Corner Story

As you know, I love Bon Appetit. It's my favorite food magazine, even with jerkface Andrew Knowlton's snarky, pretentious, name-dropping articles. The recipes are so consistently good, I know I can always reach into my clippings file to find something that will turn into a hit. No cookbook on my shelf holds that much clout, aside from maybe Pure Flavor. But there's something about the breadth of the magazine that goes beyond what one cookbook can offer. And when I can really sit down and dig into an issue (which doesn't happen as much as I'd like with only 24 hours in a day and all), I inevitably come up with a new idea I'm dying to try.

This time, it was a little snippet in the corner of page 32 of The September Issue (little Anna Wintour reference there... you're welcome).  It's a feature they title 3 Chefs, One Ingredient. This month the secret ingredient was anchovies. I just bought my first jar of anchovy fillets a few weeks ago for a recipe, and I was surprised by how not grossed out I was. The fillets are so harmless, with a familiar texture and salty, innocent aroma. A far cry from the creepy headed creatures in shady-looking tin cans that I tend to associate with the ingredient. I can sneak them past Matt, the most fish-hatingest person I've ever known, in a dressing or dish and he doesn't say a word. And this is a guy who can sniff out a pinch of rosemary in a whole pot of tomato sauce. (He doesn't like rosemary, by the way. Add THAT to the list.) Chef Kelly English from a restaurant in Memphis's Deviled Eggs with Anchovies were a little much: entire fillets atop deviled eggs. I'm a purist when it comes to my deviled eggs. No bacon bits, no relish, no pimentos or olives or dukkah or whatever else is a hit at the Fancy Foods Show that season. I want them clean and simple, like my grandma makes at Easter. A tiny pinch of paprika is as wild as I'm willing to go there. The Anchovy and Roasted Garlic Vinaigrette was nice, but not exactly a dish. It was the vibrant green Crispy Potato Salad with Anchovy Chimichurri that caught my eye, down in the corner. Chef Tim Byres from Dallas said, "this salad is my gateway dish to anchovy addiction."

I had time to read and discover this recipe last weekend, while I was visiting my parents on their Oregon coast camping trip. They were stopping by for dinner on the way back up home, so I said I'd make it when they were here. Challenge accepted.

A fabulous side dish requires a good entree to headline the act. Also on a relaxing weekend, Matt caught a ton of salmon in the Columbia, so that was the ingredient of choice. First I pulled up a Bobby Flay recipe for grilled salmon. He wanted me to reduce vinegar, chop up a ton of tomatoes and garlic and tomatillos, set it aside, do some more crap with the sauce, use special smoking wood. I had the recipe printed in my car, ready to go in for ingredients when I decided "eff that." Delicious, fresh caught salmon doesn't need a Flay attack of sauces and spices. I popped onto the Epicurious app, holder of all Bon Appetitness, and picked the first simple salmon recipe I came across. Grilled Salmon with Lime Butter. Limes, butter, salt, pepper. Oh, okay, garlic too. Gotta have that. But with that combination, how can you go wrong?

The salmon, as promised, was super-easy. The butter sauce was made in the food processor by emulsifying melted butter with the other ingredients, reserving and drizzling over the completed fish. Planked and left to its own devices on the top rack of the grill, it slowly grew light and flaky, mildly infused with the smokiness of the charring wood. We had enough to feed an advancing army, or at least a ravenous wedding crowd, but we made a pretty good dent on our own. The butter sauce? Decadent without feeling heavy, the bright citrus perked everyone's tastebuds up, and played nice with the potato salad.

The potato salad! A very cheffy dish, I spent about ten times as long with that, but it still wasn't much of a headache. The chimichurri whirred up in the blender, disguising the rogue anchovies in blazing green. The combination of cilantro, parsley, lemon and garlic brought the whole kitchen to life. The potatoes were pan-fried, and while the recipe called for olive oil, I used half-and-half olive oil and vegetable oil. Olive oil has such a low smoke point, it's tough to get a good crispiness on something without burning the oil and funking up the food. I've done that so many times, and just played it off like nothing happened. It did happen. And we have to accept that. The recipe called for sticking a garlic clove and another anchovy fillet in the oil to flavor it for the potatoes, which was a fun little trick. The clove got charred and melty (and was snapped up right away by my dad), and the anchovy disintegrated to become one with the oil, lending its salty, briny afterlife to the pan. They took probably 15 minutes on medium-high heat before they became brown and crispy. They have to be watched and flipped fairly often; you don't want them to char too fast, and you definitely don't want burned potatoes. Raw potatoes, also bad. I've slowly learned not to turn my back on frying potatoes.

To plate, you get fancy by pooling some of the sauce on the bottom, then layering it artfully in between layers of crispy-perfect, thin potatoes. As I said, very cheffy. And if there's one thing I love, it's being all pretentious and cheffy.

Hmm, maybe I'm being a hypocrite with the Andrew Knowlton hate.

I could not get enough of these. I don't think of them as an anchovy dish, but it does have a depth to the saltiness that I figure the 6 fillets can be heartily thanked for. It goes beyond sea salt flakes into a dimension of slight brine savoriness that is caper-olive-anchovy-blue cheese exclusive territory. Combining that with potato, the most salt-loving vegetable there is? Yes, I think I have a new addiction as well.

Both recipes credited to Bon Appetit/Epicurious are below, since I'm dying for you to try them. We rounded out the meal with corn on the cob, and skipped dessert.

Crispy Potato Salad with Anchovy Chimichurri
3/4 cup fresh basil
3/4 cup celery leaves
3/4 cup cilantro
3/4 cup parsley
6 finely chopped anchovy fillets plus 1 additional
1 sliced celery stalk
1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice, plus 2 additional
Red pepper flakes
1 tomatillo
4 medium potatoes
1 garlic clove, plus 1 additional for pan
Additional olive oil and vegetable oil for frying

Mix basil, celery leaves, cilantro and parsley with anchovy fillets. Transfer 1/2 of mixture to a medium bowl, add 1 sliced celery stalk, olive oil and lemon juice; reserve for garnish. Puree remaining mixture in a food processor with tomatillo, 1 garlic clove, 2 tbsp lemon juice, a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes, and 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil. Season chimichurri with salt.

Cut 4 potatoes into 1/4" slices. Heat olive oil and vegetable oil in large skillet; add potatoes, 1 garlic clove and 1 anchovy fillet. Fry until crispy. Divide potatoes among 4 plates, spoon some chimichurri sauce over, top with garnish, and drizzle with more chimichurri.

Grilled Salmon with Lime Butter Sauce

6 (6-oz) pieces center-cut salmon fillet (about 1 inch thick) with skin
1 1/2 teaspoons finely grated fresh lime zest
6 tablespoons lime butter sauce

(This is Bon Appetit's instruction. I used a whole salmon fillet and grilled it on a soaked cedar plank. Either way would yield the same succulent result).
Prepare grill for cooking over medium-hot charcoal (moderate heat for gas).
Season salmon all over with salt and pepper, then grill, flesh sides down, on lightly oiled grill rack (covered only if using gas grill) 4 minutes. Turn fillets over and grill (covered only if using gas grill) until just cooked through, 4 to 6 minutes more. Sprinkle fillets with zest and top each with 1 tablespoon lime butter sauce.

Lime Butter Sauce

• 1 large garlic clove, chopped
• 1/4 cup fresh lime juice
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, melted

Purée garlic with lime juice, salt, and pepper in a blender until smooth. With motor running, add melted butter and blend until emulsified, about 30 seconds.

Something in the Leaves

Shh, I have a secret.

I put my Halloween stuff out tonight.

I know!  I know!  It's going to be 80 degrees this weekend!  And yes, Halloween is a month and a half away.  But when I've gotten down at least three of those pumpkin spice lattes, and it takes me an extra twenty minutes to get home because in the 8 weeks we've had here without rain people have forgotten how to drive when it SPRINKLES IN OREGON, I start itching to open up those boxes in the garage that smell like cinnamon and Market Spice tea.

"When the Halloween decorations come out, that means it's fall cooking season," I said to Matt, trying to get him on board. He thinks putting out Halloween House before fall officially starts is, quote-unquote, "ghetto." However, he starts talking wistfully about cool weather favorite foods like meatloaf, pot roast and, his very favorite, bean soup.

Bean soup was some crap I threw in a Crock Pot before spring hit earlier this year, one night when I didn't want to have to worry about cooking. He loved it so much, he sat me down with a pen and paper and had me write down "everything I did." And I'm glad I did, because six months later, I totally wouldn't have remembered what I threw together that became his favorite soup. But last night I dug out the recipe, a thank you for hauling in all those boxes for crazy old me. With dinner all taken care of by the time I got home, I had enough energy to (almost) finish Halloween-ifying the house. Still a few little details to be added, but I've got a little time. But hey. Why not make the month out of the year you get to enjoy your favorite holiday a month and a half?

Here's to uncovering your favorite things about the changing seasons.  And re-learning old habits, like how to drive in the god-damn rain. You'll be needing that for the next ten months.

Matt's Favorite Bean Soup
1 package of ground Italian pork sausage from New Seasons (this is important!!), browned in pan
4 cups vegetable broth
6 cups beef broth
1 can stewed tomatoes (I use 1/2 quart of home-canned tomatoes... need to can those again this weekend. Hmm.)
1/2 bag frozen mixed vegetables
1/2 bag frozen spinach
1 tsp garlic
1 tsp Penzey's Tuscan Sunset
1/4 tsp garlic salt
1 tsp dried basil
1/2 tsp dried parsley
1 can kidney beans
1 can garbanzo beans

Crock pot all for a work day.  Pick up some bread at the store.  The good kind, don't skimp on bread. You'll end up sad and eating cardboard. Come home and enjoy whatever it is makes you joyful on these quickly-darkening nights.

Last Hurrah

Just as Pumpkin Spice Lattes were showing up at Starbucks, Christmas decorations were being stocked at Costco, and I started wanting some good hearty ragouts and braised pork roasts, Oregon decided it was finally going to hit 90+ degrees.  Thanks, Portland.  A little late for my stillborn tomatoes.  But one upside--I get a second chance to share the marinade I've been loving all summer long.

This was featured back in July in Bon Appetit, specially designed for Korean-style short ribs.  If you've never tried this cut of meat, go forth and do so!  It takes just minutes to cook on the grill, since they're so thin, but they're tender finger foods that you can season any way.  The best cuts in Portland I've found at Whole Foods.  They're still a little specialty, but ask your butcher.  They might be hidden behind the counter.  You can also get them per-marinated at Trader Joe's, with the best flavor being the Hawaiian one.  That's a good choice if you want to try them out without figuring out your own flavor profiles.

But this marinade is so perfect, I don't think I'll ever buy a premade version ever again.  I'm no great marinater; usually I can't taste what I dump on top of my food, or if I use something from a bottle in a pinch, the meat turns into a gigantic salt lick.  I hate those bottled marinade commercials where the women are describing their cardboard personalities in the kitchen while happy animated fruits and veggies explode in cheap Illustrator swirls--"I'm spicy, with a touch of sweet!"  OMG she embodies all the ideals of Jamaican Jerk!  It's all a bunch of high fructose LIES!!!  Making your own flavor brew is the way to go, but it takes some time to find things that work.  When you do, love it!  And, if you have a food blog, share it.  Or be a "secret recipe" turd.  I'm way too loud for that, though.

Since I started making this a few months ago, I've made a couple of my own additions to the recipe.  First, I add a tablespoon of honey.  This last time I opened up the jar of honey Matt and I got on our trip to Bend at this small sustainable ranch.  I don't even know how to describe it.  There's so much flavor going on.  It's not just sweet, it's earthy, and creamy, and tinged with a berry's tartness.  It made me want to pitch a beehive in the backyard.  Just add that to the list with the chicken coop and the goat.  Secondly, a generous squirt of sriracha, because... come on.  How can this NOT have sriracha in it? 

Last weekend we bought a nice tri-tip roast, and I whipped up a batch of the Korean marinade for it.  Tri-tip is fantastic because you can get one for maybe $15 (or a fantastic 2-pack at Costco for $20ish), and it feeds either a nice-sized family for dinner, or a little family of two people and their cats plus leftovers for quesadillas/burritos/gyros/paninis/random snacking.  It goes a lot further than individual steaks, that's for sure.  I think I marinated it about 6 hours, flipping the Ziploc over two or three times to make sure every side got an even chance.  If you cook it low and slow on the grill it will develop a bit of a crust where the sugars caramelize.  The crunchy bits are my favorite part.  Just don't put it on high heat, or you'll get a charred football that's raw in the middle. 

The flavor has the Asian notes of soy, garlic and ginger, but it doesn't knock you over the head.  YOU ARE EATING KOREAN FOOD!  MUST FINISH WITH MOCHI!!!  You can play it up, by serving with rice or a cold Asian noodle salad, or something that neutralizes it into just good grilling.  I went that route with baked sweet potatoes topped with sour cream and scallions. 

Enjoy the grill for the next few weeks!  But hey, even after that we always have white trash garage grillin'.  Here's to that.  Now, where's my Le Creuset?

Korean Barbecue Marinade
Adapted from Bon Appetit

• 1/2 cup reduced-sodium soy sauce
• 2 tablespoons water
• 1 1/2 tablespoons raw or turbinado sugar
• 1 tablepsoon minced garlic
• 1 teaspoon Asian sesame oil (I don't like sesame oil, so I use vegetable oil instead)
• 1 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger
• 1 tbsp honey
• 1 good squirt of sriracha
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1/2 cup chopped scallions

Whisk 1/2 cup reduced-sodium soy sauce, 2 tablespoons water, 1 1/2 tablespoons raw or turbinado sugar, 1 tablespoon minced garlic, 1 teaspoon Asian sesame oil, 1 tbsp honey, sriracha,1 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger, and 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper in a medium bowl. Stir in 1/2 cup chopped scallions. Marinate your meat (or tofu, I won't judge) for at least 6 hours up to overnight.  Then grill your heart out.

DO AHEAD: Cover and chill up to 1 day.

Blueberries for Sal

I'd like to take a moment and interrupt this poor abandoned blog for a Day In Canning!  This long-weekend Saturday we hit up the local farm stands out in our extended backyard (one of which I had a Groupon for--who knew?) and brought home big, 25 pound packs of produce into the kitchen to be sliced, spiced, steamed and smooshed into shelf-stable goodies.

Before I begin though, I just want to say that I haven't forgotten Eats of Eden at all.  I've been wanting to get back and blog about some fun recipes and such, but I've had a few excuses I'd like to make:

a.  I got, and started, a new job (so I'm not working at that place I passive-aggressively described as making me want to jump off a cliff).  But starting a job, getting used to a new schedule and trying to learn an entire new company is exhausting.  Not to mention I have:

b.  started my 3rd semester of the Pacific University MFA program, so when I write, I generally need it to be thesis-based, since that is due next spring.  But good news!  I have two pieces that have gotten published recently:  One in the Owl Eye Review, and one in Sliver of Stone.  But if you read this you've probably already been spammed about that, so I'll move on.

So, first off, jam.  I found a recipe in my favorite canning book, the Williams-Sonoma Art of Preserving, for blueberry-plum jam.  Blueberries and plums probably hold the most memories of fruit with me.  In the first house I lived in in West Seattle, there was a giant old plum tree in the backyard.  It's since been chopped down for some reason that can't possibly justify its destruction, but back then around this time of year it would sag with the burden of hundreds of dusky-hued fruits.  I'd go out into the yard and pick all I could eat, which Mom would get pretty concerned about.  I mean, fruit is great and all, but how much do you really want your 4-year-old stuffing in her face?  So she put a cap on two plums a day, which I found unacceptable, and began hoarding plums under my mattress.  Then I'd get distracted by my Strawberry Shortcake dolls or something, and the plum inventory would get forgotten until a couple weeks later, when poor Mom changed the bedsheets. 

Then there was the blueberry farm in Federal Way, the next house I lived in, which was U-Pick and a perfect cheap, fun, memorable summer activity for us kids on break.  I remember going a couple times when my mom babysat my cousins Nicole and Tina, and we'd have picture-perfect afternoons finding the juiciest berries on the branches--and making sour faces and gagging noises when we popped a tart one in our mouths that hadn't yet reached its prime.  And of course there was Blueberries for Sal, one of my favorite children's books that was totally pro-canning.  And pro-bears.

After chilling in the fridge for several hours, the berries start to break down a bit and the plums release their juices.  On the stove they break down into their true color, which is a stark shade of violet.  This is a powdered pectin-free recipe, which relies on the pectin that occurs within the fruit to gel it up.  Luckily plums have a good amount of pectin naturally-occurring in them, so you can feel the jam start to thicken and set pretty quickly once they get cooking.  The tartness of the plums and blueberries made it smell like a jam dreamed up of Pinot Noir.  I didn't have any on hand (a travesty I fixed today, don't worry), but luckily my favorite rose, Rosa Regale, served as a wonderful pairing with my tester english muffin. It's definitely not too sweet at all, partly because there's only 4 cups of sugar in the whole double batch (you'd have to triple or quadruple that if you were using box pectin).  I can't wait to make homemade frozen yogurt out of this!  But probably not this weekend; after a few too many trips to Salt & Straw ice cream in the last few weeks, I'm trying to cut down on my dessert trend.

Another thing I did differently this jam time around was I used half-pint jars instead of full pints.  Mom used to use full pints while I was growing up, but we were kids that ate a TON of jam.  Toast, sandwiches, whatever.  Nowadays, and with a household of two instead of five, I don't use it nearly as often and hate having much go to waste.  The half-pints are a much easier size to use up without keeping on hand pas what most people "recommend" you keeping a condiment in the fridge.

But if you're anything like me, you've moved that jar of fish sauce around from apartment to apartment to house for three years, and you're still alive, right?  Yeah.  That's what I thought.

It also makes a batch stretch farther, meaning more to give away to your favorite people!  Yes, you know I love you.

When jam was done, I still had a gigantic box of little cucumbers staring me down.  This was my second batch of cucumbers in a row, since Matt decided to pimp out my canning skills to a friend.  We've made pickles since I first took Harriet Fastenfest's canning class in 2008, and I don't know how, but they always turn out pretty mind-blowing fantastic.  Maybe it's my reckless extra Chinese pepper and garlic cloves (Harriet warned vehemently against experimenting and messing up a canning recipe's acidity, but when you're drowning a food in vinegar you've got a smidge more leeway without risking that vintage bout of botulism.  Canning isn't nearly as dangerous as people seem to think, especially when you're not doing low-acid foods like corn, green beans, or trying to turn your favorite bean-and-ham soup into a pantry-stable staple.  If you're following a reliable source like the Ball Book of Preserving for methods and staying sterilized with your equipment and food, you should be good to go.  Back in the 50's people used to do all kind of crazy, dangerous crap like re-use mayonnaise jars to can with.  Also, DDT was a-ok and everyone was lighting up smokes with buns in the oven, and Don Draper was there all sexy and brooding like..... okay, I'm back.  Sorry).   

Once all the jars are prepped and made into beautiful spice terrariums, it's time to stuff them with the cukes.  This is where Matt comes in.  Trying to cram as many little cucumbers into each jar is like date night nowadays.  He revolutionized this task this weekend when we were at Fred Meyer (the BEST grocery store for canning supplies) by asking me, "why don't we buy the WIDE mouth jars for canning pickles?  Wouldn't that make stuffing them a million times easier?"

Yes.  And yes.  I'm completely stupid for never thinking of that.  So, learn from my idiocy.  Save the regular ones for tomatoes, peaches, applesauce and all those other things that don't require playing Tetris with veggies.

If you're going to go get a box of pickling cukes, first call ahead--some farm stands don't carry them, or only get them in by special-order.  Especially in quantities to make a big batch (my 25 pound boxes make about 18 quarts of pickles).  If you get some choice in the matter, choose a box that has a good amount of very small 1"-2" cucumbers, which you'll need at the end of the pack where you have a little more room, but a giant fat pickle is never going to fit.  They're your cornichons! 

Hot lids on, 10 minutes in the water bath and at least a month on the shelf:  poof!  Pickles you can be proud of, just in time to use on a relish tray and atop deviled eggs for my 27th birthday Mad Men-themed cocktail party.  And yes, I swear to god, it IS that easy.  Now if you're me, you just go out and spend five times as much money as you saved being all preserve-happy on vintage ribbon, fabric and custom labels to make them all gilded. 

Thanks for coming back to visit, if you have, and I'll try to stop in a little more often as the universe settles a bit more. 

Getting Stuffed!

It's been a while since I've posted a new recipe, and there have been some important developments since.  Most notable, Matt's joined my epic quest to become smaller in size and healthier in life, so cooking for two people on the same page has become infinitely easier.  It's hard enough to try and eat healthy and make big changes, let alone when you have to do it by yourself with someone else ordering that entree you're just DYING to have.  So I'm pretty happy about that.

This last weekend we were in Bend though, and we had some culinary relapses (ribs and eggs benedict!!).  When we got home I was ready to get back on the bandwagon and detox from all of the heavy restaurant meals.  I thought I'd try stuffed peppers, something I've slowly been building up a craving for but haven't made before because Matt wasn't as excited about trying veggie-centric stuff.  And most of the versions have funky grains like (omg!) bulger and couscous (oh my!).  But with a young grasshopper under my wing, I figured the timing was right to get stuffed.

I read a few basic recipes for peppers to get the cooking technique and temps down, but this version was a post-vacation fridge-emptying trip.  I started with a bag of Trader Joe's Harvest Grains blend, which is an outstanding blend of Israeli couscous, orzo, baby garbanzo beans and red quinoa.  It's a good starter mix for people that might still be freaked out by things that don't come in a box with Uncle Ben on it.  I tossed that with very small slices of Granny Smith apples, some frozen mixed veggies (corn, green beans, carrots), finely grated Willamette Valley Creamery pepperjack cheese, Penzey's Arizona Seasoning, and fresh parsley and the five cherry tomatoes that have survived the great Global Cooling of the Pacific Northwest (low 60's and rain in the middle of July, HURRAY!!!).  Oh, and I topped it off with some garlic salt.  Because I can't resist adding garlic salt.  Then I cut the stems out of the top and removed the major seed membrane, while leaving most of the interior untouched.  It helps them keep their shape.  If you're going to make stuffed peppers this is the perfect time.  The bell peppers from the grocery store are especially plump and flavorful this time of year.  Topped with some more cheese, and in the oven for a spell.  Put a little water in the Pyrex to lend a little steam action to the veggie containers.

I served the peppers alongside an Olympic Provisions kielbasa sausage we split.  Perfect crunchy casing, moist and seasoned inside (spotted some delicious mustard seeds)... heavenly!  Those guys know what the hell they're doing.  I got their bacon before too and it won my market taste test.  Locals can find them at the downtown Portland PSU market, the Oregon City market and the Beaverton market.  I'm sure they're other places as well, and they have a restaurant in Portland.  It's pretty much the best sausage I've ever had.  And I love me some sausage.

Peppers went over great!  Colorful eye appeal, playful textures and flavorful insides that even the husband found appealing.  The pepper stayed firm enough to hold its shape, but was yummy to slice and eat alongside the stuffing as well.  I'd love to try different flavor profiles (Penzey's has a Southwest version in their latest catalog... along with a NEW SPICE!!!), and maybe even a meat version.  It's great to have someone to branch out with. 

Summer Stuffed Peppers
(I had tons of leftover stuffing, so I'm making this for 4)
4 bell peppers with the tops carved off like a jack-o-lantern
1/2 bag Trader Joe's Harvest Grains blend, cooked to package directions
1/2 cup finely shredded pepperjack cheese plus 1/2 cup for topping
1/2 cup frozen mixed vegetable medley
1/3 cup Granny Smith apple in a small dice
2 tbsp fresh parsley, minced
1 small tomato in a small dice
1 1/2 tsp Penzey's Arizona Dreaming Seasoning
1/2 tsp garlic salt

Preheat oven to 350.  Toss 1/2 cup cheese, frozen veggies, apple, parsley, tomato and seasonings with the slightly cooled grains.  Stuff each pepper generously.  Place in a Pyrex dish filled with 1/4" water. 

Bake for about 35 minutes, until cheese is melty and the peppers have slightly softened.  Serve with grilled meat or the best kielbasa ever.

Summer Stew

When I came home from residency on Saturday night, I had some good things waiting for me.  There was Matt, the cuddly baby kitties, and the newest issue of Bon Appetit.  I could have torn the whole thing up, it was so full of recipes I wanted to try.  There were the Korean-style short ribs, a buttermilk blackberry cake (that requires a springform pan... one of the few tools I haven't gotten yet!), green shawarma salmon, and a Summer Tomato Bouillabaisse with Basil Rouille.  I'm a big bouillabaisse groupie, after making Ina Garten's chicken version back in the apartment days.  It's such an elegant, fragrant, impressive dish that isn't all that difficult to put together.  It's the kind of thing that draws people in with its rustic charm without being pretentious.  It reminds me of the end of Ratatouille, when the snobby restaurant critic is so excited by the Provencal dish of his childhood.  Dishes like that let fresh, flavorful ingredients sing for themselves without fancy dressing.

Coincidentally, Matt mentioned that he was craving seafood.  It couldn't be anything too hardcore (like that crazy-good looking shawarma), but he does like anything of the shellfish variety:  shrimp, scallops, clams and mussels.  A perfect fit for the summery bouillabaisse.

The recipe called for those bright, blossoming flavors that are just starting to sprout and usher in this belated summer.  Tomatoes cooked until they burst, brightened up with fresh basil and parsley.  Walking out and plucking tonight's ingredients out from the dirt makes the mortgage worth it to me.  My parsley is finally starting to take off, alongside garlic and onions that are agonizing to watch (are they ready!?  What are they doing under there?  Could I take a peek and bury it again...?).  Tonight I got to pluck a whole mess of peas from their vines for a simple herb pasta, which when lightly boiled and blanched, should not legally be classified in the same species as those mushy things from a can.

Anyway, this was the first time I'd cooked clams on my own, although I came close with my ho-hum mussels from earlier this year.  Whenever I wash living shellfish, I get terrified that they're going to suddenly spring to violent life, open up and chomp down on my fingers.  I don't think they're physically capable of that, but still.  That and David Foster Wallace will keep me from graduating to lobsters anytime soon.

The colors in this dish are so vibrant, so bright, echoed in the flavors of light licorice fennel and lemon, and that rouille on warm, crusty bread?  I could literally eat a whole loaf of herbalicious spread on its own.  I served it up in these cute lidded ramekins I registered for back in the scan gun-happy wedding days, that remind me of New England clam bakes.  The salty, briny flavors made me feel like I was still shoreside at idyllic Cannon Beach, as if I could turn my head out to the sliding glass door and see sailboats gliding across the lawn.  Unlike my last foray into muscles, this recipe drove us to more bread to lap up the savory broth.  Stew may not normally be summery, but with the lightness of the seafood and sunny lemon notes, it somehow works. 

I'm so glad to be back to my very own kitchen, real ingredients, a blossoming garden and an exceptional batch of new recipes.  Oh, and it's nice to hug Matt too. 

Summer Tomato Bouillabaisse with Basil Rouille
from this month's Bon Appetit

4 garlic cloves, divided
1/2 cup (packed) fresh basil leaves
1/4 cup mayonnaise
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, divided
2 anchovy fillets packed in oil, drained
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
4 cups cherry tomatoes
1 small fennel bulb, trimmed, halved and thinly sliced
Salt and pepper
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 8oz bottle clam juice
3 lbs mixed shellfish (clams, cockles, mussels), scrubbed
2 tbsp chopped fresh flat leaf parsley
Crusty bread for serving

Mince or finely grate 2 garlic cloves and transfer to a food processor.  Add basil, mayonnaise, 3 tbsp oil, anchovies, and lemon juice.  Puree until smooth.  Transfer basil rouille to a small bowl.  Cover and chill.

Heat remaining 2 tbsp oil in a large heavy pot over medium-high heat.  Add tomato and fennel; season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until tomatoes burst, about 10 minutes.

Slice remaining 2 garlic cloves and add to pot.  Cook, stirring often, until garlic becomes fragrant, about 1 minute.  Add clam juice and 4 cups water and bring to a boil.  Add shellfish and cook, covered, until opened (discard any that do not open), about 3 minutes.  Stir in parsley.  Spread basil rouille on bread and serve alongside.

Ode to a Dorm Stove

Oh woe is the Frigidaire FFEF3011LW electric range destined for college apartment-style dormitories.  Already a base model, free of the frills afforded its high-class brethren (infrared, convection, plasma), the doomed are destined for the basest of existences.  Never will it know the joys of coaxing the delicate chemistry of a child's birthday cake into life, or toasting the skin of a Thanksgiving turkey into the gilded packaging of a brined, moist inside that will set off a round of oohs and aahs at the table. 

There is scarcely a clue that the dorm stove has even been used, save for the scarred burners scalded by sputtering cauldrons of Top Ramen and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  The oven may be used for storage of textbooks, or a place to hide an illicit stash.  Perhaps, if occupants are particularly industrious, a frozen hockey puck of a burrito will be slipped into its hungry mouth.

What terrible past life has this poor stove lived to incur the karma this fate allots?  Did it have some bad wiring, sparking off a devastating house fire?  Allow the souffle to fall the night the boss was over for dinner, denying Daddy that promotion the family so desperately needed?  Is there a dorm truck that pulls up to the Frigidaire factory like a hearse, trucking off these units to this never-ending Hell?  All the Sears and Home Depot and strip mall apartment stoves watch with a mix of pity and relief, knowing it's not them.  Sure, they make take a few knocks in their lives:  leaky pies, spitting spaghetti sauce, forgotten roasts, but at least they'll be living. 

I'm sorry, Dorm Stove of Room 101, with your sad embroider-less towel and freakishly clean oven insides.  I hope you enjoyed a few moments roasting the stuffed peppers I put together with a set of supplies that makes my camping trip cooking look like the Iron Chef kitchen in terms of resources.  Even though you have the most crappy broil setting I've ever seen (about 20 minutes to bubbly cheese), I know your heart's in the right place.  I'll let Home Stove know that it better count its damn blessings, and to watch out.  Whoever moves in next might really love takeout. 

(I'll be back home to Eats of Eden on Sunday.  Writing residency is wonderful!)