Bright Vegetarian Chili

I think food should look as good as it tastes. And if it doesn't taste good it might as well look good. But food that looks awful and tastes wonderful is a crying shame. And food that looks awful and tastes awful is unfortunitley in the majority.


This is how I feel about most bowls of chili. I can respect a beef chili that requires ample stove time, allowing the meat to fall apart and melt between your teeth but when it comes to vegetarian chili most bowls I come across are a uniform brown with barely recognizable, mushy vegetables. 


I was in a friends home last week and noticed a pot of chili he had made that was bright, cheerful and delicious, an autumnal burst of color in a bowl, probably the result of needing to get dinner on the table fast, and it was absolutely brilliant. It flipped my idea of chili upside down. 


So, with the constant sound of baseball and football crowds cheering in the background and a briskness in the air, this past weekend I threw a few things in a pot, and about half an hour later had a mean chili that is as pretty as it is good. Let it refrigerate overnight and it gets even better. Tortilla Chips, some nice orange cheddar, sliced avocado and a cold beer and I almost don't care who wins the game. Almost.


We are in Chili season after all, which I'd say starts with October Baseball and ends sometime after the Super Bowl, and if you live in the city like me and are dying to jump in a pile of leaves, this gets pretty close. 


Bright Vegetarian Chili


2 tbs. olive oil
1 large yellow onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbs. tomato paste
1 tsp. cayenne
2 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. ground chipotle chili
small pinch bhut jolokia (optional)
2 tsp. whole cumin seeds
1 large carrot, quartered lengthwise and sliced into 1/8" pieces
1 red pepper, sliced into 1/2" strips and chopped into 1/2" pieces
1 14.5 oz. can of crushed tomatoes with liquid
3/4 cup vegetable broth
1 eight oz. can organic kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 eight oz. can organic barlotti beans or pinto beans, drained and rinsed
salt


Heat the olive oil over medium heat, add the onions and saute for about five minutes. Add the garlic and cumin seeds, cook a few more minutes until fragrant. Then add the tomato paste and evenly coat the onion and garlic. Add the cayenne, paprika, chipotle and bhut jolokia, continue to stir until well combined and then add the carrots and peppers, saute for 10 minutes. Then add the tomatoes with their liquid, the beans and about 1/2 cup of vegetable broth. Cover and cook another 10-15 minutes just until the carrots are tender but still have a little bite. Add more broth if too dry and a pinch of salt if needed. Serve immediately.


*note
I didn't actually measure any of the spices as I made this so I've approximated them in my recipe. Feel free to tinker, this version has quite a kick.

Denise's Kale, Beans and Pasta

Sometimes the best recipes are the ones you learn in a friend's kitchen. Maybe they made the dish up, maybe it was torn from the pages of a magazine or perhaps it's from a famous cookbook, but in the end it doesn't really matter. Their taste and temperament has turned out a dish that almost seems an extension of themselves, and years later even after you've made the dish enough times that you could call it your own, that particular combination of ingredients still takes you back to their kitchen.

For me, there is nothing more relaxing than watching someone else cook, making note of measurements and seasoning, exchanging perhaps painful or wearying stories from the day that can now be laughed at, and feeling the kitchen windows get steamy as dinner time approaches.

The above dish is a simple meal I learned to make at my friend Denise's house. When I was in college, I'd babysit for her boys and look forward to her home cooked meals. She and her husband have a beautiful apartment right by metro north with a thin buffer of trees separating the kitchen window from the train tracks, so in the evenings as Denise cooks, the soft whoosh of commuter trains rumble by reminding you how nice it is to be cozy and at home.

This recipe is so easy and delicious anyone could make it. You could certainly take the more laborious route and soak and cook dried beans, chop fresh tomatoes and make your own pasta and stock, but if you're in a rush opening a few cans and bags is just as good, and what I do.

Sometimes when I find my own cooking situation immensely frustrating, especially at the end of a long day, it's the recipes from my mother and friends that bring a little of their kitchens into mine, and the rumbling subway or clanging garbage trucks outside my window could almost be mistaken for a speeding train on a cold fall night.

Denise's Kale, Beans and Pasta

1 yellow onion finely, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 bunch kale, stems removed, washed and chopped

1 14.5 oz. can of chopped tomatoes, drained

2 carrots, halved and sliced into quarter inch thick rounds

2 cups vegetable or chicken broth 

1 15 oz. can of navy beans

2 cups dried pasta like orchetta, bowties or fussile 

salt + pepper

olive oil

Heat a pot of salted water for the pasta and cook until al dente, drain and set aside (rinse with cool water to prevent it sticking together and to stop the cooking process). Meanwhile, heat the olive oil over medium heat and saute the onion until translucent, add the garlic and carrots, saute about five minutes more. Add the tomatoes and chicken broth, cover and cook about ten minutes. Then add the kale and beans and cook covered until the kale has wilted and the carrots are tender. Season with salt and pepper. To serve spoon some pasta into a bowl and ladle the kale and beans on top. Grate some fresh parmesan on top.

*note

it has been a while since I've watched Denise make this and she may have added about a one tbs. of tomato paste to the onions right before adding the garlic and carrots and if you have a bottle of wine on hand it couldn't hurt to add a splash. There may have been a bay leaf thrown in the mix or some chopped parsley at the end but the above recipe will make a very nice dish. After you've tried it, feel free to make it your own.

Mixed Vegetable and Farro Soup

Perhaps I've given the wrong impression.


Over the past few months people have asked me, do you really cook every day? How do you do it?!


Well, let me clear this up, I do not cook every day, and in fact the past few weeks have been like this: I run around the city all day, my eating habits deteriorating with every panini and piece of cake I pass, skipping meals, gorging myself on sweets, forgetting to drink water, and then arriving home around eight to a fridge filled with half rotten vegetables, and a computer whose only use-of-late is looking up take-out menus. This all leads me to feel depressed, tired and cranky.


So, I have to ask myself, what happened? I know where to buy good food and I know how to make it but why don't I do it?


Several weeks ago I was in Philadelphia eating Thai food with my friend Liz and she was lamenting her own eating habits. She's in the process of training for a marathon and even though she knows a slice of pizza is not a decent meal, it still winds up on her dinner plate far too often. 


Then, the other day I was watching the Dr.'s, which always seems like a ridiculous show to me because the doctors all look like models and sell a colonoscopy like it was oxiclean, and they were each sitting with their favorite "bad food" in front of them, pasta, ice cream sundae, cake, etc. And while they were talking about how sugar has the same effect on the brain as crack, they were eating away, flirting and batting heavily made-up eyelashes. 


After rolling my eyes at their tans and four inch heals, I have to agree that sugar is a powerful substance. Usually when I notice I'm cooking less, it's because during the day I'm eating a lot of white flour and sugar in all sorts of combinations and then at night I just crave more. As a result I feel lethargic and fall into all kinds of unhelpful behavior, including not wanting to cook.


I have read a lot about food and everyone has their own idea of a healthy diet. Eat all organic, eat real foods, eat local, eat low fat, eat low carb, eat raw, re-alkaline your body, reduce candida, count calories, count fat, eat on a smaller dinner plate, don't eat after dinner, drink only juice for a week, eat macro, eat vegan, eat only what you grow and on and on. But the most helpful idea for me, when I'm feeling out of whack and I start getting sick and lose interest in my cookbooks is, eat mostly plants. 


Somehow this simple little mantra, shakes up my eating habits, guides me back to the kitchen and gets me feeling better. For me this does not mean eat salad for every meal, or that if you go out to a fabulous restaurant pick at a side dish of broccoli rabe all night, but it does make me think before I eat. And before I know it, I've got fresh vegetables in the fridge, I'm stopping by Angelica Kitchen for lunch rather then eating a piece of pound cake from Starbucks, or I'm getting a cocktail of green juice from the health food store that I've forgotten is right around the corner.


There is a lot I can do in my bathroom with regards to cooking but the one thing I envy about people with kitchens is their freezer space. I think that freezers are little miracles to the working, stressed out people of today who wish they had more time to cook but lets face it, just don't. So Liz, I know you don't have a lot of time, but I do know you have a fantastic new knife perfect for chopping vegetables and a decent freezer. So here is my suggestion to eating better, in addition to eating more plants, on a Sunday or whenever you have a couple of hours, make a pot of soup or two or some chili or a stew, buy some single or double serving Tupperware, fill them up and freeze the hell out of them. That way when you come home tired and hungry with only condiments and sludgy containers of take-out in your fridge, all you need to do is look up, pull a frosty hunk of homemade soup from your freezer and warm it up. 


You don't need to cook every day in order to eat home-made food. 

Mixed Vegetable and Farro Soup (Food + Wine, October 2010)

3 tbs. extra-virgin olive oil

2 celery ribs

1 medium onion, thinly sliced

1 medium leek, white and pale green parts only, thinly sliced

1 cup farro or wheat berries

1 tbs. tomato paste

2 quarts water

1 fifteen ounce can borlotti or pinto beans, drained and rinsed

2 large carrots halved lengthwise and sliced crosswise 1/4 inch thick

1 1/2 cup frozen peas

Salt and freshly ground pepper

2 tbs. thinly sliced basil

In an enameled cast-iron casserole, heat the oil. Add the celery, onion and leek and cook over moderately high heat, stirring a few times, until softened, 5 minutes. Add the farro and tomato paste and cook, stirring until the grains are coated and shiny, 30 seconds. Add 1 quart of water and the beans and bring to a boil. Simmer over low heat for thirty minutes. Add the carrots and the remaining 1 quart of water. Cover and cook over low heat until the carrots are tender, 30 minutes. Add the peas, cover and cook until tender, 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, top with basil (and I grated some good Parmesan cheese on top).

*note

the above photos are of cranberry beans also known as borlotti beans, canned or fresh work equally well.

Padma Lakshmi's Yellow Velvet Lentil Soup with Cumin and Dried Plums

There has been a lot of hate in the air lately, especially in New York City. 


Intolerance, violence, and protests of a harsh nature, combined with record breaking heat waves have made this a difficult and tense August to say the least. Especially in lower Manhattan, and I think everyone is happy to return to a fall routine and give their air conditioners a rest.


For the past few weeks it has been too hot too cook and I've been making a lot of salads, or simple meals out of rotisserie chickens, some fresh bread and sliced tomatoes or greens sauteed with garlic and olive oil. It is all I've been able to manage. But this Labor Day weekend has brought with it a hint of fall and a craving for soup. And a desire to, well, labor over a meal again.


But what kind of soup?


Soups, like the cuisines they come from, are all good for different needs. There are rich, decadent soups like creamy clam chowder when you want to indulge, celebration soups like delicate homemade tortellini, nourishing soups like chicken noodle and miso, everyday soups like barley and lentil, ramen for winter nights, and sweet and sour for a pick-me-up, and then there are stews, cold soups, fruit soups, purees and the list goes on.


But what to eat when you're in need of some spiritual healing? Maybe you had to work all summer? Your vacation was too brief? Or you had too much time off and are worried about getting back to work? Or maybe you're still looking for a job? Or politics have got you down and it seems like the world grows more divided by the minute.

In times like this, I am drawn to Indian and Middle Eastern Flavors. I want something, cleansing but full of healing spices, meatless, but rich and satisfying, and a soup that is easy to make and tastes even better the day after.


During my last visit to my parents house, I went through the many boxes of my things that used to be the contents of my old apartment and threw half of it out, books, old shampoo bottles, birthday cards, shoes,  yellowed curtains, broken ceramics and all the little odds and ends that once meant something, but now, I no longer cling to. The one box I couldn't wait to open though was my cookbook box. When I packed it two and a half years ago, I thought it would be opened within six months, my books perched on a shelf in our new kitchen. But months went by and they waited patiently until a couple of weeks ago when I stuck a pair of scissors into the packing tape and sliced it open. 


I don't think I ever imagined I'd be cooking in my bathroom, but my cookbooks don't seem to mind and I'm so happy to have these old friends on my shelves again, even if it's not over a four range gas top stove. One cookbook I've barely used and am looking forward to exploring is Tangy, Tart, Hot and Sweet by Padma Lakshmi. Yesterday I made her Yellow Velvet Lentil Soup with Cumin and Dried Plums and it was just what I was craving. Cleansing, spicy, soothing and a perfect way to transition out of the final weeks of flip flops and shorts, into sweaters and boots. Along with a loaf of sprouted bread and her chili honey butter it made a perfect lunch. If I were to make this for dinner, I might add a side of steamed greens like swiss chard, kale or spinach, with some sliced garlic, salt and olive oil for added flavor.


Here's to a spring in your step and a peaceful fall.

Yellow Velvet Lentil Soup with Cumin and Dried Plums
3 cups orange (masoor) lentils, washed well with warm water and drained
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. salt
2 tbs. olive oil (I used coconut oil)
1 tsp. cumin seeds
1/2 cup chopped shallots
1 1/2 tbs. minced ginger
2 1/2 tbs. shredded unsweetened coconut
1 cup grape or cherry tomatoes, halved lengthwise
3 plum tomatoes, quartered
2 tsp. curry powder
juice of one lemon
10 dried plums, pitted, chopped to bits (I used prunes and I think golden raisins would be nice too)
1 cup freshly chopped cilantro leaves


Fill a deep stew pot with the lentils, bay leaf, salt, and enough water to cover the ingredients by 1 inch. Simmer on very low heat for 1 hour. (I covered the pot and stirred every now and then adding water as needed). 


Heat the oil in a skillet and add the cumin seeds. After 2 minutes, add the shallots and ginger, and cook until the shallots are glassy. Add the coconut and stir until the coconut is golden brown. Add all the tomatoes and curry powder, and saute on medium heat for about five minutes until the tomatoes start to wilt and lose their shape. (I had to add a few tbs. of water and cover in order to get the tomatoes to break down). When the mixture forms a cohesive paste, add it to the lentils, stirring over low heat until nicely combined. Remove the bay leaf. With an immersion blender, pulverize the lentils so that the whole mixture is roughly blended but not totally liquified.


Remove the soup from the heat and add the lemon juice, chopped plums, and cilantro. Stir and serve hot. Serves 8.


*note
if you want to make this all in one pot like I did, you can cook the shallots, spices and tomatoes in your soup pot first, and then set this paste aside while you cook the lentils. no need to clean out the pot in between steps either.


Chili Honey Butter
8 tbs. unsalted butter at room temperature
1 1/2 tbs. honey
1 tsp. cayenne
pinch of salt


Combine all the ingredients until smooth and well blended. Store in a container in the fridge.


Rice Cooker Greens
To make greens in your rice cooker, slice a few cloves of garlic and throw them in, give a little splash of olive oil, toss a few handfuls of washed greens in, chopped if you like, add a pinch of salt, a few tbs. of water, close and cook until wilted, stirring once. My cooker has a steamer setting which I use but you could turn it to any setting. 

Fairytale Eggplant with Summer Squash

Last night as I handed over my name and phone number to a very tall and thin host at Barrio Chino, agreeing to a one and a half hour wait for a table, maybe just two seats at the bar, I realized it has been a long time since I've "gone out" in New York.

The last time my friend Ciara and I got together we went to Don Hills, a nighttime relic of the eighties clinging to it's punk rocker history, that is now, as scenes go, dead as a doornail. Just like I like it. Ciara, her friend Brian, and I danced to British Pop on an empty dance floor drinking $3 PBR's all night. It was great. No standing in line, no strange men rubbing up against you, and everyone got their own disco ball to hop and spin to.

Yesterday was different. Normally I would never wait an hour and a half for a table but Barrio Chino came with recommendations, I was craving a good margarita, and since it was just Ciara and me, we decided to grab a drink somewhere else until the call came that we were finally worthy of a seat. The night was young.

Turning the corner onto Orchard, wondering where to go, a bright and uncharacteristically cheery glow spilled out onto the dirty sidewalk. A new tequila bar! Perfect! We sat ourselves down and ordered two margaritas on the rocks. The bartender was strangely nice and even after we'd ordered, lingered, smiling at us a little more before happily getting to his mixing and shaking. Weird. Why is a Lower East Side bartender smiling? He must have moved to New York yesterday. Whatever. The service was speedy. He brought us two large, globe-like glasses filled to the top with ice, followed by another lingering smile. Looking down at our drinks we wondered if maybe we should have ordered them neat. Hello? Any Margarita in there? Ciara and I slurped and splashed our way through this never ending slushy of ice, which actually had a decent amount of booze after all, laughing and having a good time. The clock ticked on.

An hour and a half passed without a phone call and our patience for a pretentious wait list on a Tuesday night had passed, we paid our bill and decided walk back to Barrio. If they couldn't seat us we'd move on. Tequila and lime was sloshing around in our empty bellies and the evening could go South very soon without some food. "Oh", the host said, "I was just about to call you! I have two bar seats but if you want to wait just a few more minutes a table is about to open up." 

We read the menu taped to the window from the sidewalk, and tried not to faint.

Finally seated we ordered immediately. Two more margaritas, guacamole and chips, the Cornish hen rubbed with lime, jalapeno and cilantro for Ci, and the pulled lamb with green rice for me. 

The clock ticked on but you couldn't hear it from all the noise.

Twenty minutes later our drinks arrived. They were good but not worth the wait, and then about ten minutes later the guacamole appeared. The chips were delicious, thick, freshly made and lightly salted but the guacamole was more like chopped onions with a little avocado. It was very strange. So far, in the past two hours, Ciara and I had mostly eaten ice and onions. We were cranky, hoarse, and dared them to turn out a good meal.

About forty five minutes later, nearly dead, our food finally arrived. We inspected it, poked at it, and exchanged a glance that said, "if this isn't the best meal I've ever had we're walking out of here and getting ice cream".

I have to say, it was delicious. The lamb was tender and rich, filled with spicy flavor and Ciara's Cornish Hens were succulent and perfectly cooked. We softened a little. Don't get me wrong, we would never come back here, but we would go home full and a little tipsy.

What happened next was like a scene out of a horror film. It's the moment that the hot young girl, locks herself in a bathroom with the phone, 911 on the line, thinking that she's safe, and has averted danger. It's the moment when the audience tightens, sees the flash of a knife in the medicine cabinet, and can't help but scream, "Look behind you!" 

Smiling and at last blissfully happy with my meal I put a big forkful of rice into my mouth. My eyes widened. Tears began to stream down my cheeks, drool spilled out of my mouth, and a flash of heat traveled from the top of my head to my gut in a matter of seconds clearing everything in it's path. Those little orange slivers garnishing the rice were not pickled onions. They were habaneros. I must have put four or five in my mouth at once. I couldn't speak. I just stared at Ciara, mouth agape, in disbelief, my nose running like a drunk fleeing a fire. Check please!

Eating at Barrio Chino reminds me why eating at home can be so great. There is no wait, and you never have to blast your head off unless you want to! Last week I bought some fairytale eggplants from the farmers market, because who wouldn't? And made up a dish with what I had. Some eggplant, some summer squash, brown rice and a little radicchio, which in my opinion, is the dinosaur of lettuces. They last forever in the fridge.

And as for Barrio Chino, can't say I didn't warn you.

Fairytale Eggplant with Summer Squash


20 or so fairytale eggplants (or any eggplant)
1 ripe tomato, seeded and chopped
2 shallots, finely chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1/4 cup pine nuts
2 tbs. Parmesan cheese
1 cup uncooked brown rice
eight or so radicchio leaves
five or six leaves of fresh basil, chopped
salt + pepper
Olive Oil


Cook the brown rice according to the instructions on the package. Wash and remove the tops of the eggplant, slice in half, lay in a colander and sprinkle with salt. Let sit for about half and hour to draw out some of the water. Blot the eggplant dry with a paper towel. Add the garlic and shallots to a frying pan or skillet and saute over medium heat in a few tablespoons of olive oil until soft. Add the eggplant, summer squash and tomato. Cook about fifteen minutes covered, or until everything is nice and soft and cooked all the way through. Salt if needed and toss with the basil just before serving. Meanwhile, in a toaster oven, toast the pine nuts until golden. To serve, lay a few radicchio leaves down on a plate. Spoon a little brown rice in the center, about 1/2 a cup. Then lay a good amount of the eggplant and squash over the rice, sprinkle a few tablespoons of pine nuts on top and a few pinches of Parmesan cheese. 

Alice Water's Eggplant Caviar

I was a water baby. Not born into a tub of water but rather swimming with my mother at a very early age, way before teeth or words or long hair came into the picture. There are photographs of me in my birthday suit, held by my mother in her one piece at the Philadelphia YMCA pool, dark from the low lighting, except for the rippling aquamarine water.

Later we were members of the Lombard Swim Club, and their colorful kiddie pool with a wall of spouting water and flowers, was pure magic. I can still taste their sweet and tangy fruit cup with wedges of peeled grapefruit, and smell the air perfumed with chlorine and suntan lotion.

In my camp years we had swimming lessons every day in a cold, spring fed pool out in Chester County, learning the crawl, side stroke, breast stroke, and attempting the butterfly. Then when I was too old to go, swimming for me pretty much stopped. I'd go to the neighbors for a dip or to the beach with a friend, but for the most part swimming became a childhood memory.

Until about a month ago. Chris and I discovered a pool nearby that we can actually afford, and with a swipe of my credit card, we were members. I was a swimmer again. It's an indoor pool that requires swim caps so on our first day there we giggled at our get-ups. Getting over the initial ridiculousness of our smooth shiny noggens, there is actually a wonderful anonymity that comes from being in a room where everyone has on a suit, swim cap and goggles, heads down, except to come up for air.

The other day as I was crawling out to the deep-end, where the floor of the pool suddenly drops several feet, and you feel a little like you're flying, I meditated on dinner. What should we have? I saw the answer in the little bubbles of air all around me, eggplant caviar. Chris had recently bought me Chez Panisse Vegetables by Alice Waters, and a nice dinner of bread, eggplant caviar, and sardines sounded good as I turned to complete a lap.

The recipe advises letting the caviar cool, and serving on grilled toast but I couldn't wait that long, and served it hot with fresh bread, it was still delicious. I did notice however, that after a night in the fridge the flavors improved, and grew more rich, so use your judgement.

I hope that wherever you may be this summer, that in the heat of an afternoon, you can find a nice pool or lake, and take a refreshing dip, the answer to "What's for dinner?" may be swimming all around. And if you happen to be a member of the Lombard Swim Club, you are one lucky duck.

Alice Water's Eggplant Caviar

1 large globe eggplant

salt + pepper

olive oil

2 shallots

balsamic or red wine vinegar

1 clove garlic

1/4 cup chopped parsley or cilantro

Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees.

Peel the eggplant and cut into 1-inch cubes. Put the eggplant in a baking dish, season liberally with salt and pepper, and toss with a generous amount of olive oil. Sprinkle with a few tablespoons water, cover tightly, and bake in the oven (or toaster oven) for 30 to 40 minutes, until very soft.

While the eggplant is baking, peel and dice the shallots very fine. Let them macerate for about 10 minutes in about 2 tablespoons of the vinegar. Peel and mash the garlic and add it to the shallots and vinegar. When the eggplant is done, add it to the shallot and garlic mixture, mashing with a fork, and let it cool to room temperature.

Stir in the chopped parsley or cilantro (or a combination of both) and adjust seasoning. Add additional olive oil and vinegar to taste. Serve on grilled bread.

Serves 4.

For a meal serve with salad, sardines and a few good cheeses.

Baked Polenta and Flourless Chocolate Cake

When the sun won't shine, make polenta.

Spending the past week on Fire Island has been a dream. The narrow, bamboo lined pathways that crisscross the island divide it into a beachy secret garden of sorts. Little bicycle bells ping, waves crash, and breezes blow gently here. Heaven.

Chris and I joke that whenever we go on vacation it rains. We once abandoned sweltering Manhattan for a day at Jones Beach only to sit on a boardwalk bench braving frigid hurricane winds and a spiky mist. Bound in our beach towels, with squinted eyes, and chattering teeth we gazed out at an empty beach, maybe if we waited ten more minutes the clouds would break. Any minute now....a-n-y-m-i-n-u-t-e....

Five minutes later we were eating mediocre pizza and back on the train. 

This week, with all it's gloriously lazy afternoons and sloppy ice cream cones, has been overcast with a chance of showers, every day. Since beach bumming isn't an option, my friend Anna and I whipped up some baked polenta yesterday, a bright, sunny dish with eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes and goat cheese. It's summer on a plate. We followed it up with some flour-less chocolate cake and a screening of Body Double. 

In August Chris and I have a trip to Nag's Head, North Carolina planned, I'll hope for sun but this time it might be cloudy with a chance of tar balls. 

Baked Polenta

1 cup Polenta

1 zucchini, sliced into thin rounds

1 eggplant, sliced into thin rounds

3 medium sized tomatoes

1/2 cup goat cheese

2 cloves garlic, minced

salt + pepper

Cook 1 cup of polenta according to the cooking instructions on the package along with 1/4 cup of grated Parmesan cheese stirred in at the end. Pour into an 11 X 7 casserole pan, smooth to even out and chill in the refrigerator until set.

Pre-heat the oven to 400 degrees.

In a saute pan, heat up a few tablespoons of olive oil and cook the garlic until fragrant, then add and cook in batches, the eggplant, zucchini and tomatoes until golden and tender. Season with salt and pepper as you go. 

When the polenta is firm you can leave as is and layer the vegetables on top or, turn it out and slice into 1/4 slices to be layered with the vegetables like a lasagna. Season with salt and pepper as you go, toss in a little more garlic or some fresh herbs if you like, top with crumbled goat cheese and bake for twenty minutes until the cheese gets little golden caps. Serve hot.

It also really great for breakfast with a poached egg on top, Anna's brilliant idea.

Flourless Chocolate Cake from Gourmet Magazine

Downtown Fire Island at Night

Pasta with Baked Tomato Sauce from the Wednesday Chef

I have been absolutely useless lately. Last week a heat wave blew through New York with the speed of a slowly rotting cantaloupe and left in its wake a city of zombies and stinky garbage. 

There were days I'd imagine flinging myself in front of a steam roller, finally succumbing to the pavement, my flesh and bones melting into the gleaming black tarmac that had turned to honey in the 100 degree weather. But instead I'd just stagger into another air conditioned establishment to cool my head long enough to see straight, and then return to the undulating heat outside. 

As you can imagine, food was the last thing on my mind,  and as our air conditioner blew a dainty stream of cool air into our room, turning on a hot appliance seemed like torture. Also, the fridge was empty except for a few ingredients that required heat, including a package of frozen grass fed chuck that I'd bought on an impulse the weekend before thinking maybe I'd try out a beef stew recipe (what was I thinking?!) so, we ordered in. We got pizza and Indian food and I can't even remember what else. But I did not cook. I couldn't. The cookbooks that I usually draw inspiration from were about as interesting to me as the telephone book, and I figured I'd spare them the heat as well.

Then one day as I was browsing some of my favorite blogs, wondering if I'd ever feel like preparing another meal again, I happened upon a recipe for Pasta with Baked Tomato Sauce posted by the Wednesday Chef, that got me drooling and thinking maybe this was worth turning on the toaster oven. It's a simple recipe made with fresh ingredients that takes about 10 minutes of prep work followed by 20 minutes of unfussy baking. This I could handle. You slice open cherry tomatoes, sprinkle them with olive oil and a mixture of breadcrumbs, Parmesan and Pecorino cheese, and garlic, bake them until they're soft and fragrant, mash them up, and then toss with pasta and fresh basil. I made it Thursday night and Chris asked if we could have this every night from now on. Then my mother made it Friday night, and I made it again Saturday night. This one's a keeper. And if you'd like the recipe,  you can just  click here.

I am now on Fire Island enjoying sun, waves and a glorious kitchen. It feels like a reward for enduring the past week, and I am once again dreaming of food. Maybe we'll have beef stew when I get back.

Be Cool.

The Ferry Ride over.

Chickpea Chole

Knowing how to open a wine bottle with a sommelier knife is hot.

When I lived in Paris, during my junior year abroad, my friends Ciara, Esra and I became regulars at  Bar du Marche, located down the street from my apartment in the sixth arrondissement. There were several reasons we returned night after night to this gem of a cafe, and the first was the popcorn and olives they placed in little earthenware dishes on each table in the evening. On a student's budget, along with a glass of Bordeaux, that was almost a meal. 


Being situated not far from Les Deux Magots and Cafe de Flore, both huge tourist magnets, Bar du Marche was slightly off the beaten path, on the narrow and winding Rue de Seine, with thankfully, nary a tourist in sight. Our second reason for loving this place. 


The interior had all the charm of an artists cafe, that artists still actually went to, we knew all the regulars including the owner, and despite having had many a formidable French teacher over the years, I never really began to learn the language until the night I first sat at the bar and got chatted up by the frenchman to my left. Flowing wine, low lighting and a stranger are the best ways to expand your vocabulary. In fact I think there are two types of people, those who learn languages in a classroom and those who learn in a bar. I quickly discovered, I am the latter.


But Bar du Marche might be just another cafe among cafes if not for the waiters. They are all artists, you just know it, and no pretty boys here. They wear a uniform of muted, multicolored painters overalls, and page boys caps which, trust me, is very masculine. They are super professional yet have a nice sense of humor, and most fetching of all they can open a bottle of wine with a sommelier knife before you've even finished ordering it, and have the first glass poured. If there were corkscrew competitions like food eating competitions, these guys would kick some derriere. They must screw open about a thousand bottles a day.


I was never very good at this kind of opener until Chris and I decided to downsize and live in our small room. He had an old, rusty sommelier knife that takes up about as much room as a pocket knife, and my wing corkscrew had just busted a wing so the decision made itself. I was to learn to use one of these things, and with a little practice, I did.


Then a few months ago I volunteered to pour wine at a benefit, and as the guests started to pour out of the theater, there was a panic among the volunteers. Cases and cases of wine sat unopened on the floor behind the bar, there was only one corkscrew, a sommelier knife, and noone knew how to use it, except me. Invoking my inner Bar du Marche I swiftly pried ten or fifteen corks from their bottlenecks until a few wing corkscrews were found and we all settled into a nice rhythm of pop, pour, serve.


I like to be able to do things, hang a picture properly, julienne some carrots, shine my own shoes, and now, use a sommelier knife with ease. Besides, it's kind of hot, don't you think?


In the spirit of doing things yourself I made this delicious and very inexpensive chickpea dish with dried chickpeas that I rehydrated myself. It was the first time I've done this and I will never go back. They are so delicious and with a little planning, quite easy. And, they go perfectly with a little rice and a nice, cold glass of white wine. Here is a recipe by Meg Jansz from Curries.

Chickpea Chole

3 tbs. vegetable oil (or I like coconut)

1 onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 inch piece of ginger, grated

4 tsp. ground cumin

1 tbs. ground coriander

2 tsp. chili powder (cayenne)

1 tsp. tumeric

2 x 14oz. cans of chickpeas, drained (or once cup dried chickpeas, makes 2 cups)

1 x 13oz. can chopped tomatoes

1 1/2 tsp. brown sugar

1-2 tbs. lime juice

4 tbs. torn cilantro

salt

to garnish:

3 sprigs cilantro

1/2 red onion, sliced

Heat oil, add onion, garlic and ginger, cook 5 min. Stir in cumin, coriander, chili powder and tumeric. Cook 2 minutes. Add chickpeas, tomatoes, sugar and salt to taste (about 1/2 a teaspoon), cover and simmer 10 minutes.

Stir in 1 tbs. lime juice and cilantro leaves. Season with more lime juice or salt if needed. Garnish with the cilantro and onion.

Serve over rice.

Rehydrating Chickpeas

Buy a bag of dried chickpeas, organic preferably. Before you go to bed, measure out one cup peas to four cups water into a bowl and let soak overnight. They will turn from hard little stones to plump little chickpeas by the time you wake up in the morning (pictured below). Change the water and let them continue to soak until two hours before dinner. When you get home from work, change the water once again and simmer for two hours or until they have lost their crunch and are nice and tender. You can do the prep work for the chole, or whatever dish you are making that night, while they cook. The chole takes about twenty minutes to cook and dinner is served. This would be a fun thing to do with children as it is quite magical to see the transformation.