FOOD ON THE FOOD

Home Made Summer Giveaway

 

They say don't judge a book by its cover, but I think it's okay in this case!

Notions of summertime lemonade stands are what first drew my eye to this book. But those are actually preserved lemons on the cover—the salt-cured citrus fruits that brighten Middle Eastern stews and summer salads. That's what I like about this cookbook. It's a mix of the familiar and the unexpected using the fresh summer produce we hold so dear.

Author Yvette van Boven is a caterer and cafe-owner who lives in Amsterdam and Paris, but the food reflects the many summers she spent in the French countryside with her photographer husband Oof Verschuren. The photos in Home Made Summer are half the fun, depicting European bars and boulangeries, lively street scenes, and lush, misty greenhouses and gardens. Her recipes are real, fresh, and inviting—not stodgy. Like van Boven's previous books, Home Made and Home Made Winter, this one has the same quirky design and playful style. Her own drawings are peppered throughout the book, and she displays a penchant for making funny faces in photographs: proof she doesn't take herself too seriously.

Some recipes I've dog-eared include: tomato salad with goat's milk ricotta, coriander, and basil oil; buttery corn risotto; quinoa salad with fava beans, turnip greens, and preserved lemons; and watermelon granita. The crab cakes with paprika mayo I made last week were excellent, and I'll be sharing that recipe in my next post.

So, who wants it? I've got one copy to give away in the name of summer and the only question is: to whom? To enter this raffle, just leave a comment on this post about your favorite homemade food you can't wait to make this summer. Entries must be received by midnight EST on Thursday, June 20 so the winner can be announced on the summer solstice, which is this Friday, June 21. Don't let the warming temperatures make you sluggish or you'll miss it.

Ready, set, go!



Many thanks to Stewart, Tabori & Chang and Jacqueline Church for donating a copy of the book.

Chicken and Cashew Stir-Fry

Boy, did I phone it in with the food-styling today or what? No utensils, napkins, or props of any kind. Just dinner. In a stark white bowl. On a placemat. A lonely, lonely placemat. That's why they pay me the big bucks!

My farmshare just started up this week and you know what that means: Time to get your stir-fries and salads on! This chicken and cashew stir-fry is a favorite. Unlike the typical restaurant version, with water chestnuts, green peppers, and a cornstarch-thickened sauce, this is more of a home-style dish with plenty of fresh ginger and a hit of Sriracha for some heat. Feel free to dial up or tone down the spice as you see fit (it comes in around medium as written).

We like this stir-fry with snow peas and scallions—perfect for this time of year— but it can be adapted based on whatever other spring vegetables you have on hand. For example, chop up garlic scapes instead of the garlic cloves. You could add a few handfuls of spinach or tatsoi to the mix at the tail end of cooking so the greens wilt into the sauce. Or you could slice up some bok choy for a water-chestnut-like crunch. Serve this healthy meal with white or brown rice (this is where my trusty rice cooker comes in handy).

By the way, I'm sure we've all heard about the high levels of arsenic that Consumer Reports found in both white and brown rice last fall. Arsenic is a naturally occurring toxin and known carcinogen. It has nevertheless been widely used as a pesticide and livestock feed additive (hooray!). Read the report if you want more info, but basically we're going easy on the rice in this house. Rinsing it thoroughly before cooking is recommended. Yes, the water washes away some of the nutrition, but it also washes away some of the arsenic. Another alternative is to buy other whole grains like barley or farro from trusted local farms and cook those up instead. They're delicious with stir-fries even if they're non-traditional.


Chicken and Cashew Stir-Fry     

We use roasted, lightly salted cashews for this—the same ones we snack on. Feel free to use unsalted nuts if you're watching your sodium intake. If you don't have Sriracha hot sauce, you can chop up a few hot peppers of your choice.

Sauce
1/2 cup chicken stock or broth
1/4 cup hoisin sauce
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon Sriracha sauce
Salt and black pepper to taste

Stir-Fry
1 pound chicken breast, cut into thin 1-inch pieces
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 yellow onion, cut in half pole-to-pole, sliced into thick wedges through poles
4 scallions (light parts chopped, dark parts cut into 1-inch lengths)
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 to 2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
8 ounces snow peas
1 cup cashews

For the sauce, whisk together all the ingredients in a small bowl. In a medium bowl, combine the chicken pieces with about 2 tablespoons of the sauce and let them marinate while preparing the other ingredients.

In a large skillet, heat the oil over high heat. Add the chicken pieces and stir-fry until browned and cooked through, about 4 minutes. Remove the chicken to a shallow bowl. Add the onions to the hot pan and toss for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the chopped scallions, garlic, and ginger, and stir-fry 1 minute more (don't let the garlic burn). Add the snow peas, cashews, cooked chicken, reserved scallion shoots, and remaining marinade to the pan. Cook, stirring often, a few minutes more until the ingredients are heated through but the peas are still slightly crisp and bright green. Remove from the heat and season with salt (sparingly) and black pepper (generously) to your taste. Serves 4.

Source: Inspired by Lisa Schumacher's recipe in the Chicago Tribune

Tuna Macaroni Salad

Back in my college days, I could barely boil water. My senior-year off-campus roommates, on the other hand, turned out to be quite competent in the kitchen. Two were vegetarians and introduced me to the Moosewood Cookbook, cous cous, potatoes mashed with broccoli and melty globs of cheese, and the amazing concept of a rice cooker. I still have that rice cooker, in fact—a hand-me-down I use on a regular basis even though I may have finally mastered the art of boiling water (depending on the day).

My other roommate/BFF was my partner in meat-loving crime. It was she who first united my love of beef with my love of sour cream, producing for me her mother's beef stroganoff recipe to my ultimate delight. Ah, those were the days…when I could eat ungodly amounts of beef and sour cream and not even feel the tiniest bit guilty about it.

But perhaps the best recipe acquisition from that time period is a well-worn index card titled Tuna Macaroni Salad. It's filled with mostly pantry items: pasta, tuna fish, black olives, and pickles—with some cubes of cheddar cheese and sliced scallions mixed in—all bound together with mustardy mayo spiked with pickle juice. We liked it back then because it was easy, cheap, and filling. We like it now for the same reasons. (I also have happy associations of our house cats weaving between our calves in an always-successful bid to lap up the drained tuna water.)

This "salad" makes great picnic food. These days, I'm especially grateful to have it on hand when my kids have their sports ever-so-conveniently scheduled during dinnertime. When you finally get back, just open the fridge and dinner is served. You've got your starch, your dairy, your "meat" (tuna), quasi-vegetables (pickles, scallions), quasi-fruit (olives), and the ever-important mayo group represented. Quasi-complete nutrition in one lop-sided hexagon! Take that, Nutrition Pyramid!

Thanks to my liberal arts education, I can justify pretty much anything.

Tuna Macaroni Salad     

This serves 4 to 6, but, by all means, double the recipe for a crowd.

Salad
2-1/2 cups dried elbow macaroni (about 2/3 of a 1-pound box)
2 5-oz. cans solid tuna, broken up with a fork
1 cup cubed sharp cheddar cheese
1 cup sliced black olives
1/2 cup chopped dill pickle
4 scallions, sliced

Dressing
1 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons Dijon-style mustard
1 tablespoon dill pickle juice
Salt and black pepper to taste

Boil the pasta in a large pot of salted water until done, about 7 to 8 minutes. Drain and rinse with cold water until the macaroni is room temperature. You should have about 5 cups of cooked macaroni. Toss the fully drained pasta in a large bowl with the tuna, cheddar, olives, pickles, and scallions.

In a small bowl, whisk together the mayo, mustard, and pickle juice until combined. Season with salt and pepper. Gently stir about 3/4 of the dressing into the salad until well mixed. Cover the salad and refrigerate it for several hours until cold. Reserve the remaining dressing covered in the refrigerator to remoisten the salad just before serving, as it tends to dry out over time.

A Stunning Series of Blonde Moments

Where to begin?

I guess we'll start with baseball. Somehow, I became assistant coach of the 7YO's Little League team, which is hilarious since I barely know the rules of baseball. I can hold my own in a recreational setting, but only because Husband staged an emergency intervention in my mid-twenties. Basically, he couldn't be seen with a girlfriend who played the way I did. I'm very grateful for his tutelage and only wish that any one of my gym teachers could have taken a minor interest in my athletic development because I think I could have had a future in baseball. (Maybe.)

Anyway, I was promoted from "helpful parent" to "coaching staff" mainly for my disciplinarian tendencies—meaning my willingness to yell at kids for the most minor infractions, like climbing the fence of the dugout and rifling through the garbage cans. Things naturally progressed to whacking each other with their gloves and hats, whipping bottles of Gatorade at each other, and spouting language that would make this sailor-girl blush. I did politely ask them to stop, for the record. Their response: "We don't have to listen to you! You're not the coach!" Emboldened, three of the other boys yelled, "Yeah! We don't have to do what you say!!" and then proceeded to kick the bats down off the fence one by one.

At this point, my son distanced himself from the pack and wisely put his hands over his ears after which I unspooled a verbal lashing the volume and length of which set a new personal best for me (and perhaps for any military personnel in attendance as well). This was in the middle of a game, by the way. When I was done, everyone in the field, bleachers, and surrounding playground was frozen, our whole team was sitting quietly on the bench, eyes glued to their cleats, and the coach of the opposing team had peed his pants. Our coach quietly came over and placed the team's baseball cap on my head and I've been a fixture in the dugout ever since. I haven't had to raise my voice again.

That brings us to yesterday. We had a game against a tough team earlier in the week and got absolutely routed. We lost by several powers of ten. The kids were pretty disappointed. To raise their spirits, I decided at the last minute to make some blondies for their next game. There wasn't much time, but I figured I could get them in the oven, run up the street to meet the kids at the bus stop, be back to get them out of the oven with time to spare, let them cool, package them up, and go. That was the plan. I checked it backwards and forwards. Satisfied, I threw the batter into a pan, shoved the pan into the oven, and ran out the door.

Without my keys.

I heard the lock click just as I realized my fatal error. Ugh! That's okay, I thought, there's still 26 minutes to go before they're done. Longer still before they start to smoke. How much longer, I wasn't sure, but surely the bus wouldn't be late. (The bus was late.) Surely, there would be some open windows on the first floor when we got back. I always have some open windows on the first floor. (There weren't. Only second floor windows were open—all of them.) Surely, my neighbors, who have a copy of our key, would be home. (They weren't.) And so on and so forth through all of my usual backup plans, even though I don't think I've ever locked myself out of the house even once previously.

Eleven minutes and counting.

I called Husband to notify him that he married a dumbass. He could be home in an hour at the earliest. Crap. I was going to have to call the fire department like we did that other memorable time. There was no way around it besides breaking a window and risking lacerations. I'm not good with blood. I phoned our friend up the street, who's a firefighter, and asked if he had any tips on breaking and entering one's own home. He said he was calling in a truck.

Me: No, wait, I think I know where a ladder is!

Him: You don't need to be climbing any ladders. I'll call in a truck.

Me: Oh, god. Not again.

Him: It'll be fine, Tammy.

Me: Okay, maybe just a small truck.

Long story short, a BIG truck (and the cops!) arrived within minutes with their fancy ladders, broke in through a second floor bedroom window, and unlocked the front door just in time for me to pull the blondies out of the oven perfectly done. I thanked them sheepishly and promised them no more last-minute baking. I'm pretty sure they've heard that one before. (Plus, my fingers were crossed.) Thanks again, Waltham Fire Department! I really mean it!

So, how does the story end, Tammy? Did the kids win their baseball game and savor their victory over a pan of moist, delicious blondies?

No. They lost by one point. And one of the players had a nut allergy I didn't know about so the blondies never made it out of the car. (WHY DID I PUT NUTS IN THE BLONDIES??? NO ONE KNOWS!!)

The kids played a great game, though. Afterwards, I drove the whole plate of blondies over to my firefighter friend instead. Next time, I'll just pick up some brownies at the store on the way to the game. Or maybe just stay in bed that day.

[P.S. The blondie recipe will be in my forthcoming cookbook, but try this blondie recipe in the meantime. Keep your keys nearby!]

Asparagus Tart

I finally bought that long rectangular tart pan I've secretly coveted at the Concord Shop for the past few years. All long, slender fruits and vegetables are fair game from here on in. Look out, rhubarb!