Pistachio Piecrust Pinwheels

These cookies started out as one of those delicious little accidents. I was slated to get together with a new friend, and both of us, short on weekday inspiration, listed off some of our neighborhood go-tos. Pleasant walks and dinners and parks, to be sure, but a bit of the usual rut. And then, in a last-minute burst of inspiration, we decided to drive out for a sunset picnic in the Columbia River Gorge.

Portland proper has many undeniable charms and green spaces. But the gorge, cutting between Oregon and Washington, is just ridiculously breathtaking. And I easily forget that in just a half hour or so, you can be taking in a scene so dramatically, panoramically staggering it makes your heart explode a little bit.

The Vista House is a little turban of a building on a summit of the gorge, intended by its builders to be “an observatory from which the view both up and down the Columbia could be viewed in silent communion with the infinite.” Sounds about right. But with the destination set, and just a few workday hours remaining before we set out, I needed to figure out what to bring.

My friend Adrian did the heavy lifting, promising some leftover pizza, smoked salmon, and a bottle of wine that we ended up bashing the cork into due to our failure to remember a bottle opener (leaving us with some fibrous bits and an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment). I didn't have enough time to hit the store, so I shopped in my kitchen. I grabbed a couple of carrots, a bag of cherries, a jar of pickles fermented by a friend, and a few squares of chocolate. But it didn't seem like I was quite pulling my weight. And then I remembered the small lump of pastry dough, left over from my recent spate of tart-making.

So I rolled out the dough, and sprinkled it with a generous sanding of coarse sugar, and some roughly-bashed cardamom seeds and finely-chopped pistachios. Because I only had a small lump of dough, I ended up with delicate little cookies, just an inch-plus in diameter. But they're actually kind of fun that way. Just teensy little spirals, a lovely match for a saucer of tea.

Or, in this case, a picnic. These perfect little rounds capped off a perfect little evening, full of open-hearted talks and breathtaking beauty and a reminder of how open the world can be. The unexpectedness of these cookies — and of the shape of the evening itself — made everything all the sweeter. 

Pistachio Piecrust Pinwheels

As you can see, this is more of a template than a recipe (as seems to be a trend lately), easily adapted to whatever amount of pastry you have on hand.

leftover pie/tart dough (I used the cookie-like pate brisee, but standard piecrust will make for a nicely flaky variation)
coarse sugar
cardamom seeds, pounded to not-too-big bits in a mortar and pestle
pistachios, finely chopped
egg, beaten with a pinch of salt and splash of water/milk (optional)

On a lightly floured countertop, roll out your leftover dough to a rectangle that is about 5 inches high, and 1/4-inch thick (the length needed to achieve these dimensions will vary based upon how much dough you've got). Sprinkle the dough with a generous sanding of sugar, then the cardamom seeds and pistachios to your taste (the cardamom seeds are fairly strong, so don't go too nuts with those). Then roll up the dough like a jelly roll, tightly, making sure the end seals. Wrap the dough tightly in waxed paper or plastic wrap, and place in the refrigerator to chill for about half an hour.

When the dough is almost finished chilling, preheat your oven to 400° degrees Fahrenheit. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, or just grease it, and set aside.

Take your chilled log of dough, and place it on a cutting board. With a sharp knife, slice the dough into 1/4-inch pinwheels. Transfer to your prepared cookie sheet, and repeat with remaining dough. If desired, brush with the egg wash, and sprinkle with additional sugar. Bake until lightly golden, ~10-12 minutes. Let cool, then pack for your picnic.

Kale and Rye Bread Panade

I've just left the Basque Country and headed back toward the Pacific Northwest, embarking on a truly epic amount of travel time. And mourning. Back to work and daily life, where it only takes one 'k' instead of three to say thanks. No more freshly-caught hake, home-infused sloe liqueur, or hand-made European cheese (with the exception of a chunk stowed in my luggage, courtesy of a visit to an overly-friendly convent in Idiazabal). And, worst of all, no more of my dear friends, to have a drink with while hanging out on cobblestone streets on balmy Autumn evenings, or to teach me the livestock-specific call for every farm animal we passed on our many walks. I've still got a few meals to log from my trip, and a handful of recipes to try at home. But for now, I need some comfort food.

I had the good fortune of encountering this recipe from Portland's Fressen Bakery a few weeks ago for my story on rye, and it manages to combine two of my favorite things: rye bread, and leftover-repurposing thrift. If you haven't yet met the panade, I heartily encourage you to become acquainted. Cubes of stale bread (and really, it can be any crusty loaf, not just rye) are enriched with aromatics and other additions (in this case, caramelized onions, fennel seeds, a bit of vinegar and wine and a whole lot of kale), then tossed with cheese. Then the whole mess is given a good drink of flavorful broth, and baked until bubbly. The result is heavenly. It's like the best part of stuffing, but made softer, saucier, and a bit healthier (especially if you, like me, use an overly-hefty helping of kale).

I love the balance of flavors in this version, and the way that the sour vinegar and wine offset the heftier bread and cheese, but really you can freestyle a panade with any combination of breads, cheeses, herbs and vegetables that are knocking around your pantry. I was going to write that it's enough to soften the blow of returning back to my normal stateside life, with its presence of workdays and absence of red-tiled roofs. To be fair, that might be too tall an order. But this is really delicious, a bit of a culinary blanket to curl up with and make the rainy Northwest days a little warmer. You can find the recipe here, courtesy of The Oregonian.

Eggs Poached in Summer Squash Saute

A few weeks ago, I was trying to help a friend come up with some quick and easy dinner plans. She was swamped at work, her husband was out of town, and her two young kids needed the usual amount of attention. I asked what she'd been cooking lately. She listed a handful of dishes, nothing fancy but certainly nothing to sniff at. Also, she admitted with some level of embarrassment, they'd been having a lot of breakfast for dinner.

There always seems be some shame in having breakfast for dinner. Every time someone scrambles up an egg, or plops some pancake batter on the griddle, there's an accompanying feeling of not being a Proper Adult. PA's clearly know the difference between breakfast and dinner, and feed their family the appropriate meal for the hour (and also never, say, get past-due notices for their forgotten health insurance co-pays). But I argue that we should let go of those prejudices. Pancakes, eggs and the like make wonderful dinners. As long as you do them up right.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a big fan of poaching eggs in a sauce. They absorb flavor, the whole mess is deliciously fun to sweep up with a piece of bread (or tuck inside or tortilla), and, most importantly, it's just really easy. This dish is no exception. Taking inspiration from a blog post I read a few months back, I cooked up a saucy saute of onions, fresh tomatoes, grated summer squash, and fresh basil. Then I made a few divots, cracked in some eggs, and covered and cooked til they were set to my liking. Add a slice of crusty flatbread, and it's perfect. A delicious, one-pot, near insta-meal, with a healthy helping of vegetables. Where's the shame in that? Breakfast for dinner, you do not disappoint.

And, if breakfast for dinner isn't your thing, I present an article I wrote on the flip side: dinner for breakfast. You can check it out in The Oregonian.

Eggs Poached in Summer Squash Saute

inspired by The Kitchn, but tweaked to my taste/groceries
serves 2

2 Tbsp olive oil
1 onion, chopped in a fine dice
2 cloves garlic, sliced
2 large tomatoes, diced
1 summer squash, grated on the coarse holes of a grater
1 handful fresh basil, chopped
salt and pepper
4 eggs
crusty bread or flatbread, for serving

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over a medium heat. Add the onions and a sprinkling of salt, and cook until softened but not colored, ~7 minutes. Add the garlic, and cook for a few more minutes. Add the tomatoes, squash and basil, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes break down and get saucy, and the squash is tender, ~10 minutes. The mixture should give off a lot of liquid, which is what you want (it will absorb/cook off when you cook the eggs). Add salt and pepper to taste. Make 4 divots in the mixture with the back of a spoon, and crack an egg into each divot. Cover, and let cook until the eggs are set to your liking. Top the eggs with a bit of additional salt and pepper, and serve with bread.

Wheatberry Salad with Roasted Squash, Raddichio and Walnuts

Wintertime salads can take a little creativity. Especially when you're committed to coming up with a recipe without leaving the house.

A few days back a friend invited us to a lovely midweek dinner party, and oh-so-subtly mentioned that contributions of salad would be appreciated. I was caught between work and work-related errands, with barely enough time to cook, and definitely no time to shop. Iron Pantry Chef challenge accepted! And the results were wonderful.

To be fair, I must give due props to the amazing Casa Moro cookbook, which features a lovely warm butternut squash and chickpea salad, which is something of a spiritual godfather of this recipe. But I didn't have chickpeas, or the cilantro and red onion which perk up that version. Instead, I dug deeper into the winter larder. I came up with an acorn squash, likely leftover from Thanksgiving, and a jar of wheatberries (or perhaps the were speltberries?) I inherited when a friend went gluten-free. The refrigerator yielded the remains of some colorful radicchio (it is truly shocking how long that stuff keeps), and I grabbed a handful of walnuts to add a nutty depth and tie it all together. I dressed everything with lashings of tahini sauce, although you could easily go the green-salad route and pair it with a nutty vinaigrette and a few crumbles of goat cheese. The composed result is much more beautiful than a mid-winter pantry meal has any right to be, and manages to be both toothsome and light at the same time. It's a welcome potluck contribution, and also makes a fine meal on its own, with perhaps just some crusty bread to accompany.

And, for those who do get out of the house (for grocery shopping and other less wholesome pursuits), here's a recent article I wrote about global hangover recipes. An eagle-eyed editor sadly removed the part where I described it as a "culinary walk of shame" (I can't imagine why, right?), but left intact recipes for soothing congee, sloppy shakshouka, bracing green smoothies, and rich pasta carbonara and French onion soup. Any one of them makes for a great start to your day (whether or not you're hung over).


Wheatberry Salad with Roasted Squash, Raddichio and Walnuts

1 smallish winter squash, peeled and cubed
olive oil and salt as needed
1 cup wheatberries (or spelt berries)1/4 cup walnuts, toasted (if they're not toasted, you can toss them in the oven along with the squash, if you watch them carefully)
1 small head radicchio, thinly sliced
1/4 cup tahini
2 cloves garlic, pressed
juice of 1 small lemon
pinch each salt and sugar
water as needed

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Peel the squash, and cut into 1" cubes. Toss with a bit of olive oil and salt, and set in the oven to roast, turning occasionally, until they are soft (and just beginning to caramelize around the edges, if you like), ~30+ minutes. Remove, and let cool slightly.

While the squash is roasting, cook the wheatberries. Place in a pot with a few inches of water to cover, add a pinch of salt, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer, and cook until the berries are soft, ~45+ minutes. They won't be totally soft, but should clearly be fully hydrated, with no chalky white parts inside. Drain, and allow to cool slightly.

To make the dressing, mix together the tahini, garlic, lemon juice, and salt and sugar. Add water as needed to thin to a nice pourable consistency (add it gradually, as I can tell you it's easy to accidentally overdo it).

To assemble the salad, layer the wheatberries on the bottom of a serving platter (or, if you're taking it to a potluck, a container with a lid). Layer the squash on next, then top with the walnuts and radicchio. Serve warm, with lots of tahini dressing.

Turkish Red Lentil Soup

If I needed to describe the lentil soup of my youth in one word, it would probably be brown. Brown lentils, a few aromatics and stewed tomatoes, and just a smattering of vegetables. I've learned to add a bit more interest to the Italian-style lentil soup, stirring in some kale or spinach, and a bit of vinegar at the end to lift the flavors. I still like that brown lentil soup, and make a pot every so often. But this soup, this Turkish-inspired red lentil soup -- I love it. It's made of the still-virtuous-but-less-earthy red lentils, and brightened with some warm spices and a splash of lemon juice. On the days after I have over-indulged (something that certainly happens this time of year), it's a great recovery meal. It's got fiber and vitamin-rich vegetables, and yet it's light and smooth enough to soothe ragged stomaches.

Traditional Turkish red lentil soup can take a variety of forms. Some are simple purees, while others feature sprinklings of mint or dried bulgar. My version contains rice and a handful of spices, with a heaping of carrots to lighten it and give a bit more vegetal taste. The recipe is flexible, and can be easily adapted to your tastes and pantry availability: I've stirred in a few handfuls of spinach or a sprinkling of cilantro at the end (neither terribly traditional, but both delicious), and added extra tomato paste when I didn't have a fresh tomato on hand. Once you try this, you'll want to keep some red lentils on hand to be able to make a pot whenever you like. Especially after Thanksgiving.


Turkish Red Lentil Soup

makes 1 pot

2 Tbsp olive oil
1 onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 Tbsp coriander
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp paprika
pinch cayenne (or more, if you like it spicy)
1 Tbsp tomato paste
1 tomato, small dice
1 1/2 cups red lentils
1/4 cup white rice
2 carrots, cut in 1/2" dice
6-8 cups water
salt and white pepper to taste
juice of 1 lemon, plus additional lemon wedges for serving
yogurt for serving (optional)

Heat the oil in a soup pot over a medium flame. Add the onion and garlic, and saute until softened but not browned, ~5 minutes. Add the coriander, cumin, paprika and cayenne, and stir for a few minutes to toast the spices in the hot oil. Add the tomato paste and chopped tomato, and stir to combine. Allow to cook a couple more minutes, until the tomatoes soften around the edges. Add the red lentils, rice, chopped carrots, and water (start with the smaller amount). Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the lentils have broken down into a rough puree, the rice has started to lose its shape, and the carrots are very soft, ~45 minutes. Add more water as it cooks, if needed.

When the soup has cooked down, season to taste with salt and pepper, and stir in the lemon juice. Serve hot, with lemon wedges and a dollop of yogurt if desired.

Pasta with V8 Sauce

Bear with me here. I know that this title doesn't immediately conjure up images of a delicious dinner. But trust me. This is great. True, it's made of decidedly non-gourmet ingredients, and certainly doesn't fit anyone's definition of authentic Italian. But if you have a little faith, you'll discover what I consider to be the King of Pantry Meals.

Although few Italians begin cooking by cracking open a can of a Campbell's vegetable blend beverage, the flavors in this recipe aren't too far off tradition. Spaghetti Al Tonno is a typical Italian meatless dish, featuring pasta tossed with tomato sauce and oil-packed tuna. It's a simple meal, and comes in many variations. And this dish fits right in among them. Sure, you're measuring out a commercial drink rather than stewing your own tomatoes. But it's a drink featuring a strong tomato flavor, along with the celery and carrots found in some tomato sauces. Chile flakes add some heat, the capers and olives add a nice piquancy, and the oil-packed tuna gives the dish a meaty heft. I was skeptical of this recipe I first encountered it, but it quickly got the thumbs-up in our household. Now I try to make sure we're always stocked with the ingredients to throw this together on a busy weeknight.


Pasta with V8 Sauce

serves 4-6

adapted from the Spaghettini with Tuna and V8 Sauce in Nancy Silverton's A Twist of the Wrist: Quick Flavorful Meals with Ingredients from Jars, Cans, Bags and Boxes

I've tinkered with the quantities in the original recipe, upping the sauce-to-pasta ratio, and increasing the overall yield to ensure leftovers. And although Italians would scoff at the combination of fish and cheese, I sometimes top my serving with a bit of grated Parmesan.

1 14-oz package spaghetti
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 small onion, finely diced
1 stalk celery, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 large pinch chile flakes
2 cups V8, or other tomato/vegetable juice
2 6-oz cans oil-packed tuna (don't drain the oil)
2 Tbsp capers
1/4 cup green olives, coarsely chopped
pepper

In a large pot, boil water and cook pasta according to the instructions on the package.

While the water is coming to a boil, heat the olive oil and onion over medium-high heat in a large pot. Saute until the onion is just translucent, about 4-5 minutes. Add celery, garlic, and chile flakes, and cook for a few minutes until the garlic is softened and fragrant. Add the v8, tuna and its oil, capers and olives. Stir, bring to a simmer, and reduce heat to maintain a simmer. Allow to simmer while pasta continues to cook.

When the pasta is cooked, drain it and add it to the sauce. Continue to simmer for a few minutes, to allow the pasta to absorb the flavorful sauce. Season to taste with pepper and salt if needed (although the capers and olives and V8 will probably be salty enough). Enjoy.

Gnocchi with Brussels Sprouts and Walnuts

I've already admitted that sometimes appearance is a bigger motivator than I'd like it to be in my food choices. Another example: a few weeks ago, I saw this recipe for sweet potato gnocchi with Brussels sprouts. Was I inspired by this combination of bitter crucifers with sweet potatoes? Did I thrill to the autumnal resurgence of toasted nuts and root vegetables? Was I excited to finally see a recipe involving my beloved Brussels sprouts, a vegetable that is so rarely invited to the table? Not really. Mostly I thought Oh look! The Brussels sprouts are the same size as the gnocchi! Adorable!

This dish is indeed adorable. But it's also tasty. And easy. While the original recipe involved homemade gnocchi, I went the easy way out and picked up a vacuum-sealed pre-made package. Making gnocchi is indeed worth the effort (more on that sometime later), but mostly because you end up with a dumpling that is much more delicate than its commercial counterpart. In a combination like this, delicacy doesn't matter that much -- you want toothsome gnocchi that will hold their own against Brussels sprouts. And instead of going for simple pan-cooked sprouts as originally called for, I gave them my favorite treatment of oven roasting. The sprouts soften and gain a bit of caramelized sweetness, while maintaining a slight bitter edge. This is rounded out by the depth of the toasted walnuts, and tied together with a sprinkling of grated cheese. With shelf-stable gnocchi, and long-storing nuts, cheese and Brussels sprouts, this very nearly qualifies as a pantry meal. It's one of the easiest and tastiest in that genre that I've had in a long time. Definitely going into the regular rotation.


Gnocchi with Brussels Sprouts and Walnuts

inspired by Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Brussels Sprouts and Walnuts on Seven Spoons

~4 servings

2 lbs brussels sprouts (or less, if you're not as sprout-happy as I am)
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 lb pre-made gnocchi
2 Tbsp butter or olive oil
1/4 cup chopped walnuts, toasted
salt and pepper
Parmesan or Romano cheese for serving

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees. Rinse the Brussels sprouts, and trim off the bottom if needed. Slice in half, and toss with the olive oil until well coated. Spread out in a single layer (roughly) in a casserole dish, and roast at 450, turning occasionally, until they are tender and deep brown in spots, ~30 minutes. Set aside.

When the sprouts are almost done, cook the gnocchi in boiling water according to the manufacturer's directions. Drain. Heat the butter or olive oil in a large skillet or pot over a medium-high flame, and add the gnocchi. Cook until just beginning to brown, and then add the roasted Brussels sprouts. Cook to heat through. Add the walnuts, and salt and pepper to taste. Serve with grated cheese.

Garlicky Breakfast Fried Rice

There are some leftovers that you choke down, out of a sense of responsibility and thrift. And then there are some leftovers that are better than the original. Garlicky fried rice, topped with a fried egg, is one of my favorite things to do with leftover rice the next morning. And although I used the word "fried" twice in the previous sentence, this isn't the traditional hangover greasebomb breakfast. Yeah, it's got some oil, but it's rich and savory from the garlic, tangy with hot sauce and cilantro, and sauced with a runny fried egg (if you'd like). On second thought, maybe it is good for a hangover.

I'm not entirely sure how and when I came up with the current version of this dish. I had the Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant cookbook years ago, which has an ethnic/regional focus. In the Southeast Asian section, the author said that a breakfast of garlicky fried rice topped with a fried egg and vinegared chiles took him back to the Philippines like nothing else. I think I might have started there, but quickly moved into a more Mexican adaptation.

My current version uses an ingredient that might not be in your pantry: achiote. Also called annatto, they're the seeds of a tropical plant. You can find them in Latin American or Asian markets. Even if you've never cooked with them, you've probably eaten them many times: annatto is used to dye everything from orange cheddar to red-coated roast pork. In home cooking, the hard seeds are heated with oil at the start of a recipe, and then removed. The achiote-scented oil contributes a slightly peppery, nutmeggy fustiness to the finished dish. But you can certainly make this dish without it. I haven't done a side-by-side comparison, but I think it's subtle enough that you won't miss it, especially with everything else going on in this dish.

The recipe below is just a loose outline -- the actual dish tends to vary greatly depending on the contents of my refrigerator. I've made it with short-grain rice, long-grain rice, white and brown. All work well (I think I'm partial to fragrant basmati, but brown rice makes me feel a wee bit more virtuous). I toss cubed avocado on the top when I've got it, or stir in shredded cheese at the end when I want a particularly gooey variation. However you make it, just make it.


Garlicky Fried Breakfast Rice
Serves 2

Like most fried rice made by those who don't have industrial woks, this might stick somewhat to your pan. Just work over a hot flame, frying as quickly as you can. Cast iron seems to work best.

1 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp achiote seeds
1 large (or 2 small) cloves garlic
1 small tomato, chopped (optional)
2 cups leftover rice, somewhat dried out
2 heaping tablespoons chopped cilantro
salt and pepper
2 eggs
lime wedges and hot sauce for serving

Place the achiote seeds and oil in a heavy skillet, and heat over a medium flame. As the oil warms, it will take on color from the seeds. When the oil is very hot (but not smoking) and reddish from the achiote, fish the seeds out and discard them.

Drop the chopped garlic in the hot red oil, and stir quickly as they sizzle. Turn the flame up if needed. When they're lightly browned, add the tomato and fry until the heat comes back up and the tomato softens but doesn't break down (barely a minute or so). Add the rice and cilantro. Stir frequently with a spatula or spoon, breaking up the rice clumps and coating each grain with the garlicky red oil (without mashing them too much). Season to taste with salt and pepper. When the rice is well-oiled and heated through, remove to two plates.

Quickly fry the eggs as you like them, and slide one on top of each plate of rice. Season with a few shakes of hot sauce, a squirt of lime, and additional salt and pepper.

Mexican Hot Chocolate Pudding

There are certain things that are best left to professionals. Asbestos removal, for example. Or complex surgery. Heck, even simple surgery. But there are other projects that just about anyone can pull off, and it boggles the mind that someone ever managed to convince us otherwise. Like making pudding from scratch.

Listen to me, people: do not pay for pudding mix. Ever. Pudding is one of the easiest things you can make. I guarantee that 4 out of 5 of you have all the necessary ingredients in your pantry right now. You take some milk, add some sugar to sweeten, a bit cocoa or vanilla to flavor, and a few spoonfuls of cornstarch to thicken. That's it. There are variations using eggs as well, which are also delicious, but the pudding they make is a bit heavier (and you have the added requirement of constant stirring, to make sure the eggs thicken evenly instead of clumping into unappetizing little curds). A basic pudding like this one is delicious, cheap, and dead simple. It takes less than 10 minutes start to finish.

This particular version is spiked with a dash of cinnamon for a Mexican flavor, which makes for a nice alternative to the standard straight-up chocolate. It's sweet-but-not-overly, and is relatively light and healthy. This version makes enough for 4, in theory, though the two of us have been known to polish it off in a day.


Mexican Hot Chocolate Pudding
adapted from Gourmet, February 2009
serves 4 (or fewer)

1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 1/2 Tbsp cornstarch
1/2 tsp cinnamon
large pinch salt
2 cups almond milk (you can substitute regular milk, or milk alternative, with equivalent results)
1 1/2 Tbsp butter or margarine, cut into a few bits
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Place brown sugar, cocoa powder, cornstarch, cinnamon and salt in a pot, and whisk to combine. Pour in the milk, and whisk again. Bring to a boil over medium heat, whisking occasionally, and then boil for one full minute, whisking constantly (it will thicken noticeably). Remove from heat, add butter and vanilla, and stir to combine. Pour into serving bowls (or bowl, depending on how you'd like to serve it). Chill until cool, or else eat it right away.

Raspberry Basil Collins

After a hiatus so long I'm surprised Blogger still remembers me, it seems a re-inaugural toast is in order. To borrow last year's sentiment: why haven't I been posting? I've certainly been drinking.

A Tom Collins is a basic gin cocktail, containing gin + lemon + simple syrup + soda water. It's a perfect template to use as a springboard, which I do frequently. And it has the added bonus of letting you call the resulting drink "a (Something) Collins," which conjures up a speakeasy boozy vibe, like tough Old New York, rather than a girly fruity cocktail (which, in actuality, most of my variations are).

This current variation was borne of necessity and internet inspiration. Well, perhaps not so much necessity as laziness. I often play a game I call "Iron Pantry Chef," the subtitle of which is "What can I make to eat/drink without leaving my home to purchase additional ingredients?" The raspberry bushes in our backyard had a few handfuls of fruit, the basil finally had enough leaves to pick a bunch without killing the thing, and the cucumber vine had one lone cucumber. I had gin (and gin alone), lemon, and fizzy water. The results made for a perfect refreshing summer drink. I tend towards cocktails that are sweet and citrusy, and while this drink has both elements, the herbs and cucumber keep it from being cloying, giving a nice change of cocktail pace.



Raspberry Basil Collins
makes ~4 drinks

Basil Syrup:
1 large handful basil leaves (about 1/4 cup), chopped or roughly torn
2/3 cup sugar
2/3 cup water
zest of 1 lemon, removed with a peeler

Raspberry puree:
1/3 cup raspberries (or more, if your bushes are more fruitful than ours)
juice of 1 lemon
splash of Basil Syrup

1/2 cucumber, thinly sliced (optional, but provides a nice clean taste, one that saves it from too much sweetness)
Gin
Soda Water

To Make the Basil Syrup:

Toss the basil leaves, sugar, water, and lemon zest in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil, then remove from heat and allow to infuse for half an hour (if you've got the time -- and longer won't hurt). Strain, discarding the leaves and peel and reserving the syrup.

To Make The Raspberry Puree:

Place the raspberries in a blender with the lemon juice, and enough of the syrup to allow for smooth processing (generally 2-4 Tbsp should be fine). Puree until it's blitzed into a smooth sauce. If you don't fancy seeds in your beverage, pass the puree through a strainer to remove them, scraping it with a spoon to make sure all of the puree passes through.

To Assemble Your Raspberry Basil Collins:

In a glass, mix together:

1 shot gin
1 shot raspberry puree
3/4 shot basil syrup

Top this mixture with an equal amount of soda water, toss in a few slices of cucumber, and taste, adjusting to your drinking preference. Drink languorously, with plenty of ice.

Needless to say, the variations are infinite.