Taste Memories

Dark Days, Enlivened

Although I was pretty desperate to see my family during the Australian leg of our recent vacation, I was sort of dreading the shift in seasons that comes with travelling halfway around the world. I love the snow and the cold, and I despise the heat that I knew would beset Melbourne in December. It wasn't until I was back in Melbourne, devouring a mango with flesh that cut like butter, that I realized how much I missed the summer, if only for its produce. Upon returning to Boston, I subsequently found myself yearning for the freshness, acidity, and tang of the food I'd eaten whilst on holiday. All of a sudden, being doomed to months of woolly pears and yams and kale just did not seem fair. (The woolly outfits, I don't mind).

What should come to my rescue but Myer lemons? Some speculate that these big, glossy yellow beauties are a cross between regular lemons and oranges, but that description, while plausible, doesn't even come close to capturing their charm. Myer lemons are incredibly fragrant, and their zest livens up too many dishes to name. They are sour but not bitter, and with a good dose of sweetness too (so you can do as I do, and eat them raw). Myer lemons are one of my favorite aspects of the American winter, just as concord grapes are one of the best parts of the New England Fall.

So much do I love Myer lemons that, upon spotting them at Wholefoods a few days ago, I actually exclaimed in delight. But I nearly didn't succeed in procuring any. You see, being Australian, I drop my 'r's, so words like 'myer' tend to come out of my mouth as 'myaahh.' In consequence, when I instructed Daniel to go grab me a bag of Myer lemons, he came back empty-handed, reporting that there was only a different kind of lemon available. The misunderstanding was quickly rectified, but it just goes to show the mayhem that can result when an interaccent couple shop for groceries, without a translator in tow.

Anyway, I've been using my Myer lemon stash in just about everything I've cooked since – the juice has been utilized to perk up the aforementioned sautéed kale (which I really do love, for all that) and brown butter brussel sprouts (so good, it's almost criminal that some people won't try them). The zest has come in handy for salad dressings and pasta dishes. But the best thing I've made with them is this champagne Myer lemon aioli. To amp up the Myer lemon flavor, I used my new favorite lemon-flavored oils and vinegars to make it (I never thought I'd hold anything so trendy as a flavored oil in such high esteem, but these are really worth a try). If you don't have these, however, this aioli will still be delicious made with regular extra virgin olive oil and champagne vinegar. I'd serve this aioli alongside pretty much any seafood dish, and it would also go well with chicken, simple steamed vegetables, or even with eggs. Its applications, in short, are innumerable. I'd wager that, with a nice little bowl of this in your icebox, your uncontrollable longing for Spring may well wane.

Champagne lemon aioli, served alongside chipotle-dusted shrimp, and a pared-down version of this salad, made with Myer lemon zest (naturally).

 

Champagne Myer Lemon Aioli

Ingredients:

1 egg yolk

1 tsp good dijon mustard

A pinch of good salt

¾ cup safflower oil

¼ cup good extra virgin olive oil (I used this one)

2-3 tbsps champagne vinegar (I used this one)

The juice of 1 Myer lemon

2-3 cloves of roasted garlic, ground to a paste (I roast my garlic for 3 hours at 225˚F for particularly mellow results, but you can also get away with less time at higher temperatures)

 

Method:

Whisk the egg yolk, mustard, and salt together in a large, heavy bowl.

   

Add the combined oils to the yolk/mustard mixture in tiny drips, whisking constantly. After a short while, you'll see the mixture start to thicken up to the consistency of heavy cream – at this point, it wants to be mayonnaise.

   

Now add the oil in a steady stream, whisking constantly, until it's all used up.

   

Stir in the remaining ingredients, proceeding slowly, and adjust for seasoning and acidity and garlickiness (if I may).

Mexican Tomato, Black Bean, and Lime Soup, with Cilanto Pesto

 

I usually hesitate to blog recipes this straightforward, but 'tis the season to be busy, and we all need a few more dishes like this in our repertoire. For one thing, it's the kind of soup that you want to plant your face in on a chilly December Boston night. For another, the whole thing takes 20 minutes, start to finish. Still more, this soup is soul-satisfying in a way that few dishes this good for you can claim to be. Finally, it's easily adapted for both vegetarians and carnivores, and has plenty of protein either way. Oh, and – nearly forgot – you'll probably have all the ingredients to make it in your larder already. What more could you want? So I'll trust that, when I say that you should make this for dinner tonight, you'll take my word for it and follow suit.

By the way, if you don't feel like dirtying more dishes by making the pesto, just a swirl of sour cream and a sprinkle of cilantro over the soup would be a worthy final benediction. But the pesto really is delicious, if you can be bothered, and transforms this soup from homely to complex. It makes it (dare I indulge in this Martha-ism?) company-worthy. But I suggest that you tuck yourself under a blanket and enjoy a steaming bowl of this alone instead. What better way to find brief respite from the distasteful seasonal madness that is upon us already?

Ingredients:

1 tbsp safflower (or other flavorless) oil

1 tbsp cumin

1 tsp ground chipotle (or more, to taste)

2 medium onions, diced

28oz can tomatoes

32 fluid oz chicken or vegetable stock

15.5oz can black beans, drained and well-rinsed

Juice of 1 lime

Some shredded chicken (optional)*

 

For the pesto:

1 bunch cilantro

½ cup salted cashews

¼ cup safflower (or other flavorless) oil

Juice of 1 lime

 

* I like to keep a supply on hand. I buy bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts on a nearly weekly basis, and roast them at 450˚F for 40 minutes, or until the skin is crisp and the flesh is beautifully tender. I shred the meat and use it all week for this and that. It's so much better (and cheaper) than the dried-out cardboard-like horror that is boneless, skinless chicken breasts. In fact, I'd wager that the misguided chicken-thigh-loving crowd could be won over by breast meat prepared in this way.

 

Method:

Place a large soup pot over medium-high heat, and add the oil.

Sauté the onions with the spices for 5 minutes or so, until the onions are tender.

Add the tomatoes, the stock, and the black beans, and simmer vociferously (covered) for about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare the pesto, by bashing all of the ingredients together in a mortar and pestle (or whizzing them in a food processor).

I like to puree most of the soup in a blender with the lime juice, leaving about a third of the mixture unblended for some residual texture.

Check the soup and pesto for seasoning and acidity.

If using the chicken, warm it gently and add it to the soup bowls before ladling the soup over it.

Serve the soup with a swirl of pesto on top.

 

Serves 4.

Eggs in Purgatory

 

I keep seeing versions of this dish, popping up all over the place on my favorite blogs. Here’s my rendition. It’s another delicious alternative breakfast, and it puts to work my all-time favorite – and yet highly idiosyncratic – tomato sauce, which I created quite by accident.

 

Tomato sauces generally start out with a diced, sautéed onion and some garlic and crushed red pepper flakes. You then add the tomatoes, and simmer the whole thing over low heat for 20 minutes or so. I used to make tomato sauce for pasta in just this way, with excellent results.

 

And such was my plan one unprepossessing evening some years back. But, alas, I found the pantry devoid of the requisite onion, garlic, and crushed red pepper (how is that even possible?), forcing me to dispense with all three. Instead, I simply added the tomatoes directly to the olive oil, hoping for the best. Hungry and impatient, I cranked up the burner all the way, hoping to get the process going a bit quicker. When the phone rang, I rushed off to answer it, completely forgetting to turn the heat down. It was fifteen minutes before I realized that my tomato sauce was still bubbling volcanically over the highest heat.

 

I feared for the worst. Imagine my shock upon tasting the mixture, and finding it to be utterly delicious. But, in fact, it makes perfect sense: the high heat concentrates the flavor of tomatoes, rendering them sweeter and more mellifluous. And without the usual background soffrito, the tomatoes really sing. I’ve tweaked the basic recipe over the years (adding a glug of balsamic vinegar, and a little lump of butter with basil chiffonade at the end). But I’ve never looked back from the basic no onion-high-heat technique, and urge you to try it out too.

 

Ingredients:

6 eggs

freshly ground black pepper

 

For the tomato sauce:

1 tbsp olive oil

1 14.5 oz can diced tomatoes (I like Muir Glen’s); or (roughly) the same weight of fresh tomatoes, chopped

good salt

1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

1 tbsp butter

A handful of basil, cut into thin chiffonade strips

 

Method:

 

Preheat the oven to 375°F while you make the tomato sauce.

 

To do this, add the olive oil to a large, heavy-bottomed pot (or a wok) over high heat. Add the tomatoes, a good pinch of salt, and the balsamic vinegar. Let the mixture bubble furiously for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

 

Then, when the sauce is as thick as you’d like it to be, take it off the heat. Add the butter and the basil chiffonade. Taste and adjust for seasoning and acidity.

 

Divide the tomato sauce between 6 ramekins, and then crack an egg over it. Bake for about 15 minutes, until the egg white is set, but the egg yolk is still runny. Give each yolk a good grind of black pepper, and serve with a devilish grin, or angelic aplomb (depending on your level of sinfulness).

 

Serves 6.

Seared Scallops with Mint Pesto

 

One of my fiancé Daniel’s myriad charms is his asymmetrical attitude towards gift-giving. Whenever I get him a present, he looks pleased and grateful, but turns slightly pink with embarrassment. However, when it comes to giving gifts to others, he’s in his element. He was so excited to give me my birthday present this year that he ended up asking me to open it the evening beforehand. He was taut with anticipation as I tore off the ribbons and wrapping. I didn’t take off the sapphire earrings he had bought me to match my engagement ring until about a week afterwards. (Are you nauseous yet?)

 

Daniel also loves surprising me. In fact, I have to be careful: if I casually mention that I might like to own a certain item someday, that item is rather likely to turn up at our house a few days later. This is how I came, a few months ago, to own a sparkling red KitchenAid. Luckily, I was able to repay Daniel for his kindness with batches of cookies, muffins, blueberry crumb bars, and blondies (made with valrhona milk chocolate buttons, walnuts, and a nip of our favorite Sctoch, the Talisker 18). I guess what I’m saying is that we spoil each other, in our different ways: also, that I feel terribly lucky. (OK, now I know you're nauseous.)

 

But lest this post dissolve into an unadultered mush-fest, let me tell you about the latest gift he’s gotten me: a stone mortar and pestle (pictured above, at its christening). I have a teeny-tiny dinky one already, but I’ve wanted a big, sturdy, hefty one for the longest time. What can I say? I grew up watching Jamie Oliver, who pulverized just about everything in a mortar on his BBC cooking show.

 

I particularly remember Jamie frequently opining that pesto made with a mortar and pestle is more fragrant than pesto made in a food processor, since more of the herb’s fragrant oils are released in the process of pounding and grinding. I wasn't sure whether or not that was true, but I couldn’t resist enlisting the newest addition to our kitchen to help test out the theory. And I have to say, I think Jamie is right: the mint pesto I made today was delicious, unusually so. Moreover, the pleasure of grinding the herbs while inhaling their scent far exceeds that derivable from pushing a button.

 

I paired this pesto with some seared scallops, and I thought they went beautifully together – from both an aesthetic and culinary point of view.

 

Ingredients:

 

1 tsp safflower or peanut oil

1lb scallops

Good salt

 

For the pesto:

2 cups mint leaves, packed fairly tightly

¼ cup salted, roasted cashews

1 lime, juiced

2 tbsp good extra virgin olive oil

 

Method:

 

Place a large skillet over medium-high heat, and slick it with the safflower or peanut oil.

 

Add the scallops, and give them a good sprinkling of salt. Now, please, let them sit – pushing them around the pan will prevent them from caramelizing properly.

 

Give the scallops a minute or two on each side, until they are cooked through (this will vary considerably, depending on their size).

 

Meanwhile, pound half the mint leaves and cashews together in a mortar. When they are ground to a fine paste, add the remaining mint leaves and cashews. Then, stir in the lime juice and olive oil. (You can also make the pesto by simply blending all the ingredients together in a food processor. But where’s the fun in that?)

 

Either way, taste the pesto, and adjust for seasoning and acidity (I didn’t add any salt, because of the saltiness of the cashews. You mileage may vary, as they say. But do be sure to add some salt if you started with unsalted cashews).

 

Serves 2 famished lovebirds.

 

 

The Perfect Summer Breakfast

 

I've never been much of a cereal person. With cereal, you have two options: dry and mealy (if there’s too little milk), or sloppy and slimy (if there’s too much). I like oatmeal, but who eats oatmeal in the summer? So I’ve been trying to devise some delicious summer breakfasts that are cereal-free.

 

Here’s one idea that I picked up from Julia Child via Amanda Hesser: oeufs mayonnaise. You simply take an egg that’s been boiled to your liking (eight minutes at a gentle simmer is perfect for me), and cooled thoroughly in cold water to prevent the dreaded G.Y.S. (grey yolk syndrome). Peel the egg gently, and slice it neatly. Apply a dab of handmade basil mayonnaise (see recipe below) to each half-yolk, and cut up a beautiful tomato to accompany it.*

 

This meal would be delightful as it is, but good red wine vinegar really brings tomatoes to fruition. So, I drizzle some over the tomato slices, together with a few drops of fine extra virgin olive oil. Then I add a sprinkle of my best salt (patriotically, I’m currently in love with an Australian Murray river salt). I let it all sit for a few minutes, to let the flavours get aquainted.**

 

Because I love this breakfast so much, I typically spend a brief interval every Sunday boiling enough eggs to last me the week. I make the mayonnaise while they simmer (it really takes no time at all – less than eight minutes, certainly). The mayonnaise keeps at least a week in the fridge, providing me with many happy, mayonnaise-filled mornings.

 

Handmade Basil Mayonnaise

Adapted from Amanda Hesser and Molly Wizenberg, a.k.a. Orangette

 

Ingredients:

 

1 egg yolk, at room temperature

1 teaspoon dijon mustard

¾ cup safflower oil

¼ cup good extra virgin olive oil, plus two tablespoons

pinch good salt

juice of 1 lemon

1 bunch basil leaves

 

Method:

 

Blend the basil, lemon juice, and salt in a food processor with the two tablespoons of olive oil, until you have a smooth paste.

 

Whisk the egg yolk and mustard together in a large, heavy bowl.

 

Add the remaining oil to the yolk/mustard mixture in tiny drips, whisking constantly. After a short while, you’ll see the mixture start to thicken up to the consistency of heavy cream – at this point, it wants to be mayonnaise.

 

Now add the oil in a steady stream, whisking constantly, until it’s all used up.

 

Stir the basil mixture into the mayonnaise, and adjust for seasoning and acidity.

 

* For those of us who don’t have a garden (sob), heirloom tomatoes are a pretty safe bet. (But remember that it’s important to store them at room temperature, to preserve their flavour.)

 

** I also use tomatoes prepared in this way as the basis for a tomato salad. I’ll add some fresh herbs (basil is the obvious choice, but I love mint too, especially if the accompanying meal features vaguely Middle Eastern flavors), and perhaps some delicate cheese (e.g. fresh mozzarella, chevré). 

 

P.S. I sometimes use tarragon in place of the basil in the mayonnaise, for a little variety.