I’m not a huge broccoli fan. I rarely eat it without a.) cheese, b.) dip, or c.) bacon, as The Lord intended. Otherwise, He would not have created it to taste like dirt when it’s raw and smell like terlit water as it cooks.
Can I get an Amen?
And yet, I was curious about this Broccoli Leek Soup. The Roasted Potato Leek Soup I made last fall was so good that I was game to try something similar but actually healthy. I was ready to brave the broccoli.
Hello, you magnificent example of humanity! Did you have a spectacular New Year’s? Join the Polar Bear Club? Make any resolutions?
I know, lots of people don’t “believe” in resolutions. But what if – instead of swearing to lose this and quit that and organize everything – what if we resolve to do something fun? Plan our own film festivals. Master the chopsticks. Learn how to mix a monthly cocktail (or bake a pie). Take a weekly self-portrait. Fill a piñata with strange and wonderful things, and give it to a friend. Spring for concert tickets. Plan a road trip. Check out a new restaurant once a month. Go skinny-dipping. Keep the party going until everyone gets hungry for breakfast. Make out at the drive-in. Open an Etsy shop. Surprise the kids with our own killah Nerf guns, and show no mercy. Start planning our “Jersey Shore” Halloween costumes. Figure out what to do with agave nectar.
You get the idea. You’re perfect the way you are, so resolve to do something that actually gets you excited about the big, juicy year ahead. Oh, and learn how to make risotto. It scares people, but all it requires is a little patience. Think of adding each ladleful of vegetable stock to the risotto the same way you would add juice to a toddler’s sippy-cup. Wait until the rice has almost absorbed each small amount of stock before you add more to the pot, and keep stirring. Gently. And don’t stop until your name’s on a blimp! Go, 2010!
So, did you stuff yourself silly with cheese balls, sausage balls, meatballs and bourbon balls?
Me too! Since the last time we talked, it’s been a never-ending feast around here. Next year, I think I’ll walk around all holiday season a la the Ghost of Christmas Present, wearing a red velvet Snuggie™ and a holly wreath crown trimmed with Chex Mix® and chocolate-covered cherries.
After all of that glorious excess, my pendulum is swinging back toward lighter, fresher foods, and this Lentil Salad, a pimped-out variation on Alice Waters’ original, is hitting the spot nicely. And I just learned that, in Italy and Hungary, it’s traditional to eat lentils on New Year’s Day for luck and prosperity, since the lentils are round like coins. I think I’ll have an extra spoonful. Read More…
For lo these past 16 months, some of our neighbors have given us odd looks and not really said much. And I’ve been OK with that, especially since the day I saw a few of the men in their backyard hunting for something. With guns. In a fenced-in backyard spanning less than an acre of manicured grass and concrete lawn cherubs.
Bang! Bang!
So, we didn’t think they were quite right. And it turns out, they’ve felt the same way about us.
Did you hear that little “whoosh”? Don’t be alarmed. It was just the sound of my mom’s nose turning up at the sight of this dressing. And I am not offended. I get it. Sitting down for a holiday meal is not unlike going to a pricey big-ticket concert. You want the greatest hits, not a playlist full of debut casseroles and an experimental turkey. A little invention is fine, but if I don’t hear my favorite song, I want my money back. And by “favorite song,” I really mean “marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes.”
But sometimes a new recipe looks too good not to try. That was the case with this Cornbread Stuffing with Andouille, Fennel and Bell Peppers from this month’s “Bon Appétit.” Cornbread tossed with chunks of andouille sausage, cubes of sweet fennel, pieces of onion and red bell pepper and a few tablespoons of fresh thyme. Tossed with chicken broth and an egg. The mixture stays dry and crunchy on top, moist and sweet and smoky underneath. It’s a tough dish to stop picking at.
This Thanksgiving, we’ll be loading our plates with Mom’s traditional turkey and dressing, but this andouille stuffing won’t be forgotten. Jeff and I are already tinkering with the recipe to turn it into a main course. Something with the potential to be a greatest hit.
Something about the way Jeff asked me if I was going to put “back fat” in the beans (instead of “fatback”) made me think perhaps some fresh vegetables were in order.
These Cherry Tomatoes with Tequila-Lime Vinaigrette can be put together over a commercial break, but they need two hours to soak in the dressing. Can you taste the tequila? Yes. But it’s combined with quite a bit of olive oil, as well as other flavors. Mainly, it helps add some interest to out-of-season tomatoes that might seem lackluster on their own. And this salad can really perk up a holiday buffet table full of creamy casseroles, variations on the potato and macaroni and cheese.
This recipe makes quite a bit of vinaigrette, so you could easily add avocado, cucumber or melon to the salad. Or pair the tomatoes with pasta or couscous for a more substantial side dish. Just hold the back fat.
Baked sweet potatoes loaded with whipped butter, brown sugar and cinnamon. Sweet potato casseroles topped with sugary pecans or marshmallows. Sweet potato pies. Our first inclination with sweet potatoes is to emphasize the sweet, but they’re so much more interesting with a few tablespoons of olive oil and a pinch or two of kosher salt.
These Rosemary Roasted Sweet Potatoes are a lighter, more nutritious variation on the Crunchy Roasted Rosemary Potatoes I posted last winter. The preparations and ingredients are almost identical, but the sweet potato version offers a complex carb with actual fiber and beta carotene. I like to focus on these nutritional facts while I’m sifting for the really crunchy ones.
There’s just something about the way the earthy tang of those blistered sweet potatoes and the woodsy flavor of the rosemary complement each other. Add a big handful of toasted chopped walnuts to the mix, and you have a unique sweet potato side that won’t give you cavities.
So, this is the Barefoot Bloggers’ “Week of the Contessa,” and while I’m not making all five recipes (because I enjoy walking through doorways without turning to the side), I couldn’t resist Ina Garten’s Roasted Potato Leek Soup or these French String Beans with Roasted Red Onion and Peppers.
There’s no telling how many times I’ve reached for a can of these, just to get something green(ish) on the dinner plate, so I was eager to see how different the fresh beans, onions and peppers would be. The process of blanching the beans, roasting the onion and peppers and combining everything together takes just under 30 minutes, but LOOK AT THEM. The beans stay bright green and sweet, and they’re not cooked to mush. Roasting the vegetables intensifies their flavor, but they keep their shape and color.
Best of all, at the end of the meal, these beans were GONE. If you’ve ever had to drain and scrape canned beans into the trash at the end of the meal, you know that’s a big deal. A major victory. And a side to get excited about.
Last summer, when my sister was great with child, Mom decided it was finally time to teach us how to make Creamed Corn.
What’s sitting in a can on the grocery shelf is fine for casseroles and thickening chili, but you don’t want to invite that salty, runny mess to Sunday lunch. It’d be like seating Courtney Love next to your grandmother.
Real creamed corn –a skillet full of kernels and milk freshly scraped straight off the cob, butter and cream, salt and pepper – requires a little time and patience, like most worthwhile things. It’s so ubiquitous as a Southern side dish that if I called Mom and asked what she made for supper tonight, she probably wouldn’t even mention it. But if it were missing from the table, it would be missed.
So, what took her so long to teach us how to make it? I like to think she was waiting for a milestone, torch-passing, may-the-circle-be-unbroken moment. But I’m pretty sure she waited until she could trust us alone with knives.
Around here, it’s not uncommon to see Macaroni and Cheese listed as a vegetable.
I’m good with that.
A side is something optional. Something to pad the plate and back-up the main course. But vegetables are required. Calling macaroni and cheese a vegetable means that we believe it provides something necessary, a nourishment beyond mere vitamins and minerals.
Creamy, buttery, cheese-laden comfort.