apple to a large bowl.  Add cooked berries, remaining 3 cups fresh berries, lemon zest, lemon juice, sugar, tapioca and salt. Toss to combine. Transfer mixture to dough-lined pie plate and scatter butter pieces over filling.

Roll out second disk of dough. You can either do a full double-crust and cut slits to let the pie vent. Or you can do a lattice top. I belong to some kind of religion that mandates berry pies to have lattice tops. Cut the dough into strips and assemble your lattice. My mother does this beautifully. Her lattice actually weaves. I just lay strips out one way, and then lay them across the other. I'm just trying to get through it, OK?

By the way, do not talk to me about crimping or fluting. I am missing that chromosome entirely. The edge of my pie is what it is.

Place pie on heated baking sheet and bake 30 minutes.

Clean up the unholy mess that is your kitchen counter:

After 30 minutes, reduce heat to 350.  If pie edges are becoming too browned, cover with foil.  Bake another 30 minutes at 350.

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Remove from oven. Place on wire rack, or on windowsill, or on attractive curved ledge of your kitchen window pass-through, which your architect so thoughtfully designed for the express purpose of cooling a pie thereupon. Let cool completely, at least 4 hours.

Slice.

Serve.

Die.

You can see from the quarter of the pie that's left how nicely it holds. It's a beautiful pie. You did a great job. 

More, please.

Foolproof Pie Crust (from Cook's Illustrated)

The secret to this crust recipe being foolproof is the use of vodka, and Cook's Illustrated can give you all scientific know-how but basically the vodka prevents gluten from forming in the crust, which makes it turn out tough. Water makes gluten form, but you need water to make crust, so essentially you need something that's wet without being water and vodka is the ticket—it's only 60% water and the 40% alcohol evaporates away during baking, leaving perfect crust every time. Trust me.

Foolproof Pie Crust

• 2 1/2 cups flour
• 1 tsp table salt
• 2 tbsp sugar
• 12 tbsp (1 1/2 sticks) COLD unsalted butter, cut into 1/4" slices
• 1/2 cup COLD vegetable shortening, cut into 4 pieces
• 1/4 cup COLD vodka (any sensible person keeps vodka in the freezer anyway)
• 1/4 cup COLD water

Process 1 1/2 cups flour, salt and sugar in food processor until combined (about 2, one-second pulses).

Add butter and shortening and process until homogenous dough just starts to collect in uneven clumps, about 15 seconds.  Dough will resemble cottage cheese curds and there should be no uncoated flour.  Scrape bowl with rubber spatula and redistribute dough evenly around blade.

Add remaining cup flour and pulse until mixture is evenly distributed around bowl and mass of dough has been broken up (4 to 6 quick pulses).  Empty mixture into medium bowl.

Sprinkle vodka and water over mixture.  With rubber spatula, use folding motion to mix, pressing down on dough until dough is slightly tacky and sticks together.

Divide dough into two even balls and flatten into 4-inch disks.  Wrap each in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes or up to 2 days.

Small Bites

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Little bits of this and that from the weekend and beyond.  We spent Saturday to Sunday down at Jeeps' cousins, David and Christine, in Philadelphia where we always eat a lot, and very well.  David always comes up with something great to serve for cocktail hour, this year it was Lemon Drops.  I always love to watch Pandagirl pal around with Christine.  It's not quite an aunt-niece relationship; more like big sister-little sister.  When Christine announced that chocolate fondue would be for dessert, Panda went crazy.  And what a great idea - I haven't fondued in years...

On the way out of Ardmore we made a pitstop at cousin Jess' house in Haverford.  Auntie Donna had come for the weekend, and she and Jess were busy crafting away as usual.  We're all really avid sea glass collectors when we are down at the beach house.  Now Donna showed us her full, lifetime collection of glass, going back to when she was young and would pick up huge chunks of it on Jones Beach.  Sea glass just wasn't a fashionable thing to collect at the time, people considered it junk.  So she had glass in colors you rarely find anymore, now that everyone and their grandmother trawls the shore and pounces on every scrap of glass.  There were even huge pieces that you could still see the writing on.

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Donna's also an amazing quilter, and I fell in love with this placemat she made for Jess' daughter (who needs a blog name and I shall call her Cindy Lou because to me she is the epitome of Cindy Lou Who, who was only two.  Except she is four).  Isn't this a great idea, I could totally do this...or get Donna to make me six.  Ha.

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Finally back at home, we did nothing more strenuous that Boston Chicken for dinner, getting a second chicken and extra potatoes to serve for the week.  Today the garden was finally giving up its delights:  I harvested greenbeans, carrots and 2 Boothby's Blonde cucumbers.

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The beans were blanched for 2 minutes, then all the veggies laid out on a platter with ranch dressing, alongside the scraps of leftover chicken, and potato pancakes made by stirring 2 eggs into the tub of mashed potatoes and frying them up.

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Like magic, Redman found his nicest manners.  "Mommy, this is the perfect dinner for me, thank you."

You're welcome.

Chocolate Banana Bread with Crystallized Ginger

Remember my previous post about banana bread? Don't ever make it. It sucks. What was I thinking? THIS is banana bread. With dark chocolate chips and bits of crystallized ginger embedded in it like treasure. This is banana bread as it should be and how I shall make it forever more.

Yes, this is from A Homemade Life, and the recipe itself comes from a friend of a friend of Molly Wizenburg, who got the stunning idea to add ginger to his banana bread. I thought for sure I could easily get crystallized or candied ginger at Trader Joe's but when I went there this weekend:  none to be found. I asked one of the workers and he told me that they hadn't had any in months, not since their last shipment had been recalled.

Recalled. Mmmkay.

So I dashed to Stop & Shop and procured a bottle of McCormick crystallized ginger. I dumped out half the jar to chop into pieces. Well maybe a little more. A little more. That's it. Well...oh screw it, the whole jar went in. And a good thing because it wasn't very potent ginger, as it turned out. Of course that didn't stop us from eating the entire loaf in less than two days, but I'll be interested to see the results when this is made with really good candied ginger. Or perhaps I will try making it myself someday. Alton Brown assures me it's easy.

You can link to the full Orangette blog post about the banana bread here (and please do), and here is the recipe:

Glenn’s Banana Bread with Chocolate Chips and Candied Ginger

• 1 cup sugar
• 1 large egg
• ½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 2 ripe medium-size bananas
• 3 Tbs milk
• 2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp baking powder
• ½ tsp baking soda
• 1 cup chocolate chips (I used Toll House dark chocolate chips, oh my God...)
• Small chunks of candied ginger, to taste
• ½ cup chopped walnuts, optional (I didn't use)

Preheat oven to 350. Grease a 9- by 5-inch loaf pan with butter or cooking spray, and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, cream sugar, egg, and butter.

In a separate bowl, mash bananas; then mix with milk.

In another separate bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, and baking soda.

Add flour mixture to butter mixture in three parts, alternating with banana-milk mixture in two parts, stirring by hand until just combined. Stir in chocolate chips, ginger, and optional nuts.

Turn batter into loaf pan, smoothing top with the back of a spoon, and bake for one hour, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. (My cooking time came out closer to an hour and 15 minutes)

Allow to cool for a few minutes; then remove bread from pan and cool on a wire rack.

Stuffed Zucchini Flowers

I grow six zucchini plants. Three are for the purpose of having zucchini. The other three are expressly for flowers, and if the plant manages to produce a fruit or two anyway, fabulous. But if you are a male flower on those three plants, you should accept that your days are numbered. Oh, and you blossoms on the rogue pumpkin vines scattered about the premises? You're not safe either.

Between yesterday and today, I got 10 good flowers—8 zucchini and 2 pumpkin. The blossoms will keep in the fridge, rolled in a damp paper towel.

There are about a thousand ways to make zucchini flowers—unstuffed, stuffed, pan-fried, deep-fried, baked, rolled in a batter of flour and seltzer, or egg and flour, or egg white and bread crumbs. It's simply a matter of finding the recipe and method that works for you. Or, in my case, cobbling a method together from one or two sources—the filling from one of my cookbooks, and the batter from Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking. 

Whatever your method, it's pretty hard to screw these up. And it's impossible to make enough.

Stuffed Zucchini Flowers

You use male flowers for this dish. The stem of a male flower looks like a stem, and the stem of a female flower looks like a tiny little squash. Inside the blossom, the males look like boys, and the females look like girls. OK? That's all I'm saying. For further botanical sex education, and visual aids, go here.

Trim the stems off the blossom—I leave about a two-inch stem just to have something to hold onto (shut up). With small scissors, cut out the stamen of each flower (courage, men, courage). (And shut up).

Filling (for about a dozen blossoms, plus leftovers for the next crop)

• 3/4 cup ricotta cheese
• 1/4 cup parmesan
• 1 egg
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh herbs (I used basil and parsley)

Mix all in a small bowl. You have a choice of filling the blossoms with a small spoon, or putting the filling into a pastry bag (if you own one) or a ziplock bag with the corner cut off and piping the filling into the blossoms. I use a small spoon. Fill each flower with about 2 teaspoons, then twist petals to close. It helps to wet your fingers first, then twist. (Shut up.)

Batter

• 1 egg
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 1/3 cup flour
• 2-3 tablespoons water

Beat egg with lemon juice in a medium bowl. Whisk in flour. Batter will be thick. Whisk in water until consistency of thin pancake batter or tempura. I know that's extremely vague, and very lame coming from someone who does not cook before 12PM, but that's what it will look like.

Heat 1/2" canola or vegetable oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat.

Dip each blossom in batter, twist by the stem to coat completely, then lay in skillet. Fry 3-4 minutes a side until golden brown and crispy. Transfer to paper towels to drain and sprinkle with salt. Immediately claim yours. Serve the rest. Wipe the tears when they realize there are no more.

So dinner tonight, like the zucchini flowers, was cobbled together from this and that. I don't know why this seems so much acceptable in summertime, but in general I find mealtimes easier this time of year. I'm not racing the clock, I'm usually letting the garden dictate the direction of dinner, people are hungry and seem more amenable to new things, everyone is just in a better mood. 

So I already had the blossoms on deck, but when I went to our local Italian deli (Valben's, for those of you in the area, I love them) for the ricotta cheese and eggs, she had rice balls in the front display case—breaded and fried and wow, they looked good. And her fresh marinara sauce in the cooler, yes, I'll take a half-quart of that, please. The woman there is so wonderful, "What are you making for dinner tonight, honey?" I told her about the crop of blossoms waiting at home and she was as excited as if she'd been invited for dinner.

So there were the blossoms, the rice balls with marinara sauce, steamed green beans, and roasted potatoes. Potatoes and rice for dinner? Sure, why not, what the hell!

And one more "Before and After" shot of the zucchini flowers. Don't blink or you'll miss it...

Beet a Path to my Door

Ha. Thanks to Betty, my Punmaster neighbor, for the title. The beet crop hath indeed arrived: Golden, Chiogga and Detroit Reds. I really only like beets two ways: roasted most of all, and pickled a very distant second. I don't like canned beets, and I don't like borscht (which annoys me because I hear great things about it. It seems like something I should like, but I just don't).

As I posted once before, Croton Creek does an amazing salad with golden beets, heirloom tomatoes and gorgonzola. I've tried replicating it several times but can't quite match it, I think they put crack in theirs or something.

But the other day I teamed up some thyme-roasted beets with arugula and gorgonzola and it was out of this world. And the most satisfying thing was that everything except the cheese came from my garden.

Everything but the Cheese Beet Salad

(And by the way, if beets are not your bag, baby, just substitute carrots, they are delicious roasted with thyme)

• 9 beets of choice (I used 3 golden, 3 Chiogga, and 3 Detroit Reds)
• 5-6 sprigs of fresh thyme (I grow lemon thyme which is awesome for roasting root vegetables)
• Olive Oil, Kosher salt and ground pepper (be generous with all. The more seasoned the beets, the less of that "earthy" flavor there is. The oil you roast them in then serves as the dressing for the greens)
• 1 bunch arugula or greens of choice
• Gorgonzola cheese, crumbled

Preheat oven to 375. Scrub and trim the root and stem ends from the beets. Peel if you're obsessive (I am). Cut in half lengthwise, and then each half into 3 wedges. Put beets in bowl with thyme stems, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with kosher salt and ground pepper, toss well.

Lay out a sheet of aluminum foil.  Dump the beets into the center and fold up the sides to make a packet.

Roast for 30-40 minutes until fork tender. Remove packet from oven and leave open to cool. Pick out thyme stems and discard.

Put the arugula into a salad bowl. Dump in the contents of the foil packet—beets, oil, and bits of herbs, scrape it all in there. Add Gorgonzola and toss well.

Serve.

Die.

Steve's Pasghetti Pie

This is really Clara's Spaghetti pie:  my grandmother's recipe, passed to my Aunt Evelyn, who gave it to my mom, who gave it to me. I now give it to you.  

My brother Steve adores this. It can be an appetizer, it can be the main dish with a salad, or it can be a side for soup. It tastes good hot, room temperature, or cold right out of the fridge at 2AM. And as we discovered last night, it's divine with a smear of leftover pesto.

In the recipe below, the last 3 ingredients are not Clara's. They are my own tinkering, which is what you're supposed to do with a family recipe. You all get together and something like this is served and everyone knows Cousin Jane makes spaghetti pie with extra onions. Aunt Ethel uses raw onions, not fried. Aunt Mary puts in raisins. Aunt Betty leaves out the salt because of Uncle Jack's high blood pressure so nobody really likes Aunt Betty's spaghetti pie.

But everyone loves Clara's.

Clara's Spaghetti Pie

• 1 pound spaghetti
• 1-2 large onions, diced (originally 1, I like a lot so I use 2, and I like using a mix of yellow and red onion)
• 4 large eggs
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
• 1/3 cup parmesan cheese
• fresh ground pepper

Pick a large frying pan with a handle but not too high sides. My largest one does have high sides which makes sliding the pie in and out a little tricky.

Fry the diced onion in olive oil. Do not be stingy with the oil (hey, I'm just repeating the directions, Grandma said don't be stingy!) The onions should brown on the edges.

Take the pan off the heat and put the onions in a large bowl to cool down.

Meanwhile cook 1 pound of spaghetti and generously salt the water. You will not be adding salt later on so you want the water a little more seasoned. Cook the paste until just al dente. It will cook more once you put it in the frying pan.

Drain the pasta and rinse with very cold water. Drain thoroughly again.

In a medium bowl, beat 4 eggs with the parsley, parmesan cheese, and 3 or 4 grinds of the pepper mill. Add the cooked spaghetti to the large bowl with the onions, pour the egg mixture over all and combine well.

In your pan there should be some oil left from frying the onions, but add more if it seems too dry and put on medium-high heat until shimmering. Dump in spaghetti-egg mixture and smooth out to fill the pan. Turn heat down to medium and cook until nice and brown on the bottom. Every now and again take your spatula and run it around the edges and a little bit underneath.

Slide the pie onto a large plate cooked side down.

Call your brother and tell him you made spaghetti pie and he should leave now.

Now the tricky part: hold the plate in one hand like a tray, take the frying pan with your other hand and invert the frying pan over the pie. Keep your hand on the bottom of the plate and push up. Hold on tight to the handle and keep pressure down. 1-2-3, turn the whole operation over. Now the uncooked part of the pie will be down in the frying pan and ready to brown.

It usually takes 5 to 7 minutes per side to brown well (enough time for your brother to drive over).

Slide onto large plate or platter (I like to use my big wooden cutting board) and cut into wedges, reserving at least half for your brother.

My mom says spaghetti pie can be frozen in foil and warmed up in the oven (it should be thawed first). However I cannot attest to this because I have never seen leftover spaghetti pie in my life.

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.