Panzanella

Last Saturday was this absolutely beautiful day. The kind of day when you spring out of bed and think, "I'm going to go to the farmer's market carrying my eco-tote and wearing my $700.00 dollar sandals and I'll walk home with a bunch of flowers and a baguette sticking picturesquely out of the bag and then come home to my charmingly rustic apartment and whip up some wonderful summer dish that is easy, with simple flavors, which I will then enjoy whilst sitting next to my flowers (which I just stuck in a blue enameled milk pitcher) and reading the New York Review of Books."

Needless to say, I don't have $700.00 sandals, so the whole plan was a bust. And I didn't make it down to the farmer's market but instead down to the sort of half-assed version we have next to the Kip's Bay movie theater. And when I got back to my apartment, it looked like several rhesus monkeys had been holding soccer tryouts there the night before. So I just shoved all my tomatoes in the fridge and resumed my life of lowered expectations.

But tonight I figured I'd better eat them, and so made this, which I love because it's basically a deconstructed sandwich. Or deconstructed brucchetta. It's the kind of dish that is completely uninterested in your blue enameled pitcher. It has no time to be faux rustic. It's too busy being bread salad.



Panzenella

1 loaf crusty bread
5 ripe tomatoes
1 clove garlic
1 tablespoon capers
1 cup of basil leaves
Good olive oil
Red wine vinegar

Preheat oven to 250F. Cut about six pieces of bread in 1" thick slices. Place on a baking sheet and bake for around 20 minutes, until lightly crispy. You could also just use stale bread, which I have a feeling was the original ingredient.

Chop your tomatoes into chunks and put into a bowl. Mince garlic clove and add to tomatoes. Rinse capers if they're salted, and then mince and add to tomatoes. (I always mince my capers. I guess you don't have to.)



Tear your basil leaves into shreds and add to tomatoes. Sprinkle all with a hefty pinch of salt, a good grind or six of pepper, stir, and let sit for around twenty minutes, just to let the flavors blend.


Combine olive oil and red wine vinegar in a small bowl, whisk together (I don't know how much, but roughly 4-1 oil to vinegar) and pour over tomatoes. Don't drown it; there should be a lot of good juice from the tomatoes already on the bottom of the bowl. Cut your bread slices into cubes. Gently mix the cubes of bread into the salad.

This does NOT keep. In fact, this barely lasts an hour. Of course, there isn't any point in making it if you don't have really, really good tomatoes, which, even if you do not have, as I do not, $700.00 sandals, a blue enameled pitcher, a subscription to the New York Review of Books (thank god) and a charmingly rustic apartment, are readily available at a stand outside a movie theater on 2nd Avenue every Saturday until the first frost.

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Peaches

Peaches are so enticing that sometimes I think that I really love them with my eyes more than anything. They're just pretty, the way they blush on one side and their supple skin; they feel more alive than you expect fruit to.

However, they are also a crapshoot. Bad peaches -- overly soft, watery, tasteless -- are so disappointing and you never find out until you have a mouthful of mush. I'm a bit ridiculous about my fruit trepidation, but I can't help it. They advertise so well, promise so much, and then dissolve into horribleness with a tiny, fruity snicker.

But not today! The peaches are in season, and they're pretty good this year. I decided to make a cobbler, because cobblers encompass many of the things I like about the pie-based food group: they are easy, adaptable, take about fifteen minutes to throw together and are decidedly unfussy: it's impossible to make a super-fancy cobbler. Well, it's probably not, but it misses the point: cobblers are for the people.


This is the type of dessert that can be thrown together at the last minute (if you have peaches at the last minute.) It's best served the day it's made, warm, when the cinnamon-scented crust is at its most provocative. Also, it sort of disintegrates in the fridge overnight. It's still good, but it looks a bit gloopy.

I don't add cornstarch to my pies. A lot of people do, to thicken the juices. If you want, by all means toss the fruit with a tablespoon or two of cornstarch, but I just don't like the consistency of it.

Peach Cobbler

About 4 cups of sliced peaches.(I don't peel the peaches, but you certainly can. I don't just because it's kind of a pain.)
1/2 cup of sugar, or less, depending on the sweetness of the peaches.
1/2 teaspoon of freshly ground ginger. (It was my man Alton Brown who pointed out that you can buy whole dried ginger and just grate it with a fine grater. It makes a huge difference. The blast of ginger power that shoots up your nose the first time you do it will have you convinced you can leap tall buildings in a single bound.)

1 stick of unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces
1/2 cup flour
1/8 tablespoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
a few shakes of cinnamon
1 egg
capful of vanilla

Preheat oven to 375F.

Put the fruit, sugar and ginger in a bowl and stir to mix.




Put the flour, salt, baking powder and cinnamon in your food processor and pulse to combine. Add the butter, and let it go until it's very well mixed. It's sort of like dough-light. It's past the "coarse crumb" stage, at any rate.

Plop this into a bowl, add the egg and vanilla, and beat until it's a nice sticky batter.

Turn out your fruit into a pie plate or baking dish. With a spoon, plop gobbets of batter on top of the fruit, and try to keep the blobs discrete.



Oven in, and bake for about 30 minutes, until the top is golden brown. Serve while still warm, preferably with ice cream or loose, slightly sweetened whipped cream.

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Pesto, the Long Way

My friend Lindsay was kind enough to drop off two big bags of herbs from her garden for me this week. There are clear advantages to living in the suburbs (but I still don't want to have to own a car.) Naturally, when confronted with a huge pile of basil, is it simple—dare I say, imperative—to make pesto.

To make matters more complicated, I read an article which stated that American pesto (sigh...) is never as good as Italian pesto because we make it with a food processor. Of course we make it with a food processor. It takes three minutes. That's faster than a microwave. Do you know how much three minutes is worth in this country? Quite a bit, I say.

The article (which you can read here) said no, don't fall for it. It should be done by hand. All you need is a sharp knife and a willingness to spend a pleasant half hour micronizing basil leaves. Since I love nothing more than taking something that is easy and making it difficult, I thought I'd give it a try.

Pasta Pesto
1 cup of pesto.(If you want the recipe, click on the link to the article. I also threw in a bit of fresh oregano—about two stemworth of leaves.)
1 ball of unsalted mozzarella
1 pkg genetically modified grape tomatoes. Or real actual tomatoes, seeded and diced, since they're in.
1 lb pasta that does not resemble brains

Put a pot of water on and start making your pesto.

Chop chop.


Chop chop chop. Why did I think this was a good idea?



ChopchopchopchopchopI'msoboredchopchopchop. Chop. It's probably not fine enough but I think I need to get my knives sharpened.


Onto the pasta. Pesto works best with things that can grab it; groovy pasta, if you want to be literal (and groovy.) I got this incredibly bizarre pasta from our corner snobshop. They have all kinds of fancy pasta in intriguing shapes that cost way too much money but are like crack for morons like me.

Note: Don't buy pasta that looks like brains.

Okay, chop up your tomatoes and cut your fresh mozzie into smallish chunks. When your pasta is nice and al dente, drain and plop into a bowl.

Now, the order of this matters.

Add your pesto and mix. And your diced tomatoes and mix. Then, add your cheese and stir up. Years ago I made this and put all the mozzarella in the bottom, dumped the pasta on top, and the cheese melted and congealed into this solid foam rubber disk on the bottom of the bowl. Not my finest hour. Anyway, add a few grinds of pepper, and check for salt.



Is making pesto by hand worth it? I certainly think so. First of all, it really doesn't take all that long—about as long as it takes for a pot of water to come to a boil, so it's not like you don't have the time. Also, you really do taste the flavors. You can taste the pine nuts, and the bits of oregano popped out again the basilly background wonderfully. I wouldn't mind doing it again.

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Interesting Ethnic Supermarket Find: Thums Up! Cola

Recently while browsing some of Chicago's fine Indian/Pakistani grocers on Devon Avenue, my brother and I found ourselves face to face with a selection old fashioned, glass and metal soda bottles from India. Thums Up! stood out, with its positive affirmation thumb-up symbol, and the little paper ticket of nutritional facts added almost as an afterthought (visible under my finger).

After taking a sickly sweet and slightly chemically sip, I noticed this was in fact a Coca Cola product. My brother had seen this soda frequently in Chicago - but considering myself somewhat of a Indian grocery fanatic - it was new to me. So, I did what any normal geek would do, and I saved the bottle, took it home, and Googled it.

And then I stared at the image on their website for about 25 minutes.

Thums Up! Cola is apparently the leading cola brand in India, and has what their website calls "its strong, fizzy taste and its confident, mature and uniquely masculine attitude. This brand clearly seeks to separate the men from the boys." The picture on the corporate website that is apparently targeting Faith era George Michael fans is worth the click alone.

Who knew?

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Stop the Press: I Saw a Chick Eating Steak!!

This article in the New York Times has pissed us off here at CrossFoodHQ. Standing under the banner of a particularly insidious brand of "feminism," — which is to say, not feminism at all— it falls into the loathsome trap of telling women what to eat if they want to get a man.

It purports to take the opposite view, of course—the chummy headline gives one hope that maybe women could just eat dinner in peace for a change— but then quickly dives headlong into anecdotes that are reminiscent of Scarlett O'Hara getting ready for the barbecue at Twelve Oaks.


The main point of the article is that women are ordering steaks on dates. Issues of newsworthiness aside, the gist of the article is that women are eating meat because it sends a message.

"“In terms of the burgers, it said I’m a cheap date, low maintenance.”"

Apparently, the salad strategy is out and the steak strategy is in.

"But others, especially those who are thin, say ordering a salad displays an unappealing mousiness.

“It seems wimpy, insipid, childish,” said Michelle Heller, 34, a copy editor at TV Guide. “I don’t want to be considered vapid and uninteresting.”

Ordering meat, on the other hand, is a declarative statement, something along the lines of “I am woman, hear me chew.”"

No, it doesn't— not if you're viewing it strictly as to whether or not it meets with a man's approval. A steak maybe as well be your insipid salad if that's the only reason you're ordering it. (Which, incidentally, doesn't do much for the vapidity quotient.)

However, the article congratulates these women on allowing men to dictate their menu because it displays a certain gameness that indicates you won't freak out if your boyfriend spends most Friday mornings puking up last night's buffalo wings.

"“Everyone wants to be the girl who drinks the beer and eats the steak and looks like Kate Hudson,” Ms. Crosley, 28, said."

But don't be too insulted. Here is the obligatory caveat.

Of course, there are always those rare women who order what they want and to heck with what a man might think.

Well, thanks for the grudging acknowledgment that there might actually exist women who eat a hamburger because it's what they want. And they will actually do it in front of a man, even though there might be terrible, awesome consequences. You know, just as if they were an actual person.

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Chicken Liver Pate

Who doesn't love a good pate? This one is super easy to make, tasty and uses Mace -- now, there's an under-utilised spice! The resulting pate is smooth and velvety, freezes well and will be ever so popular at picnics should the rain ever end.

Thanks to Delia Smith for this recipe. For those of you State-side, Delia is to the UK what Julia was to the US.

8oz chicken livers (225g)
6oz unsalted butter, room temperature (175g)
(Note, the original recipe doesn't state to use unsalted. I've tried the recipe using salted and unsalted, and prefer the results using unsalted.)
2 extra oz unsalted butter, for melting (50g)
2 tbsp brandy (NOT optional!)
2 tsp mustard powder (I use Colman's English Mustard)
1/4 tsp powdered mace
1 tsp fresh chopped thyme, or 1/4 tsp dries thyme
2 cloves garlic, crushed
Salt and black pepper

Melt about 1oz (25g) of butter in a heavy frying pan and saute the chicken livers over medium heat for about 5 minutes, stirring all the time. Using a slotted spoon remove them from the pan and transfer them to a blender.

Melt the rest of the 6oz (175g) butter and add this to the blender. Deglaze the pan with the brandy then add to blender. Then add the mustard, mace, thyme, garlic, salt and pepper and blend until you have a smooth paste. Note: At this point, the paste may look a little runny, but not to worry as it will set in the fridge over night.

Next, pour the mixture into one large or a series of small containers. Pour the 2oz (50g) of melted butter over, leave to cool, cover with foil or cling film (plastic wrap) and put it in the bottom of the fridge for a day or two to set. Serve with hot toast or crackers and some cornichons. Very tasty.

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Chicken Shawarma Sandwich

A few years ago, when I was first figuring out how to make this, I couldn't find anything until I realized that it isn't spelled "schwarma." Pity. That's much more fun to type.

Mini and I had a conversation while we were endlessly pitting cherries last weekend where she asked me if I ever used allspice. And I slapped her for being so forward. Just kidding. But we were trying to think what else, aside from chunking it into spice cakes, it could go with. And after she left, I thought "Oh yeah. Chicken."



This feeds two.

1 pack of boneless, skinless chicken thighs. (Or breasts. Thighs is traditional, though.)
1 cucumber, peeled and diced
1 tomato, seeded and chopped
chopped lettuce (pick whatever. I don't know from lettuce.)

Marinade:
1 thing of plain yogurt
big splash of apple cider vinegar
1 clove garlic, peeled and smacked with knife a few times
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tablespoon allspice

Tahini sauce:
1/4 cup tahini paste
juice of 1/2 lemon (maybe a bit less)
1 clove of garlic, peeled and smacked once with a knife
1/4 tsp salt to start and go from there
2-3 tablespoons of yogurt

Other:
Pita bread or naan
Harissa or other hot sauce
Dill pickles

Mix ingredients for marinade in a bowl or glass baking dish.

Slice chicken into stripes. Put in marinade and stir to coat. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or overnight.

Chop up your tomato, cucumber and lettuce and set aside.

Make the tahini sauce. You will spend at least fifteen minutes, if not more, combining the solid paste on the bottom of the tin with the oil floating on top. It's like the natural peanut butter from hell. You will get it eventually, but seriously? It takes a while. Sadly, it is necessary: It should be smooth enough to move with a whisk.

Add lemon juice and keep whisking. It will start to kind of seize up, but keep going and it should begin to take on a lighter color and creamier texture. Drop in your garlic clove and crush against the side of the bowl with a spoon until its well smashed up, then stir it in. Add salt. Add a tablespoon of yogurt and stir. Taste and adjust everything. If need be, keep adding yogurt until you get to a nice drizzling consistency.

Heat a little olive oil in a —actually, if you have a grill, grill the chicken pieces. Otherwise, use a cast iron skillet. Take the chicken from the marinade, shake off the excess, and cook over medium-high heat until done.


If you can find it, there a traditional type of thin pita break that you can roll these guys up in. Or you can use regular pita bread and stuff the pockets, but you're fairly guaranteed of leakage and breakage if you use those Thomas' ones. I like them open-faced on heated naan, because I loves me my naan.

Anyway, combine the tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce and chicken (and sliced dill pickles, and hot peppers, and chopped onion, etc.) in your bread vehicle of choice. Top with tahini and, if you're so inclined, a few shots of harissa.

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