Grill Friends

As we head into the peak summer grilling months, let's talk sides. So there's potato salad, of course.   Cole slaw...natch.  Baked beans, for sure.  And then, maybe corn-on-the-cob or a green-salad-that's-sure-to-be-ignored.

Sure there's all, or some of the above, and you could go all traditional and do the corn-on-the-cob thing, but that's because you don't yet know about corn pudding.  Yes, pudding.  Now, I never met a pudding I didn't like...sweet, savory...to paraphrase Cookie Monster, me LOVE pudding!

I became obsessed with corn pudding in particular after having it at regularly at our favorite rib joint, Redbones, in Somerville, Massachusetts.  I had never known of corn pudding, or, savory puddings in general, I guess, and their corn pudding was a revelation.   Beautifully souffle-like, yet wonderfully cheesy, with a kick of jalapeño.  Corn pudding perfection.  So, I searched high and low for a way to replicate it, as a Thanksgiving side dish actually, but the recipes I tried never made the cut.  Then, last summer, my beloved Food52 delivered the goods, with a pudding that is pitch perfect.  Airy and light, and packed with flavor, it's a winner.

So, with the Fourth coming up and summer corn at its peak...I'm thinking it's the perfect time to bust some new moves on the same old bbq sides.  Corn pudding.  Who knew? Now, you do.

My only adjustment to Lizthechef's recipe is the addition of minced jalapeño, or a couple shakes of Tabasco...call it an homage to the good old Redbones version I adored.


Spicy Corn Pudding
adapted from Lizthechef via Food52  
(serves 4)

2 tablespoons butter
2 cups fresh corn kernels, cut from the cob
4 scallions, white and light green parts, chopped
1 jalapeño, minced
3 large eggs
1 tablespoon honey
1 cup whole milk
1/3 cup grated sharp cheddar + 2 tablespoons for topping
couple fat pinches of salt and freshly ground pepper
4 large fresh basil leaves

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

2.  Heat butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Add the corn, scallions, and jalapeño and sauté for 3 minutes.  Remove from heat.

3.  In a large bowl, beat the eggs lightly; add flour, honey, milk, salt and pepper.

4.  Add corn-scallion-jalapeno mixture to the bowl + 1/3 cup of the grated cheese.  Mix well.

5.  Roll basil leaves into a cigar shape and slice into thin chiffonade.  Add to the corn mixture and stir.

6.  Pour mixture into a buttered glass or ceramic pie plate or a square baking dish.  Sprinkle with remaining 2 tablespoons of cheddar.

7.  Bake for 40 minutes, until puffed and golden.  Pudding must rest for 15 minutes after coming out of the oven.

 

Summer On A Plate

You know the song...

"You say tomato, and I say tomah-to".

Well, any way you want to say it -- I loooooove tomatoes.

My inner tomato glutton is completely satisfied with the move here to California, where the season stretches out for a satisfyingly long stretch. With most of August and September still ahead, I have a smile on my face of Cheshire cat proportions, just contemplating all the lovely tomatoes that are in my future.

With the focus of a true tomato junkie -- I headed for the farmers market first thing this past Saturday morning. A bright, sunny day (what?! August? In San Francisco? Impossible, yet true...) and the market was buzzing. With laser-like precision, I homed in on a makeshift corner of the market created by a stand with two sections -- one devoted almost entirely to tomatoes. Jackpot! A beautiful medley of Green Zebras, Brandywines, yellow tomatoes, Early Girls and who knows what else was mine! I also picked up a little basket of gorgeous tiny, Sungold cherry tomatoes the most gorgeous color of orange and the very essence of sunshine.

Next stop -- Lucca Ravioli in the Mission for some fresh mozzarella, good bread and... (you know it)...a couple slices of Serrano.

Could we call this my version of a Caprese Salad? I suppose. The Caprese, in my opinion, should be scrupulously avoided in most restaurants. I've seen too many sad, unappetizing plates tasteless cheese and under ripe plum tomatoes in recent years, to ever consider ordering it anywhere. But here's where your own gathering of perfect ingredients makes all the difference. (Kind of how I feel about Chicken Caesar salads too, but that's another story.)

But, then too, there are all sorts of funny "rules" in Italian cooking..."never add cheese to seafood", etc...so I'm sure I'm breaking some kind of rule with my choices here, and some elderly nonna from Capri would fall over in a faint if she saw that I add balsamic vinegar.

So be it.

There really isn't much else to say. The most perfect, basic ingredients yield something sublime to be enjoyed on a warm summer afternoon.

Buon appetito.

My "Caprese-style" Salad

serves 2 (umm, or one, serious tomato lover)

5 to 6 heirloom-type tomatoes (the more varied the colors, the prettier the salad), plus a handful of cherry tomatoes

1 large ball of fresh mozzarella, or buratta

handful of fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces

handful of fresh chives, chopped

your very best extra-virgin olive oil

your very best balsamic vinegar

sea salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Several thin slices of Serrano ham

a crusty Italian loaf of bread to soak up the juices

1. Slice up your tomatoes however you like -- even the little cherry tomatoes should be split in half. The juice from the tomatoes mixes beautifully with the olive oil and vinegar to create a heavenly sauce at the bottom of the plate, just meant to be mopped up with bread.

2. Slice the cheese in thin disks.

3. Layer alternating slices of tomato and cheese, and scatter the small cherry tomatoes all around the plate.

4. Scatter the basil leaves and chopped chives all over the tomatoes and cheese.

5. Sprinkle with crunchy/coarse sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

6. Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic.

7. Drape the slices of Serrano however you like - I like to put them around the edges of the platter.

Dig in and taste the sunshine.

And don't forget to use your bread to mop up the delicious juices at the end.

Farmer's Market Redux

Pinch me. Because there are literally moments when I can't believe I have found myself in a place like this. It is the very beginning of August and heirloom tomato season is in full swing here in Northern California. Last Saturday's visit to the local farmers market yielded the picturesque basket of goodies above, but also a supremely exciting moment for this food nerd.

A few months ago, one of my favorite bloggers, Smitten Kitchen, was rhapsodizing about her discovery of a web source for dried beans -- Rancho Gordo. Now, if you're like me, you see the words dried beans and you think "uh, yeah, great in theory, but, like, I HAVE NO TIME". I'm a canned bean girl. Always have been. I'm also an I'd-love-to-make-chicken-stock-from-scratch-but-there-are-not-enough-
hours-in-the-day-for-that-sort-of-thing". But, people... the perfect storm has been brewing.
First, I've been reading. (uh-oh...)
Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma...he of the often-repeated quote:
"Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants."
And then,
Mark Bittman's How To Cook Everything Vegetarian. Years ago, Bittman's earlier book, How To Cook Everything, replaced
The Joy of Cooking in this cookbook junkie's heart. And, now--don't be alarmed--his vegetarian book is on my nightstand. He makes a very persuasive argument for the intense flavors and textures of dried beans vs. canned and the benefits of soaking and cooking up a batch on the occasional Sunday -- and as you may, or may not, know I am a huge fan of cooking on Sundays.
He also points out that the beans' cooking liquid is deliciously flavorful in its own right (as opposed to that nasty, metallic-tasting goo that canned beans sit in) so they require very little cooking to taste spectacular.

So, there we were...wandering the cornucopia of the San Francisco Ferry Terminal Farmer's Market, and I spotted a sign that looked familiar. Rancho Gordo. Imagine that!! The very same beans Deb at Smitten Kitchen was raving about...and having to mail order, are grown in Napa and available at the market! I was giddy! The beans were ready to go, packed in clear, one-pound bags and came with recipe cards. There were multiple varieties with lovely names...Borlotti...Flageolet...Scarlett Runner...Black Calypso. They were beautiful. I wanted them all. I thought about it a few minutes. What were typically the most disappointing, icky canned beans? Ha. Easy. Cannellini. I've tried virtually every canned variety of this classic Italian white bean and the quality, across-the-board, is dismal. So, I brought a pound of dried Cannellini beans at the market, brought them home and followed the recipe card instructions the very next day...a Sunday.





At the risk of sounding like a total kook, I will tell you the beans were close to life-changing. They had a nutty, robust flavor and meaty texture unlike any canned variety I had ever tasted. It was an epic moment. I immediately formulated a bean-stockpiling plan...one Sunday a month, I will cook up a batch of beans...eat half, and freeze half ( a Bittman suggestion). That way, I'll have a "pantry" full of beans, in my freezer, at the ready. As my husband likes to point out..."you love a project".

That evening we enjoyed my version of Beans-on-Toast...or, maybe one could call it Extremely Hearty Bruschetta or even This Would Tickle Any Tuscan.
Buon appetito!



"Beans-on-Toast" Tuscan-Style
serves 4-6

2 cups cooked--recipe below-- (or canned) white cannellini beans
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced

1 cup grape/cherry tomatoes
1 bunch arugula, washed and dried
sliced, toasted ciabatta
fruity/peppery extra-virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar for drizzling

1. Heat the olive oil in pan over medium heat, and saute garlic until barely golden. Add beans and some cooking liquid and saute until warmed through. Taste for seasoning.

2. Slice and toast the ciabatta.

3. Plate a handful of arugula and scatter some tomatoes over. Drizzle with a little olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

4. Top with a couple spoonfuls of sauteed beans. Drizzle a tiny bit more olive oil and garnish with toasted ciabatta.


To Cook Dried Beans
There are numerous ways* to cook up some beans. Crockpot (uh, sorry, not enough counter space). Pressure Cooker (traumatized by a couple pressure-cooker debacles in my mother's kitchen in the '70s, I say, no thanks -- too scary.) Standard, stovetop. (I'm in!)*

*Go to Rancho Gordo's web site, or anywhere on the web really, for advice on using alternate methods. I'll tell you about the stovetop method I used here.

Check the beans for small debris and rinse in cool, fresh water. Cover beans with two inches of water and soak for 4-6 hours. NOTE: They will look shriveled and kind of scary. Don't worry -- they will plump back up during cooking.

The soaking puts people off, I know. The lady at the Rancho Gordo stand told me that overnight is basically too long of a soak. Their beans are pretty fresh, so they only need about 4 hours, so it really is perfect for a Sunday. Put them in around lunch time or in the morning and you're ready to cook at dinner time.

In a large pot, saute some/or all of following veg, finely chopped, in a tablespoon of olive oil until soft:
one yellow onion
one stick of celery
one carrot
one clove of garlic

Add the beans and the water and make sure the beans are covered by at least one inch of water. Bring to a hard boil for five minutes and then reduce to a gentle simmer. Once soft, add salt. Beans can take from one to three hours to cook, and you can't rush them. You also can't pinpoint an exact cooking time. Start testing and tasting after an hour or so to see how they're doing. Slow cooking (only gentle bubbling) over low heat works best. When they are tender, salt to taste and then, if you're going to freeze, let them cool in their cooking liquid and then place in plastic containers and freeze.

Transition

tran - si - tion |tranˈzi sh ən; -ˈsi sh ən|
noun
the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another

I knew it would be daunting, when I said yes to the job offer. Moving is never pretty...and that's just when you go from one house or apartment or neighborhood to another. This move -- Chicago to San Francisco -- involves thousands of miles and a myriad of details. The "transition" was going to be, umm, challenging.

But, I am a producer. And, producers handle details. Lots of 'em. Up for the challenge, I smiled, said, yes, thank you, and there you have it. We are moving to San Francisco!

Yes, it is as lovely as you are picturing...apricots and fresh lavender in June at some of the most glorious farmer's markets I've ever encountered. Incredible vistas in every direction...my favorite being the brick red of the Golden Gate Bridge standing out from the green of the hills of Marin in the background. Fog that sometimes rolls, slides, creeps or drops in over the hills to the west of the city. People--total strangers even--who will discuss food and restaurants with you in an wonderfully obsessive manner.
And, don't even get me started on how one city gets to have so many incredible bakeries.

I was going to start out and tell you how invigorating change is, and how wonderful it is to be learning new things, and experiencing all new, all the time. It is. But then I thought of a recent flight back to the West Coast where I bumped into a friend's brother on the plane. Someone I knew! A familiar face. I almost cried I was so happy and then I realized... sometimes, so much change at once and so much new is exhausting too.

Happy. Sad. Tired. I am in
tran - si - tion |tranˈzi sh ən; -ˈsi sh ən|

• a passage in a piece of writing that smoothly connects two topics or sections to each other.

Smoothly connecting two sections of life (the Midwest chapter and the West Coast chapter is what we are calling them) is what I am after.
I'm realizing that patience is key.

There is cooking and eating going on, but not much blogging about it at the moment. This producer has multiple lists going, things to be done, here and in Chicago, a huge road trip to be planned, and so, despite many blog postings written in my head as I stand at the kitchen counter eating a juicy peach in early June (oh, how I love California!!), few are actually making it into the blog.
Soon, I will be reunited with my cookbooks...my heavy, industrial stand-mixer...my fancy knives...my silpats...but, for the time being I will have to stick to the super simple. It's been like that for several months now and I'll tell you that's not a bad thing when you have the incredible range of produce that is available here. (I keep thinking to myself, "these people are so spoiled here"...and then, with a start, I realize, I get to be one of "these people" now and I become giddy with joy.)



So, here's something I put together recently after seeing fava beans in the local California farmers markets. A childhood friend tells me she has never cooked with favas...she says her only frame of reference for them is Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. Bummer. My favorite fava memory (ha), is a summer weekend spent in (relatively) quiet New York with my dearest friend, Elizabeth. We pledged not to venture north of 20th Street that weekend, and so we ended up having dinner one night, outside, at Da Silvano. I vaguely remember random celebrity sightings and many women who looked like supermodels as we sat there on a balmy summer night. There were perfect vodka gimlets, cool and refreshing. Then a starter that etched itself in my memory: perfectly blanched favas with small chunks of pecorino, drizzled with a fruity green olive oil and a sprinkle of freshly ground pepper. It was perfection.

I recreated this dish at home in Chicago, whenever I was lucky enough to find favas at the green market. The season seemed extremely short to me...just a couple weeks at some point in July, and I won't even tell you how many times I would get up at 6 AM, pedal my bike to the market, with the express plan to buy favas, only to be told the supply had been completely cleaned out by some local chef.



People grumble about favas being too much work. This makes me a little cranky... really, if you want no work at all, then microwave something for heavenssakes. This is about cooking something verdant and green and incredible, and it's really not that big a deal.
First, you shell the beans (and the pods really are fascinating...lined with a beautiful, white, soft padding.) Drop the beans in boiling water for one, two minutes, tops. Drain and drop into cold water and then pop the beans out of their skins. For super-tiny beans, you can pretty much eat them without this step. For this relatively minimal amount of work (I mean this is NOTHING compared to roasting duck or making bouillabaisse people!) you are rewarded with the sweetest, brightest green nuggets of goodness that just shout "IT'S SPRING"!

And, my favorite part of it is...from now on, I get to have them whenever I want.



Fava Beans with Pecorino
Serving note: So, given the "work" involved for a relatively small yield, I would suggest making this for yourself, or two people, max.

Several handfuls of fresh fava beans, shelled
Pecorino romano cheese, shaved with a vegetable peeler
fruity extra virgin olive oil, for drizzling
freshly cracked black pepper

1. Bring a saucepan of water to a boil and blanch the shelled beans for approximately 1-2 minutes.

2. Drain the beans and then plunge into a bowl of ice water for 2-3 minutes.

3. Drain the beans again and arrange on a plate. Top with shavings of romano. Drizzle with olive oil, top with cracked pepper and serve.