Marinated Mozzarella

With our quantity-and-transportability-over-quality national food priorities, we often miss the point of delicious regional food traditions (including our own). Take Caprese salad. This combination of mozzarella, tomatoes and basil (and, depending on the interpretation, balsamic vinegar) is inspired simplicity. So perfect together! So summer! But the allure and simplicity can be its downfall. It's so good that we want to have it all the time, even when ingredients aren't in season. And it's so simple that lackluster ingredients can easily take it down. Ever had a toothpick skewered with cubes of lousy cheese and squeaky-hard off-season tomatoes? You know what I'm talking about.

But this dish here — this is what Caprese salad wants to be. Perfect tomatoes (cherry tomatoes are just showing up in the farmer's markets here), fragrant basil, and delicate, fresh mozzarella rubbed with a few simple seasonings. The whole thing is given a douse of good oil, and scooped up with crusty bread. Served along with a green salad, it's a perfect meal for those summer nights where it's too hot to eat a proper dinner. With its fennel seeds and lemon zest, this version's definitely a bit of a tweak, perhaps not in keeping with the Italian original. But its essential spirit — quality in-season ingredients, simply enjoyed on a summer evening — is right in line.

Marinated Mozarella

adapted from Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi, with thanks to Lottie + Doof for flagging
serves 4-6 as an appetizer, 2-3 as a dinner along with a salad and a good amount of bread

1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds, toasted and lightly crushed (if you don't have a mortar and pestle or spice grinder, you can just bash them with the side of a knife or chop them up a bit)
grated zest of1/2 lemon
handful basil leaves, shredded
1 teaspoon chopped fresh oregano
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon good-quality olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1/2 pound buffalo mozzarella
1 ripe tomatoes, cut into wedges (or a few handfuls of sliced cherry tomatoes)
coarse salt and black pepper for finishing

Make the marinade by combining the fennel seeds, zest, basil, oregano, garlic and olive oil in a medium bowl. Break the mozzarella into large chunks with your hands and add it the bowl with the marinade. Smear the mozzarella with the marinade until well coated. Set aside to marinate for 30 minutes in the fridge.

Serve by arranging mozzarella on a large serving platter, along with marinade. Scatter tomatoes across the platter. Drizzle additional olive oil over the top, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Serve with crusty bread.

Peach Lavender Galette

As I've mentioned before, I spent years thinking that I didn't like pie, that it was a terrible waste of good fruit. Only to find that I like pie quite a bit — turns out I just don't like bad pie. Take a stellar crust (preferably all-butter, light and flaky), treat the fruit with a light hand, and you can end up with something truly delicious. Like this peach lavender galette.

I have long been a fan of mixing up fruit and herbs (beyond the token mint leaf in your fruit salad). Tired of making the same old blueberry jam? Add some sage or tarragon! Want your strawberry lemonade to have a more sophisticated edge? Muddle in some basil, or infuse some rosemary into the sugar syrup. Herbs can bring out all sorts of interesting flavors, as well as adding a bit of interest to the same-seeming glut of harvest. It's hard to go wrong.

And yes, a drippy-sweet ripe peach is summer perfection. But a peach lavender galette, softly scented with flowers and a subtle almond layer to absorb the sweet juices? Also amazing.

Peach Lavender Galette

4 tablespoons granulated sugar, divided, plus additional for finishing
1/4 cup ground almonds
2 tablespoons fresh or dried lavender flowers (divided), plus a few sprigs for garnish
Pastry for one 9-inch pie (I'm partial to a half-batch of this recipe/technique)
4 good-size unpeeled ripe peaches, sliced into 1/2-inch wedges (1 1/2 to 2 pounds)
3 tablespoons butter

Preheat oven to 400 degrees Farenheit. 

In a small bowl, mix together 2 tablespoons of the sugar, the ground almonds and 1 tablespoon of the lavender flowers.

Roll out the pie pastry until it's about 13 to 14 inches in diameter; transfer to a baking sheet (or, if you'd like a bit more support/structure, transfer to a pie or tart pan). Sprinkle the almond mixture over the bottom, leaving a 2-inch border, and arrange the peach slices in a single layer over it, scattering with the remaining lavender flowers as you go. Sprinkle on the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, then fold the 2-inch border of the pastry up and over the peaches, pleating together to contain the fruit.

Dot the peaches with half the butter, and then melt the remaining butter and brush it on the exposed pastry. Sprinkle the buttered pastry with additional sugar, and then bake until the peaches are soft and the crust is nicely browned, about 45 minutes. Let cool slightly, garnish with the reserved lavender sprigs, and serve.

Bagel Bombs

There's something about being from New York (and, more specifically, being a New York Jew) that makes you feel entitled to hold forth on the subject of bagels. To speak cavalierly of your runs to H&H, of high-gluten flour and barley malt and the ineffable quality of the water. But the truth is, while I may talk smack about the bagel offerings on this side of the country, it's pretty rare that I actually buckle down and make my own.

Partly this is because there actually are a few solid bagel places in town. And partly it's because I'm lazy. But mostly it's because bagels really are at their best within a few hours of being baked. I'll eat a fresh bagel, marvel at its deliciousness, and by the end of the day be packing up the better part of a dozen for the freezer. It seems like a waste.

But recently I was invited to a brunch potluck, which meant a whole lot of hungry people to eat just-baked bagels at their peak. And, at just about the same time, I came across the concept of the bagel bomb.

This long-overdue idea—the doughnut hole of the bagel world—comes from Christina Tosi, the mad genius behind the salty-sweet compost cookies. She wraps dough (softer and more pleasant to work with than a traditional bagel dough) around a frozen packet of seasoned cream cheese, then coats the bombs with traditional bagel toppings and bakes them up to hot, crusty, cream cheese explosions.

Ingrate that I am, I couldn't help tweaking the recipe: upping the quantities to yield an even dozen, tossing some barley malt in the dough for that sweet depth of flavor, dropping the bacon from the filling (sorry), giving the bombs a quick simmer for a true bagel finish, and upping the baking temperature for a nice crisp crust. The end result is just amazing, especially for a group who can eat em up while they're still warm, crusty and oozy at the same time. It's like the best of New York in one messy mouthful.

Bagel Bombs

adapted, a bit heavily, from Momofuku Milk Bar
yields 12 bombs

Dough:
1 1/3 cups water, at room temperature (275 grams)
1 tablespoon barley malt syrup
1 generous teaspoon active dry yeast
scant tablespoon coarse salt
2 2/3 cups flour (412 grams)

Filling:
12 ounces cream cheese
1/2 bunch scallions, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon coarse salt

Topping:
2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 heaping tablespoons sesame seeds (a mix of white and black is nice, if you've got it)
1 tablespoon poppy seeds
2 tablespoons dried onions
1 tablespoon dried chopped garlic

To Finish:
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 tablespoon barley malt

To make the dough: Place the water in the bowl of a mixer, and add the barley malt and yeast. Let sit a few minutes, for the yeast to soften and bloom. Add the salt and flour, and mix on a low speed with a dough hook until fully blended. cover with a dish towel, and let sit for 5 minutes to relax and hydrate. Mix again on low speed for several minutes, until it forms a soft yet cohesive dough that springs back when you poke it. Pour a bit of neutral oil into a bowl, scrape the dough into it, and then flip to coat with the oil (if you're insane and have a digital scale, you can weigh your bowl before transferring the dough so that you know the weight of the entire dough ball, and then can divide by 12 when it comes to shaping the bombs). Cover the bowl with a plastic bag, and let sit at room temperature for about 45 minutes or longer, until the dough no longer springs back when you press a finger into it.

If you have the forethought, you can let the dough rise overnight (or up to two days) covered in the refrigerator, which will result in a better bomb. Just let come to room temperature for half an hour before proceeding with the recipe.


To make the filling: Mix together all of the filling ingredients until well combined (you can do this by hand, or using the paddle attachment of a mixer). Scoop the dough out into 12 equal-sized blobs on a cookie sheet using two spoons or a cookie scoop (and yes, I weighed it out). Transfer to a freezer, and freeze until solid, ~1 hour.

To assemble the bombs: Preheat your oven to 400 degrees Farenheit, and line a sheet tray with parchment paper. Set a large pot of water to boil, and drop in the baking soda and barley malt (keep on high until it boils, then lower until it maintains a gentle boil).

Mix together the topping ingredients into a shallow bowl and set aside.

On a lightly-floured countertop, divide the dough into twelve equal lumps, and form each one into a ball (I like to pull the edges of the dough underneath and pinch together, to form a sort of skin on the top pulling it into a round). When your dough balls are formed, remove your balls of cream cheese from the freezer, and loosen with a spatula if necessary.

Take a ball of dough, flatten it into a chubby disk, and place a frozen cream cheese ball in the center. Pull the edges of the dough over the cream cheese, and pinch to seal. Repeat until you have formed three filled bombs. Gently drop in the simmering water, and simmer for about a minute and a half, while you fill three more bombs. Because of the cream cheese, the dough should sink (and thus simmer on all sides), but then float up by the end of its boiling time. Remove one by one with a slotted spoon, and place, top (aka non-seam side) down in your bowl of topping. Grab by the bottom, turn to coat the top and sides fully (no need to coat the bottom), then transfer, right-side up, to your prepared cookie sheet. Repeat with remaining simmering bombs, then repeat the process until all of the bombs have been filled, simmered, and topped.

Bake the bombs until nicely browned, ~25-30 minutes (I tend to like them on the darker side). A few might explode (I had three mild ruptures out of twelve), but just continue baking. Remove when done, let cool only slightly, then devour.

Everyday Indian Cauliflower and Carrots

The time I spend cooking can vary hugely. There are ornate dinners with multiple courses and fiddly elements, and then there are salads and stir-fries that take barely any time at all. It generally depends upon my culinary inspiration, work schedule, and level of interest/fatigue. But there is one exception: Indian food. Every time I cook Indian, it's never a quick meal. It's a production. I haul out half the spices in my cabinet, measure out carefully-diced vegetables or spice combinations into multiple little prep dishes, and create a table-groaning feast. I don't seem to know any other way. It's a delicious undertaking, to be sure (and one that creates a lot of leftovers), but it ain't quick.

But through the genius that is cookbook author Madhur Jaffrey, I've discovered another way. Jaffrey is an amazing Indian cook, and a few years back came out with a book detailing spot-on dishes that don't require a multi-hour commitment. And earlier today, as I was trying to think of a quick, easy, veg-heavy dish to bring to a friend, I leafed through her memoir and found the inspiration for this dish.

This recipe, more of a stir-fry than a simmered-forever dish, is quick, delicious, and makes a great complement to heavier, saucier dishes (if you, like me, decide to negate its time-saving value by making it part of a larger spread). The original dish called just for cauliflower, but I couldn't resist throwing some nice fat carrots in as well. The vegetables are caramelized in a hot pan to give a bit of sweet depth, then tossed with a dusting of spices to create a savory-tangy, light-yet-warm dish. I served it up with some tomato biryani and dal, but you can just as easily enjoy it on its own, with just a bit of rice or flatbread (and the mango pickle that's my current obsession). It's healthy, authentic, and doesn't take much more time than throwing together a salad.

Everyday Indian Cauliflower and Carrots

adapted, a bit heavily, from Madhur Jaffrey's Climbing the Mango Trees
yields 5-6 servings, especially as part of a spread of other dishes

1/4 cup oil (Jaffrey recommends peanut or olive, but I went with the much-more-delicious coconut)
4-6 carrots, peeled and cut into thick disks
1 small cauliflower, broken into small florets
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon turmeric
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon amchur powder (dried green mango), or 2 tablespoons lemon juice
generous pinch asafoetida
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1-inch piece ginger, peeled and julienned
1 handful coarsely chopped cilantro
1 small fresh green or red chili, minced (optional)

Pour the oil into a large frying pan and set over medium-high heat. When hot, add the carrots, and cook, stirring occasionally, until caramelized on the outside and cooked-yet-crisp on the inside, ~7 minutes. Transfer to a bowl, and then cook the cauliflower until the same, ~5 minutes.

While the vegetables are cooking, mix together the salt, turmeric, cayenne, coriander, and amchur (if using) in a small bowl. When the vegetable are cooked, sprinkle with the herbs (and lemon juice, if using instead of amchur), and toss to combine.

In the same pan in which you cooked the vegetables, add the pinch of asafoetida (if there's a lot of oil left, you can drain some, but I found that the cauliflower sopped up most of it). Let sizzle for a few seconds, then add the cumin seeds and stir until sizzling. Add the ginger, and stir for under a minute. Add the cauliflower and carrot, mix gently, then add a splash of water, lower the heat, and cover. Cook for a minute or two, until the vegetables have softened and the flavors have blended. Sprinkle with the cilantro and chili, and serve.

Hood Strawberry Shortcake

Pretty much every American kid can easily remember Cookie Monster, the prototypical chaos muppet who roamed Sesame Street in search of, well, cookies. But evidently Cookie Monster now sings a slightly different song. One of balance and moderation. Who knew? In a nod to our lackluster national eating habits, Cookie Monster now sets an example by enjoying a healthier spread of fresh fruits and vegetables. He still eats cookies—I mean, after all, he's still Cookie Monster. But the new mantra is that a cookie is not something to go batshit crazy for in a flurry of noms and crumbs. No, a cookie, Cookie Monster now realizes, is a sometime food.

I should probably be dismayed at the tempering of such pure sugar-seeking id. But in truth, I find it kind of adorable. And totally understandable. A cookie is a sometime food. As it should be. Fresh fruit is usually a perfectly reasonable dessert, especially in these sweet harvest days. But sometimes, you want something a bit more indulgent.

Like many parts of the country, Oregon has a spread of unique strawberry cultivars. But the most beloved of these are the Hoods. People await their all-too-brief season with a sort of fanaticism, and farm stands will often put out signs with the single word, "hoods," that causes lines of cars to pull over. They're sweet, they're tart, and they're just so intense that they pretty much put you off of the tasteless supermarket behemoth strawberries forever. I'm happy to eat them out of hand, or stirred into a bit of yogurt. But every now and then, I want something a bit more.

Strawberry shortcake is my sometimes food. I take the nature-perfect, good-for-you hood strawberries, and ruin it all with a warm, crumbly, buttery biscuit, and a big blob of barely-sweetened cold whipped cream. And I'm not sorry. Occasionally I'll toss a bit of cornmeal into the biscuit dough, some fresh herbs into the berries, or some leftover creme fraiche in the whipped cream. But really, it's delicious as is. Because yes, hood strawberries are perfect as they are. But a bit of shortcake can make things even better. Sometimes.

Strawberry Shortcake

adapted fairly heavily from James Beard
yields 8 shortcakes

2 pints strawberries

3 Tbsp sugar (or more, if your strawberries aren't as sweet as our Hoods)

1 2/3 cups flour (I like to sub in 1/3 cup rye or whole wheat pastry flour), plus more for rolling/cutting biscuits

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter (substituting coconut oil for part of the butter is particularly lovely)

2 hard-boiled egg yolks
scant 3/4 cup half and half or heavy cream

1 egg white, slightly beaten, or a splash of cream
a few spoonfuls sugar (coarse sugar is especially nice)

1 cup heavy cream
1 Tbsp sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Slice the strawberries, and place in a bowl with the sugar. Mash about half of them with a potato masher, leaving some whole but creaming enough smaller bits to hold the mixture together. Set aside to let the juices come out.

Preheat oven to 375º Farenheit, and line a baking sheet with parchment or grease it well.

Whisk together flour, salt, baking powder and sugar in a medium bowl. Cut the butter in pats into the flour, and press with the heel of your hand to form fat flakes. Turn from the bottom to bring up the flour mixture, and repeat the process until all of the butter is reduced to flakes or bits. Press the hard-boiled egg yolks through a sieve into the bowl, and toss a few times, until they're coated with flour and mixed throughout.

Pour the half-and-half or cream into the flour mixture, and toss together until most of the flour is incorporated (as with most baked goods, under-mixing is better than over-mixing).  Lightly flour a counter or work surface, and gently knead the dough until it just comes together.  Pat or roll it out to a 3/4" thickness, and cut into rounds with a 3-inch biscuit cutter. Gently press together any scraps and cut until all the dough is gone.

Place the biscuits on the prepared baking sheet, brush with the egg white or cream, and sprinkle with sugar. Bake until set and just beginning to brown, ~12-15 minutes. Let cool very slightly.

While the biscuits are cooling, whip the cream to soft peaks and add the vanilla and sugar. Taste and add more if desired.

Split the still-warm biscuits, and top with the berries and whipped cream. Devour.

Israeli Couscous with Garlic Scapes, Shrimp and Feta

The first green asparagus of spring get a whole lot of love. Which I wholly understand — it's been a long winter, and they're totally delicious. But just a month or two behind them, there’s another green shoot that deserves its own parade: the garlic scape.

Garlic scapes, also known as garlic curls, or, adorably, whistles, are the twisted green tops of garlic plants. They’re generally cut to about eight-inch lengths, ranging from slightly bent stalks to irregular curlicues. Scapes are harvested in late spring/early summer (the season is hard-to-predict and fairly brief, but is happening right now in Portland) as a neat little gardeners trick: trim off the tips before the seed pods swells and matures, and in exchange that energy goes towards making larger garlic bulbs underground. And, as an added bonus, you get to eat the scapes.

Like garlic itself, scapes pack a punch when raw (though they’re not quite as intense as the bulb). You can use this to your advantage, adding a fine mince to dishes that will benefit from a strong flavor. But with just a bit of heat, scapes’ harshness softens, leaving a mellower garlic note, paired with their spring-green taste.

Scapes are easily turned into a pungent pesto—it's got some bite, but can be tamed by tossing with hot pasta or spreading on bread and placing it under the broiler. They can be brushed with oil and tossed directly on the grill, or bathed in vinegar for a pungent pickle. Like spring ramps, scapes work especially well when paired with mellow ingredients that let their flavor shine through: cook them up with eggs, pasta, or creamy dairy-rich dishes.

For this dish, I put the scapes up against a backdrop of saffron-scented couscous, along with briny-sweet shrimp, creamy feta, and bright fresh mint leaves. It's simple enough to throw together for a weeknight dinner or picnic, but elegant enough for a fancy meal. I trimmed the scapes into bite-sized lengths, to make it a bit more manageable, but if you're game it's far more fun to leave them as they are — like little green scraps of ribbon from your own spring garden party.

Israeli Couscous with Garlic Scapes, Shrimp and Feta

yields ~4-5 servings

2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 cups Israeli couscous
1 ½ cups water
1 cup vegetable broth (or just use all water, and add a bit more salt)
½ teaspoon salt
1 hefty pinch saffron
juice of ½ lemon
6-8 garlic scapes, cut into pieces or left whole
1 pound shrimp, shelled
⅓ cup crumbled feta
a handful fresh mint leaves, roughly torn if they’re large
salt and pepper

Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a large saucepan over a medium-high heat. Add the couscous, and cook for a few minutes, stirring so that the couscous is coated with oil and lightly toasted. Add the water, broth, saffron and salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat until it’s just high enough to maintain a simmer. Simmer, covered, until the liquid is absorbed and the couscous is tender, ~8-10 minutes. Turn off the heat and let sit, covered, to absorb any remaining liquid for a few minutes. Then add the lemon juice, stir to fluff/combine, and add salt and pepper to taste (you can also drizzle in more olive oil if you want). Transfer to a serving platter.

Heat the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet over a medium-high heat. Add the garlic scapes, and saute for a minute or two, until they turn bright green and tender. Sprinkle with a bit of salt, and scatter on top of the couscous.

Add the shrimp, and saute for a few minutes, stirring, until pink and cooked through. Season with salt, and scatter, along with any pan juices, on top of the couscous and scapes. Top with the feta and fresh mint, and serve.

Gujarati Dal

I have a friend who spent some time working as a printmaker, designing beautiful works of art on hundred-year-old presses. I was impressed with the intricacies of her craft, but even more struck by the fraternity among its adherents. Wherever she was traveling — Northern Minnesota, Northern Scandinavia — she would find other printmakers, and forge an instant connection. There would be shared cups of coffee, tours of studios, and hours of conversation on a level of detail few could appreciate.

As someone with a mild degree of social awkwardness, I know that it can make a huge difference to have a shared language with someone. You can skip all of the where-are-you-from/do-you-have-any-children/what-do-you-do/is-that-a-real-job interview questions, and have an easy intimacy around a common love. Everyone gets a chance to shine and share, and come away with a deeper understanding of a person and a place. And, if you're me, with some recipes.

I'm spending the week with a dear friend out in the Midwest, catching up and cooing over her three-week-old baby. Through an accident of scheduling, her in-laws were around for the first couple days of my visit. At first, there was some scrambling over what we would all do together (beyond stare at the baby). But the answer was easy: cook.

Although my friend's father-in-law was born in Gujarat, he didn't learn to cook until coming to the United States (where he had the good fortune to live next door to someone from the same part of India where he grew up). When you're chopping, prepping, and picking up little culinary secrets (like, say, taking a few minutes to roll cilantro in a dishtowel before chopping to render the leaves dry and separate instead of clumped together), there's no worry about awkwardness or different backgrounds or politics. There's only the rhythm of the kitchen, a shared nod when something tastes just right, and a beautiful meal at the end.

Gujarati Dal


as made by Sunat Kumar Shah
serves ~6 as part of a larger spread

2 cups dried red lentils (we used oiled dal from an Indian grocery, which yielded a more traditional result, but red lentils are a fine substitute), soaked overnight in water to cover
3 cloves garlic, minced
1-inch knob ginger, peeled and minced
1 small onion, diced
1 small green chili, minced
1 1/2 tsp turmeric
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp coriander
1 Tbsp coarse salt
1 Tbsp brown sugar
juice of 1 lime
3 Tbsp prepared Mexican mole sauce (this ingredient, admittedly, is not traditional in India, but adds a nice depth if you've got it)
1 tomato, chopped
2 Tbsp high-heat oil, such as grapeseed or canola
1 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp fenugreek seeds
1 large handful cilantro leaves, washed, dried and roughly chopped

Drain the dal and place in a large pot, and add water until it's covered to a depth of ~3 inches. Cover with a lid and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a healthy simmer. Simmer for ~30 minutes, until the dal is cooked and just barely beginning to break down. Add the garlic, ginger, onion, and chili, and simmer an additional 15 minutes.

After the dal has simmered, add the turmeric, cayenne, coriander, salt, sugar, lime juice, and mole (if using). Continue to simmer until the dal totally breaks down to form a smooth, soupy puree (it's pretty hard to overcook this — it will probably take another ~20 minutes to fully break down, but tacking an additional half hour on after that doesn't hurt). The dal will be fairly soupy, but if it's too thin for your liking, uncover for the last part of cooking until it reduces to a slightly thicker consistency. Taste to adjust seasonings, and add the chopped tomato.

When the dal is done to your liking, heat the oil over a high heat in a small saucepan with a lid. Add the mustard and fenugreek seeds, cover, and cook until the seeds pop. Dump the seeds and oil into the dal, and stir to combine. Remove from the heat, top with a sprinkling of fresh cilantro, and serve.