Curried Cauliflower Soup

Well hello, January. Here I am, nine days in and still trying to catch up and wrap my brain about 2013 and what it means. At the moment, we're all about packing up Christmas (we just said good-bye to our tiny twinkly tree this morning), organizing the books and closets and doing a massive de-cluttering. 

This curried cauliflower soup, from Andrew Weil's newest cookbook, True Food, is the perfect complement to all that external tidying and organization. It's simple to make and so delicious you'd never guess its vegan. When I eat it, it helps me feel healthy inside and out, like I am perfectly attuned to  both my body and my physical world. I hope it makes you feel just as good. Happy New Year, may your days be merry and bright.

Curried Cauliflower Soup
In the headnotes to this recipe Andrew Weil recommends using orange cauliflower if you can find it. I couldn't, but discovered that the added spices turn the soup a lovely orange color. I also found that when using a Vitamix it wasn't necessary to strain the homemade cashew milk (oh the glories of the Vitamix!) Enjoy.

1/3 cup raw cashews
2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
1 large head of cauliflower, cut into one-inch pieces
1 (14 oz) can light coconut milk
2 tablespoons curry powder
1 teaspoon ground tumeric
1 teaspoon ground cumin
salt

Garnish: caramelized onions, chopped cilantro

Put the cashews in a blender and blend until finely ground. Add 3/4 cup water and blend for two minutes. Pour the cashew mixture through a fine-mesh strainer into a bowl, pressing on solids with the back of a spoon. Discard the solids. 

In a large pot, heat the olive oil over low hear. Add the onion and saute until golden. Add the cauliflower, coconut milk, strained cashew milk, curry powder, tumeric, and cumin and salt as needed. Add enough water to cover. Bring to a low boil, reduce the heat, and simmer till the cauliflower is tender, about 10 minutes. 

Blend the soup with an immersion blender until smooth. Ladle into bowls and serve garnished with a pile of caramelized onions and chopped cilantro. 

Makes 10 cups, 4 to 6 servings

A Simple Autumn Lunch

When Sean's mom gave us an entire set of Staub cookware a couple of years ago, I remember wondering what on earth I would do with the tiniest of the lot, a little casserole that would only hold about a cup of anything. 

I almost gave it to Goodwill but didn't, thinking it might come in handy someday -- maybe for meals or tea parties for someone small and energetic? But now, almost exactly two years later, it's become one of my favorite kitchen items. 

Here's what changed: First, autumn happened. September and October are notoriously warm in the Bay Area but there's still been a shift. And all of a sudden I'm craving fewer salads and more warm and cozy foods. 

Second, we added an egg delivery to our weekly CSA and a healthy dozen arrives every Thursday afternoon. There's just one problem -- Sean doesn't like eggs. Or, to be more specific, he doesn't like "separate eggs." In a pinch, a frittata or strata will be tolerated, and there's no aversion at all to rich baked goods packed with yolks. He'll even gobble carbonara (weird, I know). But dinners that involve just "throwing an egg on it" don't fly. So, I've been eating a lot of eggs lately, and mostly for lunch.

A couple of weeks ago I came up with the totally-obvious-yet-still-brilliant idea of warming leftovers (farro, coconut rice, couscous, rice and beans, roasted pepper and tomato salad) in the tiny Staub and then cracking an egg over the top and setting the toaster oven to broil. 

The resulting egg is perfect. One crack with the tines of a fork and whatever is underneath is drowned in rich, runny, marigold colored yolk. Add a sprinkle of salt and a few minutes for the lot to cool -- warning, it does emerge dangerously hot -- and you've got lunch. It's simple, elegant, and oh so satisfying. 

My hunch is that these tiny Staubs (or Le Cruset) might be pretty easy to find thrifted or on sale, simply because people aren't sure quite what to do with them. So if you see one, add it to your collection. I think almost any leftover tastes better with a good egg cracked on top, and the presentation can't be beat. Needless to say, this makes a great dinner for one or two (how adorable would it be to have a matching set of these?!) and the cleanup is a dream. This is truly a one dish meal. 

One final note: My broil setting is auto timed for about 10 minutes but I find pulling it at 8 minutes is great if you like your eggs nice and runny, which I do.  


Bon Appetit!

Making a Real Dinner: Fried Farro and Dark Greens

Here's a dish I simply must tell you about: Fried Farro and Dark Greens. I made it for the first time in Point Reyes, but it's snuck into our weeknight rotation at least two times since. It's easy. It's healthy. It's the perfect meal if I'm eating alone and the leftovers are just as good the next day for lunch, hot or cold. Plus, it's extraordinary topped with a fried egg, or alongside roasted chicken or sausage. 

Last night, I used a big bunch of kale as my dark greens and also tossed in a few fresh herbs (marjoram from our CSA box, basil, and parsley). Sean's was served with a pan fried chicken sausage, mine was topped with half an avocado. 

I like to call this kind of dinner "peasant food." Simple and hearty, these aren't always the most attractive dishes but they are -- without fail -- my favorite to consume.

Add in a little farmer's market bread, a chunk of Gruyere, and a bottle of pink wine. Suddenly the mid-weeknight is feeling less frenzied, more authentic. Just the way I like it.

Fried Farro and Dark Greens

Adapted from Off the Menu by Marissa Guggiana

1 cup farro

1 bunch dark greens (kale, chard, collard)

3 Tbl. olive oil

2 garlic cloves, chopped

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Spread the dry farro on a sheet pan and toast it until a little brown, about 10 minutes. Toasting the farro will enhance the flavor. Note: Alternately, I've done this step in the toaster oven (simply toast the grain) as well as pan toasting it in a hot frying pan before cooking the grain. All methods work well.

Coarsely chop the dark greens. In a medium saucepan, bring 3 cups of water to a boil and add the greens. Cook over high heat for 5 to 8 minutes; drain and set aside. 

Combine the toasted farro with 2½ cups salted water in the saucepan. Bring to a boil, lower to a simmer, cover and cook for 20 to 30 minutes or until done. Drain the farro.

Heat a medium cast-iron skillet or other heavy-bottomed pan over medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, and the garlic. Stir-fry for a few minutes, until the onion is just tender and beginning to brown. Add the farro along with the remaining tablespoon of oil and continue to fry to encourage browning, constantly stirring to avoid burning, about 6 to 7 minutes. After the farro is fried, add about 2 cups (or more) of the cooked greens and warm through. Serve immediately.

Green Pea Soup

A few weeks ago I made pea soup for M.F.K. Fisher. It sounds kind of silly, but I like to celebrate her birthday every year. I feel sort of like she's my kindred spirit/fairy godmother and to honor her birthday just feels right. I typically make a big, three course meal, drink lots of rose or Champagne, and then ease into the 4th of July celebration. It works. 

This year I was feeling a bit more retro in my approach. Maybe it was because I had just finished reading The Help and was seriously obsessed with the idea of making a layer cake. But it was also because as I've gotten a bit older, I've begun to think of Fisher's creative life a little differently. 

After I turned in the manuscript for An Extravagant Hunger, I got to work curating pieces to include in two new books of Fisher's writing: Love in a Dish and Musings on Wine and Other Libations. Both are collections of "lesser known" Fisher pieces. The books include a lot of pieces that she wrote for magazines like House Beautiful, Holiday, and House and Garden. These are not the lyrical wanderings of a girl eating bread and chocolate on a French country hillside. This is the work she did for pay. The articles with menus for June bridal lunches helped get food on the table and care for her two little girls. 

I've long believed that Fisher felt alienated by the prissy, ultra-feminine, domestic culture that was so prevalent in the Post World War II 1950s. The magazine pieces she wrote during that time embraced the zeitgeist, but they don't really reflect how she felt about food and nourishment. In fact, I think that culture (in addition to her family responsibilities) may be why she didn't publish more during this time. 

I understand more than I used to how hard it is to write for pay versus writing for love. And maybe that's what I was trying to honor with this menu -- Fisher's creativity and talent, her ambition and her hard working attitude. Because there is a difference in the work we do for love and the work we do because we need to work. 

We began with pea soup, followed by chilled chicken-tarragon salad and greens, a cheese plate, and a towering chocolate cake with strawberry icing. Note: I don't really think Fisher was a layer cake kind of gal. But I do think she was a woman of convictions, and I was convinced I needed to bake a cake. Tout suite. 

The pea soup was, of course, a direct homage to Fisher who wrote several times about peas grown on a Switzerland hillside:

"But what really mattered, what piped the high unforgettable tune of perfection, were the peas, which came from their hot pot onto our thick china plates in a cloud, a kind of miasma, of everything that anyone could ever want from them, even in a dream. I recalled the three basic requisites, according to Fanny Farmer and Escoffier... and again I recalled Sidney Smith, who once said that his idea of Heaven (and he was a cleric!) was pate de foie gras to the sound of trumpets. Mine, that night and this night too, is fresh garden peas, picked and shelled by my friends, to the sound of a cowbell."

{From P is for Peas, from An Alphabet for Gourmets by M.F.K. Fisher}

Is this soup heaven? Who knows. But it sure seemed perfect that night.

Fresh Pea Soup

From the Barefoot Contessa At Home

Ina notes: This soup can be served hot or cold. If served cold, allow the flavors to chill in the fridge for a bit. If you can't find fresh peas, frozen are just fine. 

I note: Who wants to shell 5 cups of fresh peas? Frozen are fine.

2 Tablespoons unsalted butter

2 cups chopped leeks, white and green parts (2 leeks)

1 cup chopped yellow onion

4 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade

5 cups shelled peas or two 10 oz packages frozen peas

2/3 cup fresh mint leaves, loosely packed

2 teaspoons kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

1/2 cup creme fraiche

1/2 cup chopped fresh chives

Garlic Croutons, for serving

Heat the butter in a large saucepan, add the leeks and onion, and cook over medium-low heat for 5 to 10 minutes, until the onion is tender. Add the chicken stock, increase the heat to high, and bring to a boil. Add the peas and cook 3 to 5 minutes, until the peas are tender. (Frozen peas will take only 3 minutes). Off the heat add the mint, salt, and pepper

Puree the soup in batches: place 1 cup of soup in a blender with the lid on top and puree on low. With the blender still running, open the vent hole and slowly add more soup until the blender is 3/4 full. Pour the soup into a large bowl and repeat till all the soup is pureed. Whisk in the creme fraiche and chives and taste for seasoning. Serve with garlic croutons. 

Garlic Croutons

1/2 loaf good bakery white bread (French, Italian) sliced 1/2 inch thick

1 large garlic clove

2 tablespoons good garlic oil

Kosher salt and black pepper

Remove crusts from bread slices and cut into 1/2 inch thick cubes. 

Crush the garlic with the side of a large chef's knife and discard the peel. In a medium sautee pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the garlic. Cook for 1 minute until the garlic starts to brown, and then discard the garlic. Add the bread cubes, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook over medium heat, tossing occasionally, until browned on all sides. 

Vacation Meals

Just a taste of what we've been eating while living in a cabin in Pt. Reyes for two weeks.

Pretty and Ugly: Anchovy Onion Tart

When it comes to writing, one of the things I struggle with most is pretty versus ugly. I want to be honest in my work. But the truth is, it takes skill to produce writing that reveals both the bad and the beautiful. Often it's easier to be glib than it is to invest the time needed to write words that artfully convey the frantic, sugarcoated malaise that is often life.

It's a lot like the conversations most of us have every day:
"How are you?" They ask.
And I say. "Great." "Fine." "Super."

But really, it's always more complicated than that. There are disappointments, and scuffles, and funny things that make me laugh but that nobody else would understand, and stories that are just too long to tell because they require sitting and listening, something we don't do enough of these days.

Already I sound malcontent. But I promise, I'm not. Like everyone, I'm just tired of trying to do it all.  I'm tired of eating out; I'm tired of cooking. I'm tired of laundry and a cluttered house, but who wants to clean up? I'm tired of deadlines and being chained to my computer, and hugely embarrassed that almost every day this week I've worked in my pjs till 3PM.

And so, instead of trying to make it seem like all is easy and perfect in my world, I'm going to be honest. I've been working a lot lately. We've been eating out more than usual, and the rest of the time Sean's been in the kitchen. I've been demoted to breakfast and lunch service (and as we all know, my lunch is usually pretty monastic).

A couple of Sundays ago I did make an onion-anchovy tart. It was inspired by this recipe and article I wrote for FoodShed, but this time, instead of filo, I used the pre-made pizza dough from Whole Foods. You know the stuff -- it costs less than two bucks and all you have to do is plop it on a floured surface, roll it out, spread on the toppings, and bake.

To me, this is the perfect pretty/ugly meal. It isn't exactly a beautiful, but one bite of this intensely savory, salty, and sweet combination will make you realize what a quiet stunner this dish is. It's a meal made for those who feel like they don't have enough time, but it satisfies enough to instantly transport you to Southern France. 

"Hey," you might think. "I really can do it all."

And maybe you can. Or maybe its best if we all (myself included) gave up trying?


***
You can find the Recipe for Anchovy-Onion Tart here. I made the topping as directed, dumped it onto a pre-made pizza crust that had been rolled to 1/4 inch thickness, and baked it in a hot (400 degree) oven for about 20 minutes.

Food to Go: Farro with Porcini and Arugula

What do you eat when things get busy?

Me, I like hefty salads like lentil, farro, or quinoa. I cook the legumes or grains, and toss them with vegetables, cheese, and a light dressing.

If a crazy week approaches, I make big batches on the weekend and pick at them all week. I add meat, fried egg, more vegetables, or nuts. I warm them up or eat them cold. They are easy to transport, but pretty and substantial enough that if you end up eating a bowl on the couch with a big glass of red wine and the New York Times Magazine, you don't feel deprived.

Lately I've been relying on meals like this to carry me. I'm teaching at Stanford one evening a week, which means I eat an early dinner on a bench, or tucked away in a hidden corner of the library before rushing off to class. It's very collegiate and my packed dinner (tuperware of leftovers, a piece of fruit or lara bar, a Halloween sized Snickers bar) remind me of the days when I was always on the go.

As busy as its been, there's something fun about the newness of the moment. It's autumn; it's back to school time. Last night I spent an hour in the library writing (with a pen! on a yellow pad!) and looking out the window. I saw a handsome guy with a leather portfolio case meet a girl in colored tights and a pea coat by a fountain. I watched them casually start to hold hands, and I watched him turn away ever so slightly as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

While strolling to class in the dark people whizzed by me on bikes, hurrying to the dining hall, or home for an extra layer of clothes. The wind tugged at my scarf and a few scattered leaves blew across the path.

I notice that my recent busyness is not only taking me new places, it's leading me to unexpected moments of joy and calm. I'm remembering how much I like teaching. I'm getting big urges to be creative: to observe, write, dig into old books, and look for new stories.

I need reliable food to help fuel these ventures, and this salad does it. I know that many have moved past the season of corn -- in California there's still ears to be found for 25 cents each. Use it fresh or canned if you want or sub in something else: baby tomatoes, roasted eggplant, even shaved brussel sprouts might be good.

The point is, this salad is a winner: easy to make, easy to double, easy to make substitutions, and very easy to munch at for days while life moves around you and your brain works to stretch big thoughts even bigger. Enjoy.

Farro Salad with Porcini and Arugula
From Good Food to Share by Sara-Kate Gillingham-Ryan
The original recipe calls for Israeli couscous, but Sara-Kate suggested substituting farro to make the salad even more wholesome. It's a great evolution from, though I'm sure the couscous would be good too.

1/2 cup dried porcini mushrooms
3 Tablespoons olive oil
1 cup farro
2 and 1/2 cups chicken or vegetable stock, warmed
2 ears corn, husks and silks removed
2 handfuls baby arugula, tough stems removed
1/4 pound smoked mozzarella cheese, cut into 1/4 inch dice
1 Tablespoon champagne vinaigrette
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Put the porcini mushrooms in a small heat proof bowl. In a kettle or saucepan, bring 1/2 cup water to a boil over high heat. Pour the boiling water over the mushrooms. Set aside and let steep until the mushrooms are soft and plump, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large saucepan, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat. Add the farro and toast, stirring constantly, until lightly toasted and fragrant, about 5 minutes. Pour in the stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium, cover, and cook until done -- about 30 minutes for chewy farro or a little longer if you like it softer. Drain excess liquid, if any remains, and transfer farro to a large serving bowl.

Cut the kernels off the ears of the corn and add to the bowl with the farro. Drain the mushrooms and chop into bite-sized pieces before adding to the salad. Add the arugula and cheese.

In a small bowl whisk together the remaining ingredients: 2 tablespoons olive oil and champagne vinegar. Pour over the salad and toss until ingredients are well distributed and coated with the dressing. Season generously with salt and pepper and toss again gently. Serve right away.

Serves 4-6, easily doubled for a crowd.

My Chicken Monterey

Right now, I'm in love with cooking from real cookbooks. I like having to bend the spine a bit to get it to lie flat on the counter, and I like getting the pages a little messy with my fingerprints. Most of all, I like being able to write a little note in the margin.

Even if I never make this dish again, I'll love looking through my cookbook and seeing this: "Made for Mom & Dad, Labor Day Weekend 2011. SF made pasta and fresh pesto to start. We drank Champagne and Vermentino. Blackberry-apricot cobbler for dessert."

My Chicken Monterey
Adapted from The Silver Palate Cookbook
I made some liberal changes to this iconic recipe: cilantro instead of parsley, wine instead of stock, and fresh tomatoes instead of canned. It was a beautiful way to use up a ton of that red-yellow-orange summer produce we got last week in our CSA. I wasn't sure about the orange juice and zest, but I had an orange on-hand, so in it went. It did add something beguiling. Sean said it was a pernod flavor. To me it was more undefinable but equally evocative. It tasted like long late summer days: fresh, vibrant, but with true, deep flavors.   

5 Tablespoons olive oil
1 chicken 2 ½ to 3 lbs, quartered
salt and black pepper to taste
1 cup finely chopped yellow onion
4 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1 cup white wine
½ cup fresh orange juice
½ cup chopped tomatoes with juices
1 T dried rosemary
1 medium red bell pepper, cut julienne
½ zucchini and ½ yellow squash, sliced diagonally
1/3 cup cilantro
grated zest of 1 orange

1. Heat 3 Tablespoons oil in large skillet. Rinse and pat chicken pieces dry; season with salt and pepper, and cook in oil 5 minutes. Turn chicken, season; cook another 5 minutes. Do not brown; it should be pale gold. Remove chicken and reserve.
2. Add onions and garlic to oil and cook, covered, over low heat until veggies are tender, about 15 minutes.
3. Uncover skillet and add wine, tomatoes, and rosemary. Season with salt and pepper to taste and simmer mixture uncovered, 15 minutes.
4. Return chicken pieces to pan and simmer 20-25 minutes or until chicken is nearly done. Baste pieces with sauce and turn once at 15 minutes. You can refrigerate chicken in sauce and reheat gently before serving in you want to complete recipe here.
5. Heat remaining 2 Tablespoons olive oil in another skillet and sauté pepper 5 minutes. Add sliced zucchini and yellow squash and season with salt and pepper. Raise heat and toss vegetables until tender, but still firm, about 5 minutes more. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Serves 6-8

Capturing Late Summer: Ratatouille

In late August I always start to panic a bit. Even though I don't have to go back to school, there's a feeling of change and anticipation. I inevitably start thinking about new pencils and folders, about organizing and making goals for what's left of the year.

One Saturday I made nectarine preserves from a bag of $5 fruit purchased from the sale bin at the farmer's market. The round salesman claimed the fruit was there because it was bruised. But when I came home and started cutting out the battered parts there were few, and it cooked up into a gorgeous pink-hued jam.

A week later I was back in the kitchen, using my grandmother's copper pots to make peach preserves. Now, these orange and pink jars line my shelves and I'm almost excited to crack them open on a chilly January day. Next will come petite jars of apple jelly made from a brown paper bag full of Sonoma Gravenstein apples.

Around this period of furious preserving, we received our bi-weekly CSA delivery: greens, tomatoes (big and small), peaches, plums, squash, an eggplant and watermelon. Nearly all of it was fragrant, soft to the touch, ripe and ready to go.

I was torn between two urges: Use it up! All of it! At once! and Save these flavors, preserve them for later, enjoy.

We did a little of both.

Ripe plums were cut, muddled, and shaken with brandy, chartreuse, and lemon juice to make a cocktail called the Sweet Louise. Tomatoes, eggplant, patty pan, baby squash and cilantro were layered into a stoneware baking dish and cooked into a bright and juicy ratatouille.

The recipe was my take on an old favorite. The original recipe called for parsley instead of cilantro, and peppers of various colors. I decided to work with what I had, and found that I actually preferred the cilantro to parsley, and liked the the more delicate flavors and textures of the eggplant, squash and tomatoes.

I served it both warm and at room temperature, with big hunks of toasted Acme walnut bread spread think with goat cheese, and a little wine. Oh la la.

But do what you will. For me, the end of summer is all about preserving: preserving fruits and vegetables, preserving the feeling of long sunny days, preserving the feeling of me -- legs bared, hair wet, light in my eyes, peach juice on my fingers and the pages of my journal -- to keep me warm and satisfied as we move into autumn.

It's a balance, a balance, between Eat it up! All of it! At once, at once! and save, preserve, enjoy.

End of Summer Ratatouille, adapted from Marguerite Marceau Henderson's cookbook Savor the Memories

DressingL
1 bunch cilantro, coarsely chopped
1 red onion, thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, slivered
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 cup olive oil

Vegetable Layer
1/4 cup olive oil
1 medium eggplant, diced into 1-inch cubes
2 pattypan squash, thinly sliced
2 yellow squash, thinly sliced into round coins
3 large ripe tomatoes coarsely chopped or 1 pint baby tomatoes, cut in half

Topping: fresh chopped cilantro

In a small bowl combine cilantro, red onion, garlic, kosher salt, pepper, and olive oil.

In a medium skillet, heat oil. Saute eggplant until soft, about 2 minutes, stirring often. Transfer eggplant and oil from pan to decorative 4-quart baking dish. Layer vegetables in the order given, spreading a bit of the dressing mix in between each layer. Finish with tomatoes on top. Cover with foil and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

Before serving, scatter with fresh cilantro. Serves 8.

Basil Watermelon Salad

Make it up as you go:
1/2 a small watermelon, cut into chunks (~6 cups)
Lots of basil (1/2 cup), thinly sliced
Hunk of ricotta salata, cut into chunks (1/2-3/4 cup, depending on your taste.) You could also substitute feta.
Juice of one lime
Splash of champagne vinaigrette
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Open up those windows or head outside to eat. Summer is here!

Soft Cooked Eggs

I'm about to admit something rather shocking: each morning I make breakfast for Sean. This isn't because he demands it, or is incapable of feeding himself. It's because I wake up earlier than he does and work and write for a quiet hour or two. I brew the coffee and cook myself something to eat. And instead of making breakfast for one, I make it for two.

But Sean doesn't really like eggs. And he especially doesn't like "separate eggs." This means there's no no fried eggs, no soft eggs on toast slathered with butter and a strip of jam. I get my egg fix at lunchtime, regularly cooking up scrambled or fried eggs to eat with toast and greens, or for a mid-afternoon snack in the form of hard-boiled, protein packed perfection.

But a few weeks ago in Portland, I ate eggs almost every morning. I have one friend with a herd of chickens, another that demands a savory meal almost as soon as her head rises from the pillow. This friend is the hyper-efficient type, too. So while I lolled in bed watching the sunrise, she puttered around the apartment, showering, putting water on to boil, setting the table, toasting the bread.

Selfishly, I liked the role reversal. Though I felt a little bit guilty that I wasn't up making breakfast before her big commute, I loved rolling from the bed to the table to find coffee freshly brewed, piping hot toast, and a perfect soft boiled egg.

Who needs expensive bed and breakfasts when you have friends like this?

It's a good reminder that it is the little things that show love: the hand-ground coffee beans that smell like caramel and butter, the last of the loaf sliced perfectly so we both have equal bites, the jar of jam opened just for me since I like my savory breakfast balanced with a little sweet. 

Since returning to San Francisco, I've been craving soft cooked eggs. Not too soft, mind you -- but enough that there's a bright runny yolk that splits and drips and demands being sopped up with good bread.

But my attempts at making them have failed -- I've yet to end up with a runny white, but usually my yolks are well on their way to being hard, defined rounds. I've given up for the moment. Maybe soft cooked eggs will be what I eat in the Pacific NW on lazy mornings with good friends.

This is how it should be -- and this is how it is. A phone call doesn't make up for a face to face chat. A really great email, or -- dare I say it, letter? -- can't replace a long dinner with too much wine. And a sub-par egg can't make up for a perfect one.

But if I decide to try again -- all in the name of a simple meal bringing your heart closer to home -- this is the recipe I'll use:

Place eggs in a saucepan large enough to accommodate them in a single layer. Fill the pan with cold water, covering eggs by an inch. Set over medium-high heat, and bring to a boil. Turn off heat, cover, and let stand 1 1/2 to 2 minutes. Remove eggs from water. Serve immediately in egg cups -- perfect for cracking and scooping the egg right from the shell. Season with salt and pepper.

Daily Soup: Curried Lentil

I've had a huge craving for vegetarian food lately. Maybe those out of control sugar cravings I spoke of last week are finally relenting, balanced by a return to humble and healthful meals, chock full of greens and grains.

The urge is so deep, that last week I went out at 5PM  just for a carrot and a can of chickpeas so that I could make this soup. First spotted in Molly Wizenberg's column in Bon Appetite, I next saw it remade on Megan's blog. After that, I could not get this soup out of my head (kind of like a cute boy or a catchy Justin Bieber song) and by the time the dinner hour rolled around, there was no mistaking it: I was not making the pork chops with sauteed apples and onions that were on the menu. I was making soup.

I won't re-post the recipe -- it was just in a recent issue of Bon Appetite, and in honoring that, I'll let the printed word win, at least for today. Plus, the recipe I made incorporated Megan's small, yet perfect tweaks. I can't imagine doing my own riff just yet, because this soup was perfect: spicy, comforting, soul warming.

We ate it with naan and a big green salad, and again the next day for lunch, and then again and again. It's that kind of soup. I'm even hiding some from Sean, tucked away in an inconspicuous yogurt container I'm sure he'll never open. It's been a great one bowl lunch for quite a few days.

Sometimes, when you're feeling reliably anxious about things entirely out of your control (like reviews of your book), your food should ground you. This soup did that. And for that, it'll be on my favorites list for a long time.

P.S. Want to know more about how I met my book agent? See a photo of me before the big meeting, and read about it here!

Arugula and Lentil Salad with Goat Cheese

Like Maggie, my meals in recent weeks have been composed of salad and take-out. I make the salad; he orders the take-out. This loose system has helped me to get through another stretch of book editing well-fed yet nourished by the fresh produce that taunts me when I walk through the market.

It's a shame, really, to be working so hard during the summertime. My dreams of berry cobblers and jams have passed along with the months of June and July. And thanks to the cold and glum weather in San Francisco, we ate tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches last night, not homemade tomato sauce over ribbons of fresh pasta from Luca's. At least it's good weather for staying in with a cup of tea and a pile of papers.

But then there are the days where it all comes together: I wake up early and get a lot done before noon. I have time to think about dinner, get to the store, and I remember my list so I (amazingly!) get everything on it. Then I cook and cook and cook.

This salad was a particular bright spot during a time where I have constantly felt tardy and under prepared. So French, so Southern French with its lentils, and goat cheese, and dots of colorful tomatoes. Thanks to the legumes it's hearty. All you need to make it a meal is a bottle of rose, a crusty baguette, perhaps a hard sausage to slice into chunks and gnaw. 

Good eats. No takeout required.

Arugula and Lentil Salad with Goat Cheese, from the May 2010 of MS Living.
I love lentils so I actually doubled the lentils. This allowed me to stretch dinner into a lunch or two -- a beautiful thing.
1/2 cup dried French green lentils, rinsed, drained, and picked over
1 small red onion, halved
3 tablespoons red-wine vinegar
3/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
4 ounces baby arugula (6 cups loosely packed)
12 ounces cherry tomatoes, halved if large
3 ounces goat cheese, crumbled

Place lentils and 1 onion half in a medium saucepan; cover with cold water by 2 inches. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender, about 20 minutes. Drain; discard onion half. Transfer lentils to a medium bowl. 

Chop remaining onion. Combine vinegar and mustard. Pour in oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly until emulsified. Add chopped onion. Season with salt and pepper. Toss lentils with half the vinaigrette; let cool. 

Arrange half the arugula on a platter. Spoon half the lentils on top. Top with half the tomatoes and half the goat cheese. Repeat with remaining ingredients to form another layer; drizzle with remaining vinaigrette.
Serves 8 or so.

On Not Cooking

Today I was thinking about all the effort I put into not cooking these days. I haven't succumbed to take-out or meals from the freezer or can, rather an endless stream of composed dishes that require very little effort. Salads with a poached egg. Roasted vegetables with toast and a poached egg or cheese. Slabs of good toasted bread with hot cheese, chunks of avocado, or a quickly fried egg. Hummus. Beans. Chocolate, lots of chocolate.

It is actually a nice, albeit simple, way to cook, because it shows me how far I've come. I used to be the kind of person who required a recipe. No recipe meant no dinner, or boring fare: a bowl of pasta with bland red sauce, a quesadilla with canned black beans and salsa from a jar.

I still love to cook from recipes, recipes give me most of my ideas. But I like realizing that I am slowly becoming the kind of person who can make something out of nothing. It makes me feel self-sufficient. The bad part? Nary a recipe in sight, which means there's little to share here.

But as I finish writing the book, this means of simple cooking is highly satisfying. I like shopping for fresh produce at my weekly farmer's market. Instead of planning meals I spend the rest of the week tiredly stumbling into the kitchen, throwing open the fridge, and figuring out something easy to make and eat. 

Take lunch, for instance. The pickings were slim. But I did have some good bread -- I simply can't live without a loaf of Acme Walnut Bread -- and as it toasted I found a small bunch of radishes in the fridge. Out came the good butter and salt, and before long I was slathering the pink jewels with butter, dipping them in salt, and happily watching the sun stream in through the windows. I could almost believe I was in France. Almost.

For the moment, at least, I am finding just as much joy in not cooking as I usually do in picking recipes, shopping, and cooking up a storm. I’m sure soon I’ll want to return to the kitchen, but in the meantime, my radishes and I are happy as can be.

Warm Eggplant and Chickpea Salad

I was laying in bed last night trying to recall what I've been eating for dinner lately. Is it terrible to say I really couldn't remember? These days, everything is blending together into a manic mess of revisions and days spent at the computer, lunches are eaten quickly while trying not to get crumbs on the computer. Dinner is a haze of salads and toasted bread with cheese and a slice of avocado.

But after a bit more thinking, I remembered. Ah yes, it wasn't just a simple green salad I'd been eating all week. It was a very hearty, very good, very healthful salad adapted for spring from a recipe from Smitten Kitchen.

The first time I made this I used butternut squash and oh, it was delicious. But then butternut squash season passed. Yet there were still so many elements of this salad that made it enticing for the rest of the year: lemon, cilantro, tahini, and chickpeas. So when I spotted an eggplant at my Saturday market it seemed fated.

It was a simple, but excellent, change. And it reminded me of what I liked best about the original recipe: this is a hearty, fill 'er up salad that tastes really good. I get lots of protein, vegetables (I tend to pile a scoop on mixed greens) and don't feel hungry again for hours.

Now if it could just cure my after lunch craving for something buttery and sweet.



For salad:
1 medium eggplant cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 medium garlic clove, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt
One 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained and rinsed (1 1/2 cups)
1/4 of a medium red onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro
For tahini dressing:
1 medium garlic clove, finely minced with a pinch of salt
1/4 cup lemon juice
3 tablespoons well-stirred tahini
2 tablespoons water
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more to taste
Preheat the oven to 450°F.
In a large bowl, combine eggplant, garlic, olive oil, and a few pinches of salt. Toss the eggplant pieces until evenly coated. Roast them on a baking sheet for 25 minutes, or until soft. Remove from the oven and cool.
Meanwhile, make the tahini dressing: In a small bowl, whisk together the garlic and lemon juice. Add the tahini, and whisk to blend. Add the water and olive oil, whisk well, and taste for seasoning. The sauce should have plenty of nutty tahini flavor, but also a little kick of lemon. You will probably need to add more water to thin it out.
To assemble the salad, combine the squash, chickpeas, onion, and cilantro or parsley in a mixing bowl. Either add the tahini dressing to taste, and toss carefully, or you could serve the salad with the dressing on the side. Serve immediately over mixed greens, brown rice, or all on its own. Just the extra dressing as you would any salad dressing: it is the perfect springboard for other Mediterranean meals.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

This photo is a tad fuzzy; I justify this by saying it was on the early side when I spotted this little winged creature crawling out of the salad I was making to take for lunch.

The bag of greens came straight from a farm in Healdsburg, California and was so good, so green, so fresh that if I could, I would drive there every week to stock up.

I didn't mind the little bug; I like knowing that my food came from the ground and is veritably breathing with life. But when I shared my store over lunch, I was surprised at the shocked looks I endured.

It made me realize not everyone likes to know where their food came from.  Sad really, don't you think?

Today's Shopping List

I find travel slightly exhausting, and getting back from travel is always such a pile of laundry and bills and lists of things to do. Thankfully, while I was gone spring bloomed. I am inspired by hot sun seeping through the windows and a cloudless blue sky.

And I am so excited to see what's at the market. When I visited the Union Square Greenmarket in New York City last week you could tell that winter's bite still plagued the northeast. The stalls were still a little spare -- unless you needed apples, winter greens, onions, or potatoes.

Drab vegetables were punctuated by the blooms of spring: pussy willows and tulips, irises, and tiny green starters to nudge into life in a small window box.

After a trip to the grocery store with a list that included greens and good bread, citrus, and fresh yogurt, I am easing back into every day health. The roast chicken with foie gras and brioche croutons is but a memory. So is the compost cookie.

Today's lunch was simple greens topped with an egg and a vinaigrette made from lemon juice, olive oil, and a little drizzle of balsamic alongside a hefty piece of toast. I spread the last bits of bread with honey and made myself a big cup of tea before returning to the desk. 

Travel is good, but it's nice to be back in my city.

The Real Tartine

One afternoon I walked all over the 8th in search of lunch. I had a poor map and an address, and not being particularly directionally inclined I walked around and around and around until I found Boulangepicier, a bakery and lunch joint operated by restaurant superstar Alain Ducasse.

There were so many lunch options to choose from: green salads with lardons and poached eggs, lentil salads with herbs and tiny tomatoes and an array of sandwiches. There were the traditional ones: jambon et fromage, and more alluring picks like tartines (open faced sandwiches) with smoked salmon. I picked a tartine with soft goat cheese, figs, arugula, and a sprinkling of pine nuts across the top.

It was so pretty to look at, what with all that fun pink and green, and very good to eat. I ate at a tiny table outside and it was one of my favorite meals in Paris.

For dessert: a cannele from Fauchon. I have to say, it wasn't as good as the cannele from Ken's. Maybe my next trip to France will involve a trek to Bordeaux, the real home of cannele.

Bon Appetite!

Boulangepicier
73 Blvd de Courcelles, 8th
metro: Courcelles
cross street: Rue des Renaudes

P.S. With a good map this place would not be hard to find at all... I just started out looking for someplace else, got lost, then had to back track to find my way to lunch.

P.P.S. Prosciutto! I forgot about the prosciutto!It was an integral part of my beloved tartine...

Beans Really Aren't So Attractive Anyway...

This stretch of August has been busy with so many house guests and obligations and things to do. I have barely had time to cook, but somehow have found plenty of time to eat (and drink!)Last week I made this bean dip spread to serve for lunch alongside a huge greek salad and homemade rosemary-olive oil crackers. I used dried white beans and soaked them for several hours before cooking them and then mashing them to perfection. Then I added the olive oil and herbs, cutting down on the garlic a bit.

I have enjoyed it day after day, spread on toast, alongside a salad, and sometimes (one late afternoon pre-yoga) straight from the spoon like savory bean-y peanut butter. It was so easy it might become a fridge staple. My next stab, I think, will be black beans with a bit of that cilantro pesto mixed in. Imagine that spread on a tortilla for lunch or snack. Yum.

White Bean Dip
From Can It Pickle It Cure It by Karen Solomon (this is my new favorite cookbook!)
1 cup dried cannellini beans or one (15 ounce) can, drained and rinsed
1/4 cup olive oil
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 cup loose packed fresh sage leaves
salt and pepper

Cook beans if you are using dried beans. Once the beans or done or you have opened the canned beans, put the beans in a bowl and mash them with a fork and set aside.
Place a small frying pan over medium heat and add the olive oil. Let it warm, then add the garlic and the sage. Stir constantly for about 4 minutes, or until the garlic is brown, but not burned, and the sage is crispy.
Pour the hot mixture over the beans and stir well. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Refrigerate up to one week; makes about 1 and a quarter cups.

PS I can't post photos for the moment, so words will have to do.
PPS This post is kind of like these beans. It might seem a little boring, but mix up those beans and you'll be glad you did -- they will add delicious late summer nourishment to your world.

Lunch Alone

All the house guests and travelers are finally gone. The day is sunny and the house is quiet, only a little rustle of leaves here and there.

For lunch I ate cold roasted chicken, standing up, in my kitchen. I plucked little pieces from the bone and licked my fingers. Delicious.

This is not a meal for every day! But today it was perfection.