Beet Caprese Salad

Beet Caprese

Though it’s a classic, insalata caprese — tomato, basil, and mozzarella salad — can get a bit tired. So can tomatoes. Sure, they’re at their peak now (I confess that we’ve been gorging on heirloom tomatoes here — especially with a $2.99/lb price tag!). But, anything in excess eventually becomes pedestrian and more difficult to appreciate.

That’s why I’ve been shaking up my insalata caprese by substituting roasted beets for the tomatoes. The resulting dish — a bit of a gateway to cooler weather — is sweeter, plus even more vibrantly-colored and gorgeous than the original. Not to mention that it’s very kid-friendly.

To make the salad, just trim and wrap in foil a mixture of golden and red beets. Then roast in a 400-degree oven until cooked, about 1 to 1 1/2 hours (or use golden beets only to reduce the mess). Then, let cool a bit, peel, and slice.

On a large white platter, intersperse the beet slices with slices of fresh mozzarella (that’s been blotted dry) and fresh basil leaves (that have been washed and dried between paper towels). Sprinkle the gorgeous combo with sea salt and fresh-ground black pepper, and drizzle on some high-quality extra virgin olive oil. I love to put out a small bowl or bottle of balsamic vinegar on the side for drizzling.

In some ways, I prefer this modified salad to the original. I’d love to hear what you think.

Moroccan Smoky Eggplant Dip

Smoky Eggplant Dip on Toasted Bread

There’s something so sensual, colorful, and romantic about Moroccan cuisine. Washing your hands with rose-infused water before meals. Biting into cinnamon sugar-sprinkled filo dough packages of braised chicken. Spooning into desserts kissed with orange flower water. Watching belly dancers in bright, spangly costumes.

So, when I saw a feature article about Moroccan cooking expert Paula Wolfert in the May 2010 issue of Food & Wine Magazine, I took notice–especially when I turned to the page with a recipe for Pot-Roasted Eggplant with Tomatoes and Cumin (which Wolfert and F&W editor Emily Kaiser gleaned from Dar Yacout Restaurant in Marrakech).

According to the instructions, you puncture an eggplant, then place it in a heavy cast-iron pot (with no fat!), cover it, and cook it over very low heat until soft and charred, turning it once. The whole process takes about 40 minutes, and the result is a deeply smoky flavor.

Had I read the text correctly?, I’d wondered. Surely, heeding those steps would mean destroying an eggplant? Still, I trusted Paula Wolfert and was eager to try a new technique.

My next food shopping expedition found me loading a heavy purple-black specimen into my cart. If it becomes acrid and inedible, I told myself, I won’t have wasted too much money. Even if it worked, I didn’t look forward to cleaning my Le Creuset pot post-experiment.

At home, I set to work. Sure enough, the room soon took on a bit of a bitter odor–usually a sign to immediately turn down the heat and later gingerly scoop the unburned food off of the top, discarding the burned bits on the bottom. This time, the burning was intentional, I thought. A good burning smell, almost like labor pains are good pains–pain for a purpose.

After 40 minutes, all of the vegetable’s skin had charred, reminding me of roasted bell peppers. Following the directions, I carefully cut the eggplant open, then let it drain for a few minutes in a colander. Next, I scooped out the flesh and discarded the skin and some of the seeds.

Finally, I mashed the tender flesh, then simmered it for a few minutes with tomatoes and spices. The result: hauntingly delicious and super-smoky–in a good way.  I added the technique to my repertoire (despite the fact that I was right about the hard work of cleaning the pot).

A few days later, I repeated the process, swapping chickpeas and and green onion for the fresh herbs, and eschewing the cayenne and some of the sweet smoked paprika so the dish would appeal to my kids. My husband and I (and our boys) ate this easy, delicious, and inexpensive vegetarian entree topped with some Greek yogurt. It could also serve as a snack or first course–try it on goat cheese-topped pita chips.

Soaking the Pot

Tuna Nicoise Tartines

Tuna Nicoise Tartines

My father, David, is an ardent fan of tuna sandwiches, lunching on them nearly every day. That’s why, for the Father’s Day lunch I hosted this past weekend, I chose to prepare his dietary staple — but in a new way. Forget monochromatic and sodden. I was going for colorful, healthful, and uber-flavorful.

My starting point: high-quality, oil-packed tuna from Spain (it comes in small glass jars or tin containers and costs a bit more, but is well worth it) and the 12 Seed and Grain bread from Whole Foods (ask for it unsliced, so it remains fresher longer, and buy it the day you’re planning on using it).

To begin on a strong flavor note, I prepared garlic oil, which sounds impressive, but is anything but. Just mince several cloves of garlic, cover with extra virgin olive oil, and let sit for about 30 minutes at room temperature, then strain. I also mixed up some olive mayonnaise by stirring tapenade (olive paste), fresh lemon zest, finely chopped fresh herbs (tarragon, thyme, and basil), salt, and pepper, into store-bought mayonnaise.

To assemble the sandwiches, I brushed garlic oil on several slices of bread, and toasted them in a 350-degree oven for 10 minutes. Then I slathered the slices with olive mayonnaise. On top, I piled up some of the good tuna and sliced hard-boiled eggs. To gild the lily, I added strips of roasted red pepper, fresh basil leaves, and a bit more salt and pepper, offering balsamic vinegar on the side for drizzling on top. Inspired by the tartines (open-faced sandwiches) at the chain, Le Pain Quotidien, I dispensed with top slices of bread. The effect was a riot of color and aroma.

On the side, I served a platter of roasted vegetables: Brussels sprouts, asparagus, and beets.

For dessert, I topped mounds of fresh sheep’s milk ricotta with mixed berries and orange-honey syrup with cinnamon.

My father didn’t miss his standard tuna-and-mayo-on-wheat for a second.

Spring (Kitchen) Cleaning

Oils and Vinegars

Oils and Vinegars

Spring-cleaning. There’s something so invigorating about the phrase–and the practice. That’s why, a few weeks ago, I found myself rummaging through my pantry, fridge, and freezer in full-on Peter Walsh mode (minus the square glasses and goatee).

My mission: to end up with a pared-down kitchen whose contents were completely known to me. That way, I’d remember what I had, use it, and avoid food waste. My tactics: to get rid of anything expired or that I wouldn’t touch (dried basil, I know where you’re hiding!). Most importantly, I resolved to buy less–and to make sure that what I did buy was versatile and nourishing (trans fats, corn syrup, and tons of sugar, you’re not welcome!).

This was a bit of a challenge. After all, I often gave in to my voracious desire to taste anything that sounded interesting, compelling, or novel. Rangpur lime syrup? What’s that? I’ve got to try it, was my typical thought process. Other times, I’d see a recipe–usually for a dish from an unfamiliar cuisine–and end up purchasing an array of ingredients to prepare it. Hence, my pantry, which looked like a mini gourmet food emporium.

But, the birds were chirping, the rhododendrons were blossoming, and I was determined. Spring was calling–and so was my cluttered kitchen. So, out went bottles and bottles of exotic fruit syrups, sugary marinades that had been given to me as gifts, cans of soup meant to consume by early 2010, the aforementioned dried basil, and spice blends (I like to have more control over my seasoning).

The process was cathartic, and kind of fun. And the results were compelling: my ingredient inventory is more familiar to me, and I’ve been using more of what I have.

The past couple of weeks, I’ve been relying on the small box of pectin powder I purchased years ago to cook up homemade jam. I’ve made miso soup twice, with the bonito (tuna) flakes and dried kombu (kelp) that I found at the back of my pantry. I’ve been drizzling the artisanal sorghum molasses I received as a gift before my second son was born on my berries for dessert at night. And I’ve been dreaming about how to use the black truffle salt I purchased from Dean & Deluca nearly six months ago.

Clothing closet and basement freezer, you’re up next!

Sweet Ingredients

Chocolate and Avocado Mousse

Strawberry and Mexican Chocolate Mousse Parfaits

You probably scrunched up your nose and regarded the computer screen skeptically after reading that recipe title. But, stay with me for a moment. I too was doubtful as to whether chocolate and avocado would mesh well.

Still, the idea had intrigued me ever since I began eating more healthfully a few months ago. After all, I’d heard that avocado (whose fats are mostly heart-healthy monounsaturated, the same type found in extra virgin olive oil) could substitute for heavy cream and/or egg yolks in uncooked dishes. No need to worry about raw egg, an ingredient in many recipes for chocolate mousse.

That’s why, preparing brunch for some friends and their kids this weekend, I found myself pureeing avocado with a bit of organic coconut oil, plus maple syrup, vanilla extract, and salt. The result was creamy and smooth. I dipped in my spoon, and marveled at the tropical flavor. I made a mental note to stop at this point in the future, layering the mousse with tropical fruit (like passion fruit and diced papaya) and garnishing it with shredded coconut.

For the time being, though, my mind was set on chocolate. Somewhat pained that I’d lose the gorgeous avocado-green color (much better suited to dessert than kitchen cabinets!), I spooned in some unsweetened cocoa powder and cinnamon for a Mexican chocolate flavor. After a few more seconds in the food processor, I sampled the satiny mixture. Rich and delicious, with subtle coconut undertones, it revealed no hint of the avocado. I sliced up a quart of strawberries, and then layered them in six small parfait glasses with the mousse, garnishing the elegant desserts with sprigs of fresh mint.

In just 10 minutes, I had a company-worthy dessert that was nourishing enough for my children (who, along with their friends, competed with the adults for spoonfuls!).

It’s up to you whether to divulge the secret that these vegan and pareve (if you’re kosher) treats are actually good for you. If you do, you might want to quiz your guests, asking them to guess the mousse’s secret ingredient. I bet they’ll have no idea that an ingredient primarily used in guacamole could make for the ultimate last course.

Strawberry and Mexican Chocolate Mousse Parfaits (with Avocado!)

Makes 6 small portions

This vegan, dairy-free, nourishing recipe is heavily adapted from “Chocolate of the Gods Mousse with Raspberries and Mint” from The Balanced Plate. For a less intense maple flavor, feel free to substitute a mild honey (such as wildflower) for the maple syrup or to use half maple syrup and half honey.

2 Hass avocados (about one heaping packed cup)

3/4 cup maple syrup

2 Tablespoons coconut oil

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 quart strawberries, hulled and sliced

6 fresh mint leaves for garnish

1. Puree the first five ingredients in the food processor until smooth. (Marvel at the color and taste – at this stage, it’s an absolutely delicious avocado coconut mousse.) Add the next two ingredients, and puree until smooth. Layer with the strawberries in six small parfait glasses, and garnish with mint. Serve.

The Biggest Myth About Food Writers

Wednesday Night's Dinner

Thursday Night's Dinner

One of the biggest myths about food writers (and other food professionals) is that we cook dinner every night. I remember my instructors in cooking school revealing how infrequently they cooked at home, explaining that they were eager to try new restaurants, often didn’t have time to prepare their own meals, scavenged food on the job, or — after working with food all day — opted to take a break at night. Although I was dubious then, I can definitely attest to the truth of this statement now.

Sure, sometimes my evening meal might be home-cooked and elegant. This past Wednesday, I seared halibut and paired it with olive mayonnaise and a saute of spinach, bell peppers, and caramelized red onion. Yet, on many a night, my husband and I sit down to something elemental and assembled rather than cooked. This past Thursday, dinner for us was toast with fresh avocado and tomato. It couldn’t have been easier–or more delicious.

Of course, when you go the simple route, the little details make all the difference. Here’s how my last two dinners came together:

1. Wednesday Night: I preheated the oven to 400 degrees F, then halved a thick, one-pound piece of halibut fillet. To ensure crisp skin and prevent curling, I wiped the pieces dry, and scored the skin with a knife. I then seasoned the fish on both sides with salt, pepper, and Aleppo pepper (which can be ordered from www.kalustyans.com). Finally, I coated each side in a light dusting of flour (to aid browning).

Next, I heated a small amount of canola oil in a medium-sized, heavy nonstick pan (nonstick prevents sticking, an issue with fish) over high heat. When the oil was hot, I added the fish and seared the first side until golden brown. Then I turned the fish, and let it cook for another couple of minutes. I transferred it to a baking sheet, topped it with sprigs of fresh thyme, and roasted it for another 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, I pureed several pitted kalamata olives with some mayonnaise, and prepared the vegetables: I heated some whole garlic cloves in extra virgin olive oil, then added diced red onion and later, some sliced yellow bell peppers (with a bit of salt and pepper). About a minute before serving the fish, I added some spinach leaves (plus more salt and pepper), and wilted the greens. Then, I removed the garlic cloves.

To plate the dish, I squeezed half of a lemon over the fish, then transferred it to two plates. I spooned a dollop of mayo on top of each piece, then spooned the vegetables alongside. Voila: a colorful, healthful, refined, and tasty dinner.

2. Thursday Night: I toasted a slice of my current favorite bread (anything by the company Mestemacher, especially the rye with muesli or the three-grain with rye seeds), then slathered it with some leftover olive mayo, and topped it with slices of fresh, creamy, vibrant-green avocado. Alongside, I placed slices of organic tomato. Then, I sprinkled everything with sel gris (French gray sea salt) and fresh-ground black pepper. Fabulous.

Mini Vanilla Tasting

The Vanilla Extract Tasting Kit

The Three Small Bottles

I’m not much of a clothes shopper. So, it’ll probably come as no surprise that I’ve avoided the behemoth outlet center, Woodbury Commons, for several years. Yet, once I found out that Williams-Sonoma had a store on the premises, I knew that a visit was in order.

That’s how my husband, Koby, and I found ourselves in Central Valley, New York a couple of weekends ago. I must say, the crowds did not a relaxing day make, but I did walk away with some booty from Williams-Sonoma, including a Nielsen-Massey tasting kit of three vanilla extracts (originally $32, on sale for $20).

If you’re suffering from sticker shock, know that anything with real vanilla is pricey — and for good reason. Vanilla comes from the flowers of orchids, and — since these flowers open only one day a year — can only be harvested then. Plus, about five pounds of vanilla pods yield only one pound or so after the several-month-long curing process.

Tonight, while our 2 1/2-year-old son, Max, dined on his bedtime snack (on tonight’s menu: watermelon, wholesome honey cookies, and warm milk), I sat down with the tasting kit. Max watched, stupefied, as I began sniffing the brown, six-ounce bottles. Each bottle featured vanilla extract with a different origin: Mexico, Tahiti, or Madagascar. While I photographed the bottles for this blog entry, Max asked, “What are you doing, Mommy?” “Smelling vanilla,” I told him. He didn’t seem to think I was crazy. After all, Max always asks for vanilla in his oatmeal.

The Mexican vanilla smelled strong, and brought to mind baby powder and flowers. The taste reminded me of caramel, with some bitterness and cedar notes. Meanwhile, the Madagascar, which the packaging describes as “the king of vanillas,” smelled similarly, but its aroma was less strong and was evocative of citrus. The taste, too, was reminiscent of orange.

The Tahitian was my favorite, probably because it was simultaneously complex and subtle. Very different from the other two, it smelled like butterscotch, with a bit of pine and maple syrup. The taste featured hints of toasted oak and caramelized sugar. According to the box, Tahitian vanilla is extremely delicate, retaining its flavor most when not exposed to much heat.

All in all, smelling and drinking the vanilla extract was extremely pleasurable. The liquid flavoring is a bit like a feminine, luxurious version of Whisky (after all, natural vanilla extract consists of ethyl alcohol, in addition to water, sugar, and vanilla bean extractives). While I put my 10 1/2-month-old son, Abe, to bed, I hoped the scent of vanilla on my breath would bring on sweet dreams (maybe of rice pudding with vanilla beans?).

Ode to Whole Fish

Harriet's Black Tie Branzini

Pulling off rustic and elegant at the same time is no easy feat. So, I have to hand it to whole fish, whether it’s roasted, broiled, fried, steamed, or grilled.

Even before I began thinking about the health ramifications of how I ate, I appreciated the appeal of crisp, paper-thin skin giving way to almost creamy, fork-tender white flesh. Not to mention the gorgeous appearance and over-the-top nature of ordering an entire fish — you feel a bit like a king. (Just close your eyes and imagine a coterie of liveried servants waiting in the wings with silver lidded casseroles containing delicacies destined for your palate.) I get hungry just thinking about it.

In fact, the experience of eating whole fish is so satisfying, that I remember the first time I had it: at a Thai restaurant in suburban Maryland sometime in my early teens. The fish had been fried in a wok and topped with a wealth of sweet sauce brimming with coconut, chiles, and ketchup (it sounds shocking, but this American staple is given prime placement in many Asian restaurants).

Since then, I can tick off other blissful whole fish experiences, one being every time I dine at Nick & Toni’s — in Manhattan’s Upper West Side and also on the South Fork of New York’s Long Island. While the Thai whole fish couldn’t be further from health food, the whole fish at Nick & Toni’s would make your doctor proud. It’s roasted in their wood-fired oven with seasonal vegetables and fresh herbs, things like thyme, lemon, fennel, baby potatoes, and baby carrots. Each time, the dish is different, depending on which fish is freshest and which vegetables are in season. Never do I feel deprived when I order this dish, anything but.

For a recent festive dinner, my mother, Harriet (a creative, artful cook of the highest order) prepared whole fish: branzino (a favorite of mine). It was both gorgeous and delicious. She was generous enough to share the recipe. Here it is:

Black Tie Branzini

Makes 10 whole branzini, or about 20 servings
Recipe from Harriet Cheney

1/3-cup pine nuts
Butter
Olive oil
2 medium shallots, chopped (some held in reserve)
3/4 cup chopped sweet onion (some held in reserve)
1/2 cup chopped fennel bulb
1/2 cup chopped celery
1 small yellow pepper, chopped
1 small orange pepper, chopped
Salt and pepper
About 10 whole lemons (Meyer if available), one juiced and zested, seven sliced very thinly, and the other two juiced
About 1 cup dry white wine, such as Sauvignon Blanc, divided
10 branzini, filleted and butterflied
Fresh thyme
Fresh rosemary
Garnish: Yellow cherry tomatoes, pitted kalamata olives, and chopped fresh parsley

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. In a large skillet, cook the pine nuts in butter until golden brown. Remove the nuts and carefully wipe out the pan. To the same pan, add olive oil, and sauté shallots, onion, fennel, and celery over a low flame. After about 10 minutes, add chopped yellow and orange peppers and more butter (or oil) if needed. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add the lemon juice and zest (from one lemon), then half of the wine, and let it cook off.

3. Rinse the fish. For each fish, lay down three sections of kitchen twine, each about nine inches long, on a cutting board or good work surface. Open each fish and lay it on top of the twine, skin side down. Place three thin slices of lemon on each half of fish. Then spoon three Tablespoons of the filling on top of the lemons. Sprinkle some pine nuts on top. Then finish with a spring of thyme and a snip of fresh rosemary. Fold together and tie up tightly with the twine. Arrange in two very large, greased casserole dishes.

4. In the same pot that held the filling, add butter and sauté some additional shallot and onion. Add the remaining lemon juice and wine (between your sips). Let it cook down to a nice consistency and pour over the fish.

5. Roast for 20 minutes. Then cover for an additional 15 minutes, until the fish is opaque white and flakes with a fork. Garnish with tomatoes, olives, and parsley.

Frittata Wisdom

Zucchini and Piquillo Pepper Frittata

For me, the ultimate “everything but the kitchen sink” dish is a frittata, or a baked open-face omelet. Imagine a crust-less quiche minus the cream, and you’ll get the idea. I can never thank its Italian inventor enough, whoever she is (it’s got to be a she – can’t you just imagine a wizened nonna in a farmhouse kitchen?).

Whichever leftover bits of vegetable, cheese, meat, or herbs I have lying around come together into a glorious whole, served for brunch, lunch, dinner, appetizers (if cut into small wedges or baked in muffin pans) or a snack. Hot, warm, or cold, it’s all good. Frittatas are infinitely versatile and forgiving. Did I mention that they can also be kid-friendly?

Over the years, I’ve made countless frittatas, and learned some lessons through trial and error. Here they are:

1. Start with onions, preferably caramelized. Nothing beats sweet, browned onions, and they add an attractive burnished note and depth of flavor to your frittata. Then, saute some other vegetables, like zucchini. 2. Don’t be shy with the cheese. We all know that it makes everything, including eggs, better. So add it with a generous hand. 3. Throw in some chopped fresh herbs for a gorgeous green-speckled appearance, sweet and grassy flavor, and that extra special something. 4. Avoid wet ingredients. If you use tomatoes, remove the seeds and drain as well as possible. Ditto with fresh mozzarella and spinach. 5. Prevent blandness — a frequent issue with eggs — by adding an intense ingredient, like sun-dried tomatoes, olives, or piquillo peppers. And don’t forget the salt and pepper. 6. Bake in a 375 or 400-degree oven until nicely puffed and just slightly golden. 7. Prepare to be wowed.

Never-Fail Chocolate Banana Bread

Never-Fail Chocolate Banana Bread

I’ve always believed that skillful, successful baking meant following recipes to the letter — after all, that’s what I was taught in cooking school. Pastry chefs are more precise, the general logic goes. Their minds and personalities are completely different from those of cooks.

That’s why I was so surprised when — flush with over-ripe bananas — I tried this banana bread recipe fr0m Epicurious.  Although it didn’t adhere to any baking “best practices” — you just threw all of the ingredients into a bowl, gave the mixture a stir, and stuck it in the oven — it turned out dangerously delicious. (Note that you might need to cook the bread for longer than the recipe recommends – I sometimes go with 1 hour 10 minutes.) Unlike many banana breads, this one was moist, rich with banana flavor, and speckled with melting dark chocolate chips.

After yielding such enticing results after just 10 minutes of active time, it’s no wonder I made the recipe again…and again… I soon found myself buying extra bananas just so I’d need to bake another loaf.

Even better, the results impressed no matter how much I tinkered with or, in a distracted state, completely disregarded the recipe: three bananas or four (I like four even though the center can sometimes seem almost undercooked), 1/2 cup of dark chocolate chips or more, toasted hazelnuts on top (see the picture below), whisking the egg after it’s been added to the other ingredients.

The miniscule effort I make is always well worth it. Regardless of where everyone is on the cranky meter, there are smiles all around once this chocolate-studded loaf comes out of the oven. That’s why I often double the recipe and freeze a loaf for later.

Hazelnut-Chocolate Banana Bread