Just Ask

I'm going to try very hard to keep this post from sounding like a your-mother-told-you-so speech. But really, she probably did tell you this already, at least mine did.

Just ask. That's it, my advice for the week. The reward was a fabulous meal shared with fantastic company.

Nathan and Leah came over for dinner on Saturday, something that used to scare me given their farmer, foodie and wine-knowing status, but it is nothing more than a fantastic treat. In preparation, I made a trip to the farmer's market. I bought a few veggies, keeping in mind what Nathan would be bringing from his own farm and then set out to buy some locally-raised lamb. The gals at the booth were offering samples of their delicious lamb. I tried. I liked.

Then, I asked about the marinade. I watched one of the women write it down for another customer. Parsley, cilantro, cumin, onions, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper. Easy enough. Then I asked her how long, and she said the recipe called for 30 minutes, but she had the best results with three hours. Well, what a great tip, especially given she makes the recipe weekly, and she wants something that highlights her meat at its best. I would take her advice.

Later that afternoon I headed down the street to pick up a bottle of wine and thought about dessert on my walk. I wanted to grill a couple of peaches, but I needed to do something with them to complete the dish. Because of a few dietary restrictions with my crowd, I couldn't incorporate gluten or refined sugar into my dessert. I thought some rosemary whipped cream would be delicious with them. Then, after thinking it through in my head, I realized I wasn't sure how to impart the rosemary flavor (via some kind of steeping method) without killing my chances of getting the cream to whip. So, I stopped by Mint Tea, a cafe down the street, to ask the cook in the kitchen how he'd go about doing this. I knew he'd know more about milk proteins than I did, and I was right. He said heating the cream would probably kill my chances of getting a nice fluffy result. So he suggested I steep the herb in just a small amount of cream, only bringing it up to about 120 degrees. So that's what I did. After grilling the peaches, I topped them with a dollop of the rosemary whipped cream, a sprinkle of rosemary for garnish and then a drizzle of honey. It was pretty darn tasty.

The dinner turned into one of those where we just had bowls and platters filled with salads, grilled squash, eggplant, lamb and potatoes that we passed around the table. It was fun, relaxed, delicious and too simple to feel stuffy. What a perfect night. So perfect, in fact, I didn't stop to take a picture until the whole thing was over. I had a mountain of dishes, but I didn't care. Doing them gave me time to reflect on how much fun the evening was.


Asking how to prepare something doesn't make you a bad cook. It makes you a smart cook. There are very few -- if any -- dishes and cooking methods that haven't been tried before. Let someone else's experience and knowledge lighten your load. And, most of us are happy to share. Ask the butcher how to cook the meat. Or your friend who makes delicious pies for her crust recipe. And your neighbor whose husband loves to garden, ask what she does with all those tomatoes he grows.

I hope you find a way to make the best of what's left of the summer season. Its ripe bounty, outstanding weather and playful attitude don't last forever.

And if you're not sure what to do, just ask.

For the Love of an Onion

Sometimes when I hear someone say they don't like onions, I pause for a second, thinking of all the terrible ways onions are served. There's the huge, half-inch-thick rings of red onion on a backyard burger, those teeny tiny ones on McDonald's burgers and the dehydrated flakes you can buy next to spices in the grocery store.

If someone makes a judgment of their onion likability based on one of those variations, I cringe. It would be kind of like saying you hate compact cars because you'd only seen the Ford Fiesta. There are far better versions out there.

This is the exact moment for which the caramelized onion was created. It's amazing what just a little bit of heat, oil and love can do for the plain old onion. The texture turns soft, and the once stiff curls of white, turn golden and limp, as if they'd worked a hard day and just melted into the couch with a drink in one hand. A light dusting of salt added while they cook heightens the notice-me factor, transforming onions from a condiment to something you might just sit and eat right there, straight from the pan without giving it a second thought. Then, you will think, "Who on earth could hate onions?"


I'll tell you how to make caramelized onions, and I don't mind a bit if you just eat them from the pan. But, if you'd like to share, the possibilities are endless. Add them to salads, your mac' 'n' cheese, atop your pizza, on a sandwich, in an omelet, a pasta salad or mashed potatoes. Mix them with goat cheese and spread on crostinis or dollop onto grilled peaches. Sweet, subtle and a little indulgent, they transform any everyday dish into something worth making again.

How to caramelize onions:

Caramelize is a verb and adjective you'll hear frequently regarding cooking. It basically means to cook something slowly so that the sugars have a chance to percolate, browning as they come to the surface -- hence the name, caramelize.

To caramelize onions, slice any variety of onion (except green onions or scallions). If you're not sure how to slice an onion, click here, for a video tutorial. Since caramelized onions are about a quarter of the volume of whole onions, shoot for more, not less. Estimate that one, baseball-size onion will equal roughly a quarter of a cup of caramelized onions.

Using a heavy-bottomed pan (not non-stick), add about a tablespoon of olive oil per medium onion to a medium-hot pan. Once the oil ripples, add onions. Shake the pan about just to create a single, even layer of onion. For best results, don't overcrowd the pan; they will just steam and not caramelize. Reduce the heat to a medium low and leave alone. Seriously, don't poke and push around with a spoon. Just leave them. Cook something else, read the paper or drink a glass of wine. Push them around just once or twice when they begin to brown, so they get evenly cooked. The process will take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour depending on how thickly you've sliced your onions and just how many there are in your pan. Lower the temperature if they begin to burn.

Once cooked, use them immediately or store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for a couple of days. The onions can be pulled out and either reheated quickly in a skillet or used room temperature.

Perfect Pork

Today I'm finally going to get around to telling you about that pork I mentioned last week. Before that, however, I have a few things to share. None of them are terribly exciting, but seeing as if I have a fantasy that thousands of you log onto your computers every Monday just to see what I have to say this week, indulge me.

1. I saw Julie & Julia this weekend. I read the Julie book a couple of years ago. It mostly ticked me off that I didn't think of it first, reinforcing the idea that any blog is nothing more than unpublished writer's haven (except of course if you're Julie Powell and you get a book deal followed by a blockbuster movie deal). The movie, however, was lots of fun, especially the half about Julia.
2. I made the potato salad from last week again last night. I just wanted to mention that this batch seemed to soak up more dressing that last week's. I did use a different potato variety, but it, too, was a low-starch type. Please note that if your potatoes look a little dry, give 'em just a bit more dressing love. I'd hate to lead you astray with this lovely salad.
   
3. When I was back home last month, I spotted a book on my mother-in-law's shelf that I knew I had to read: Heloise's Kitchen Hints. I borrowed it, promising Janet I'd return it to her some day. I've been reading bits of it before bed each night. While there are some outdated bits of advice like, say, baking cakes in coffee cans (I mean really, who buys coffee in cans these days?), I've got to say there are more than a few handy tips. Like how to dry lettuce before the salad spinner became a ubiquitous kitchen tool -- the washing machine on the spin cycle. I tried it myself this weekend, and it worked like a charm. (My salad spinner was a casualty in the don't-put-cheap-plastic-on-the-bottom-rack-of-the-dishwasher war.) Wash your greens, wrap them gently in a large kitchen towel or pillowcase. Then spin away. Genius.
   

OK, the pork. This is more of a cooking technique than a recipe. I love cooking those huge hunks of pork, the cheap cuts, often going by names like shoulder, butt and picnic. They can be somewhat intimidating, just a huge lump of flesh, and, if not cooked properly, they seize up and turn so tough that it just might break the glass on the window you try to heave it through.

That point when it's really tough is typically when you might begin to curse yourself for overcooking the meat. But this cheap pork thing is tricky. The meat does get icky tough, but then, you cook it longer and it relents, yielding to the slightest pressure from the back of a fork. It's done when you can make it look like this just using your hands.


Given my love for huge chunks of pork, I've cooked them in the slow cooker, on the stove top, in the oven and on the grill. Some methods work better than others. This method, produces the best results given it takes so little work. You get tender pork that still has enough structure -- something I can't seem to get from the slow cooker methods.

Here's what you need to know:

(Just one second. Remember I said this was easy? It is. It just looks like a long description. For those of you out there who are more visual like I am, just look at the picture below.)



Sprinkle about two tablespoons of kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper into a dry roasting pan. Shake the pan a bit to evenly spread the salt and pepper. Take the meat (dry, please) and roll it in the pan, so that every cranny of it gets a little salt and pepper love. Set aside. Take two strings of kitchen twine, at least 12 inches long and lay them parallel to each other about four inches apart. Then, take a heap of herbs such as oregano, rosemary, thyme and parsley and pile them in a layer atop the twine, running perpendicular, probably about eight to 10 inches wide. Then place your seasoned pork smack in the middle of the herbs, positioned so the stems of the herbs are running lengthwise with the meat. Next, using the kitchen twine as your guide, roll the pork slowly, pulling the herbs around it as you go and tie the twine to secure. Then wrap the whole thing tightly in foil, place it in that roasting pan and pop it into a 325 degree oven. Set a timer for an hour and a half. Depending on the size of your cut, it could take longer. Once the timer goes off, check the meat. If it does not easily yield to a little pressure, it's not done. Wrap it back up, put it in the oven and check it in another 40 minutes or so, continuing to cook and checking every so often until it's done. When it is done, unwrap the foil, cut the twine, and remove and discard the herbs. Pull the pork into chunks and serve. Delicious.

And just in case you have leftovers, you could add some saucy sauce and make it look like this. Enjoy.

Last-Minute Potato Salad

I planned on telling you about a great method for slow-roasting pork shoulder today, but I got sidetracked last night. I wanted to pull together a quick dinner that came mostly from the grill. The chicken and summer squash were perfect for the hot coals, but two large potatoes would need something else. That's when I remembered a great potato salad I had at the Garden State food cart in Sellwood recently.


Yes, I know I recently raved about Grandma Sarah's Potato Salad, and that one still is, indeed, my favorite. When you're in the creamy kinda mood. But sometimes I could do without the mayo hangover. This potato salad can be made in a matter of minutes, and it's somewhat deceptive. Don't get me wrong, it does look good, but it tastes even better than it looks. Using a less starchy new potato means that the vegetable holds its shape, and thinly sliced raw onions become soft thanks to the vinegar-based dressing. The key is to dress the potatoes while they're still warm -- an opposite from a mayo-based potato salad. The warmth means that the potatoes are opened up and ready to absorb the dressing. That means the potatoes aren't coated in a dressing, they're saturated with the dressing, soaking it up like a dry sponge dropped into a wet sink. Delicious.


The best part is that the cook time on this is about five minutes, the prep a little less and then the rest is just to let the salad sit for a bit to come together, save a few tosses. This is the perfect time to tend the grill, talk about the day or drink a glass of wine. That, is a perfect potato salad.

Last-Minute Potato Salad

2 large new potatoes
1/2 small onion, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 1/2 tbsp red wine vinegar
3-4 tbsp olive oil
Salt and Pepper to taste
Chopped herbs such as rosemary or parsley

Cut potatoes into thick slices, roughly one-half inch. Steam potatoes just until tender. Remove from heat to dry for a few moments. While steaming, combine remaining ingredients to make dressing, whisking to bring the oil and vinegar together. Taste dressing and adjust seasoning as desired. Once potatoes are cool enough to handle, but still warm, pour the dressing over top of them. Using your hands, gently toss to coat potatoes in dressing without breaking them apart. Let potato salad stand for about 20 minutes, tossing every five or so minutes to continue to coat potatoes. Serve immediately or refrigerate.

Serves about two as a side dish. Double or triple proportions accordingly.

Where will sorbet take you?

Last week when I wrote about grilling pizzas, it was hot. I now know I was wrong. In the days following that post the thermometer crept up to 107 outside. Inside our usually cozy Northwest home, sans AC, it was a whopping 90. In the mornings.

So the past week we were on a hiatus from using heat in the kitchen for anything. Well, I suppose that's not exactly true. I did boil pasta one night, and I used the slow cooker to make pulled pork. Oh, and the microwave steamer was my best friend.

Somewhere in there, I had to make a dessert for book club. A crisp, cobbler or pie would have done right by the fruit of the season, but they all took some heavy-duty fire power to bake them. And trying to keep it dairy-free for a friend ruled out an icebox pie. With four over-ripe peaches waiting for their hips to sag in the heat, I decided they must be part of my dessert plan. Then I remembered that gifted bottle of Prosecco collecting dust. My dessert would be Peach Sorbet.


Sorbet is one of the most deceptive desserts out there. It requires very few tools save a blender or food processor, demands practically zero effort and the reward is the ripe, sugary goodness of fresh fruit, frozen into thousands of ice crystals that walk the line between ice cream and Popsicle.

You will see some recipes call for an ice cream maker, but this method just uses your freezer. Try swapping your other favorite fruits for peaches -- nectarines, plums, berries, pears, melon. I even had a rose sorbet once that was to die for. The chef had hand-picked fresh petals that morning to make the palate cleanser. It tasted, I told the her, like I imagine some elegant and romantic French lingerie shop with plush velvet chairs, beautiful blue-haired shop keepers, and a window display any mother could walk by with her child.

A wonderful sorbet, I suppose, can take you just about anywhere.

Summer Peach Sorbet

3 Large, ripe peaches
1/3 cup Prosecco or other sparkling white wine*
Approx. 1 tablespoon sugar
1 medium lemon, juiced

To remove the peach skins, with a knife, cut through the skins, making a large X in the butt of the fruit. Add peaches to boiling water for about 1 minute. You will see the skins start to pull away from the crisscross cut. Remove peach from pot and, once cool enough to handle, gently rub or pull away skins. Pit the peaches and load the fruit into a food processor or blender (work in batches if needed). Add the wine, sugar and lemon juice and puree. Taste. Add more sugar if needed, based on the fruit's ripeness. Once mixture is done, pour into a shallow vessel. A plastic container with a lid is best, but a cake pan or glass dish works as well. Cover and place in the freezer. About every hour or so, remove the mixture from freezer and stir with a fork, pulling any freezing chunks on the edges to the inner part of the dish. After about four to five hours the sorbet will be ready to serve.


* The alcohol helps this dish by not allowing it to freeze completely. However, if you want to make an alcohol-free version, make a simple syrup with equal parts sugar and water instead.

Pizza... Too much of a good thing

If there are any loyal readers of this blog, you are very likely sick of hearing about pizza. It seems I go on and on and on about pizza sometimes. Maybe it's because it's so darn easy to make. Or maybe it's because it's one of my I-have-nothing-in-the-pantry dishes. Seriously, you got flour, yeast, olive oil, something that passes as cheese and something that passes as meat or veg or fruit, and you got pizza!

On Saturday Seth asked why we hadn't had pizza in a while, a regular on our cold-season menu. Well, I told him, there's something about turning on the oven to 450 degrees when it's already 90 degrees outside and you don't have air conditioning. Too much, heat, in this case, is not a good thing.

So, I decided to give in to his craving and cook the pizza on the grill outside. Trust me, I still had to brave the heat radiating from the coals during an already sun-soaked evening, but at least I didn't add to the global warming index of my kitchen in the process. We made four different kinds of pizzas thanks to a kitchen stocked with some of summer's offerings. Jasper dined on a broccoli cheddar pizza (thank you, Cousin Nathan and Converging Creeks Farm), while we enjoyed three kinds of our own: peach and blue cheese; basil pesto and parm; and our own broccoli version. It was simple and delicious. If you think ripe peaches and blue cheese sound strange then you have no idea how a candy like Sweet Tarts ever could have caught on. The peaches are sweet the blue is tangy and the result is heavenly. It's a pleasing combo that translates to salads as well.


Go make this pizza crust. Simply top it with olive oil and whatever delicious veggies you have too much of. It will be a good thing, and I doubt you'll hardly have too much!

Pizza Crust (for grilled pizzas)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup of warm water
1 package (or 2 1/2 teaspoons) yeast
Olive oil

The dough is easiest made in a food processor fitted with a dough blade. It can be made by hand, but expect a more consistent crust with food processor.

Combine flour and salt in the food processor. Add yeast to the warm water and stir to combine. Turn the processor on and pour the water mixture in slowly followed by a light drizzle of olive oil. Process until the dough forms a ball, then process for about 1 more minute. Remove dough from processor work bowl and place in a bowl at least double its size. Drizzle olive oil over top and smear around with your fingers. This will keep the dough from getting an outer crust on the ball. Cover loosely with plastic wrap or a dish towel. Let the dough rise for approximately 1 to 2 hours, until it has doubled in size. Once dough has risen, use quickly or store in the refrigerator in tightly-wrapped plastic for about 1 day or freeze.

Roll or toss dough to desired sizes, coating in enough flour to make it easy to work with. Place an untopped dough round directly on a hot grill for 2 to 3 minutes. The exact time varies drastically depending on the temperature. Don't walk away. Use long tongs to check the underside. Once the bottom begins to brown, flip the crust for about another minute. Then, remove the crust, top with pizza toppings. Return to grill in a spot where it gets only indirect heat or place on several layers of foil or baking sheet on the grill, so the bottom does not burn. Continue to cook until the toppings appear done.

*To bake in the oven, preheat to 450 degrees and bake a topped crust for about 11 to 14 minutes.

The Cool of Summer

When it's hot outside and the garden is ripe, there is nothing more refreshing and easy than a summer salad. It's the season where stone fruits and tomatoes, melons and onions and peppers and peaches marry to create flavors that make it clear the only way to improve on a perfectly ripe fruit or vegetable is to add another.

Yesterday I threw together a dish of cubed watermelon, tomatoes, cucumbers, walla walla onions, radishes, oregano and feta. I tossed it all with a little olive oil and seasoning. It was refreshing, simple and substantial enough to be a side dish worthy of seconds.


The seasons for these salads may be short, but the spontaneity of them gives you the freedom to use whatever you have on hand. Leftover watermelon slices, a couple of ripe tomatoes, one lonely peach, a quickly wilting bunch of herbs or half of a bell pepper need not go to waste. It's a cooking method I first caught on to while reporting a story on Turkish immigrants. I visited a family for a few meals and was amazed at the beautiful salads they served with every meal. They were quick, simple and required relatively few ingredients. In a culture where we think salads start with a bag of pre-rinsed greens, we've got a ways to go in the creativity department.

If you need more ideas, check out this New York Times piece by the talented Mark Bittman. If you don't have enough food in your house to make at least one of these tasty salads, it's time to hit up the farmers market. Summer doesn't last forever!

Burgers, Catfish and Dumplings, Oh My!

We just returned from a 10-day adventure that took us all the way from Southeastern Oklahoma to West Texas, and that was after traveling to Oklahoma City from Portland, Ore.

So, as soon as I get the laundry folded and pantry restocked, I'll offer a recipe. Thank you for accepting my tardy excuse this week.

In the meantime, I'll let you know that I was reminded of a few things on this trip home:

• Johnnie's still makes one of the best damn burgers around. My parents started taking me to the one off Britton Road when I was a kid. We'd go there for burgers when we were in the neighborhood or meet up with family or friends for dinner. Johnnies strikes the perfect blend of fast food and full service. It's technically fast food, but it just feels homier than a McDonald's, and the food, of course, is far superior. Grated cheese on a large beef patty and their special sauce, which is really a tasty barbecue dressing, makes this burger darn near perfect. And the onion rings set the standard.
  
• Fried catfish is plentiful and delicious. And don't you dare try to serve it without hush puppies. A meal I can't pass up when I'm in the state. As a kid we always had our own fish fries, but today we settle for a cafe's version when we're down near our lake house.
  
• I grew up eating my Great Grandma Peach's Chicken and Dumplings. The dumplings, however, are more like noodles than anything else. I was happy to find that my family isn't alone. I chowed on some chicken and dumplings that were of the noodle variety. I must say, though, Peach's are still the best.
  

A Good Thing Worth Repeating

Seth recently said, "It's not summer until you make potato salad." It's true. It's one of those dishes that you could make any time of year, but fixing it in December would be like wearing a Hawaiian shirt to a Christmas Party in Detroit. Neither would fit in with reindeer sweaters.

So in the name of celebrating summer, you must go make this potato salad. I like all kinds of potato salad (come on, mayo, potatoes, salt, what's not to like?), but this is the one I always come back to. It's simple yet divine. Perfect for picnics but not so unassuming it couldn't make an appearance at a set table either.

I have written about it before, so I won't repeat the details. Here is where you'll find the backstory. Enjoy the summer. It won't be too long before those tacky sweaters will be in season.

Grandma Sarah's Potato Salad

5 pounds of Russet potatoes
1 bunch of celery, chopped
1 medium red onion, diced
2 eggs, hard boiled and peeled
3 cups of mayonnaise (no Miracle Whip, please)
1 4oz jar of diced pimentos (find them in grocery aisle near pickled asparagus and such)
S & P to taste

Peel, rinse and dice potatoes. Boil until tender in a large, liberally salted pot of water. Drain. Lay potatoes out on a cookie sheet to cool. Speed up the process by placing freezer bags filled with ice on top of them.
Chop one bunch of celery, dice the onion and egg. Combine celery, onion, egg, pimentos (juice and all), mayo, salt, pepper and potatoes in a large bowl. Gently mix to combine, making sure not to mash potatoes.
Season to taste. Chill, serve cold.

Note: Obviously, one only needs five pounds if you're feeding the entire church congregation. Scale down as necessary. Also, you can leave out ingredients you don't like, but do keep in mind that potato salad is not only about taste, but texture, too. The onions and celery add a delicious crunch.

Cobbler Love

As I've mentioned here before, I'm not much of a baker. Slowly, though, I'm coming around. Maybe it's just my stage in life, but I am growing to appreciate the structure a recipe offers. That said, you will still find me hunched over the garbage every now and then used a knife to scrape some sadly burned cake out of a pan.

So when I decided to throw together a dessert for my Fourth of July barbecue, I went with something I know. I started with an all-American biscuit. It's probably the one baked good that I feel completely comfortable making. It's a recipe adapted from the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook with the red and white checkered cover. A little extra sugar and lemon zest transformed this flaky biscuit into something that pairs better with berries than sausage gravy. I made the biscuit dough the day before and popped them in the freezer for the night.

The next morning I made a quick trip to the farmer's market where I passed right by fresh sugar snap peas, homemade tamales and my favorite mushroom man. I was focused on fruit. Something that would pair nicely with those buttery biscuits in my freezer. I was sold when my eyes landed on a half-flat of plump, deep purple marionberries. This Oregon jewel is similar to a blackberry in size and shape with a flavor that bleeds more sweet than tart.


At home, I spent about five minutes pulling this cobbler together. The berries went into a pan with sugar, flour and lemon zest. Then the frozen biscuits were popped on to top, and the entire thing took a quick trip in a hot oven. After mini burgers, hot dogs and too much potato salad, we ate marionberry cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream. Lots of neighbors ended their evenings with sparklers in hand but not our crew. With a slew of young kids and babies more interested in bubbles than fireworks, a little berry cobbler didn't disappoint as the cap to our celebration.


Marionberry Cobbler
Biscuits
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for working with dough
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
1/2 cup butter, cold, cubed
2/3 cup milk
1 lemon, zested
2 tablespoons butter, melted
Juice of one lemon
3 to 4 tablespoons powdered sugar

Berry mixture
8 cups rinsed and drained marionberries*
3/4 cup sugar
1 lemon, zested
2 tablespoons flour

To make biscuits, in a food processor combine flour, salt, sugar, baking powder, cream of tartar, lemon zest and cubed butter. Mix, pulsing until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. If you do not have a food processor, use a pastry blender to combine ingredients. Dump flour and butter mixture into a mixing bowl and add milk. Combine with a spoon. Turn out dough onto well-floured surface. Work dough into a ball and use a rolling pin to roll dough out to about 1/2 of inch thick. Use a biscuit cutter to cut rounds, making sure not to twist cutter. Dip cut biscuit tops in melted butter and transfer to baking sheet. Place biscuits in freezer for at least five minutes (I place the entire baking sheet in there). Then either proceed with rest of recipe or transfer to airtight container once biscuit dough is frozen until ready for baking.

Prep berries by gently rinsing and draining. Then gently combine with sugar, lemon zest and flour, careful not to bruise or crush the fruit (using your hands is best). Pour the berry mixture into a 9x13-inch pan. Top with biscuit dough and bake in a 450 oven for 12 to 14 minutes or until golden brown.

While cobbler bakes, combine powdered sugar and lemon juice. After the cobbler is baked, use a pastry brush to lightly coat the tops of biscuits with the lemon-sugar glaze. Serve warm or room temperature topped with vanilla ice cream.

* Substitute blackberries if you cannot find marionberries.

Note: Because the sugar content of fruit can vary, adjust the amount of sugar as needed based on the ripeness of fruit used.

Endless Possibilities

After making jam last week, I still had several pints of strawberries staining the refrigerator shelves, so we tried to eat them all. We had them on cereal. We ate them whole. I sliced them over ice cream. I discovered sliced strawberries are heavenly in this recipe when swapped for chocolate chips. But there were still more, and most were on the verge of overripe mush.

The ruby jewels are too precious to toss in the compost just because we couldn't get our grub on quick enough. So I gave them a rinse, sliced their little green tops off and dropped them in the blender. After a quick whiz, I had a brilliant red puree. Here's where I stole a trick from my baby-food-making recipes: I poured the puree into my silicone muffin tin (yes, it's not technically a tin, but I just can't make any other name stick) and popped them in the freezer. If you don't have a silicone muffin tin, use ice cube trays. A few hours later they are frozen solid and can be popped out and transferred to a plastic bag or other airtight container.


So what could you do with frozen strawberry hockey pucks? Well, toss one in the blender with plain yogurt for a smoothie. Add thawed puree to your morning oatmeal. Or use it for baking cakes, muffins or making pancakes. Blend it with cream cheese and sugar for a delicious frosting. Pour it over ice cream or sliced pound cake. Add it to your lemonade, or better yet, your margarita!

Unlike the shelf life of a strawberry, the possibilities are endless. The bottom line is, there is no need to let your fruit go to waste. If you can't eat it in time, take five minutes to puree and freeze it. It's just one little way to stretch the summer season.

The Last Thing

I thought this being a food blog and all that I should offer up at least one recipe this week. And very appropriately, I thought I'd tell you about the last thing.

That's something I seem to say a lot. Like starting a sentence with "The last thing I have to do is ..." There's never really a last thing. I mean, even the couple sitting blissfully on the beach with a drink in hand will need someone to run to the store eventually for more vodka or limes, right?


In between the chores, dinner, the kids and the pets, treat yourself to a few niceties. Like croutons. I sometimes find myself pulling together a dinner and at the last minute thinking that the only thing left is the croutons. It sounds so meaningless, but imagine a great salad you love topped with crisp cubes of salty, crunchy goodness. Or sprinkle them on soup. Whiz 'em in the food processor and top your pasta with them. The possibilities are limitless, and this handy little tip will make you loath those boxed cubes of stale bread and love the leftover baguette.


Croutons are simple to make. The recipe goes something like this: Cube bread* then toss with just enough olive oil to coat. Season generously with salt, pepper and anything else you like (think herbs, red pepper flakes, crushed garlic and the like). Then apply heat to toast them up. It literally takes a couple of minutes. This can be accomplished in a medium oven for about five minutes, on the stove top in a skillet or even in a pan over the grill. If you've chosen the stovetop or grill method, you'll need to give the pan a shake every now and then to evenly brown. Those made in the oven will crisp nicely all on their own. Cool croutons and use immediately or store in an airtight container for a day or so.

* Stale or slightly stale bread works best, but fresh bread will work. Just note that the more moist the bread, the longer the cook time. Use any type of bread you like including plain old sandwich loaf bread.

Grab a napkin, pass the jam

I made strawberry jam. Yes, I had lots of help, and no, I did not create the world's most perfect jam. Like me, it had its flaws. One of four cans didn't seal correctly, which is OK because I would have popped one open today anyway. The jam itself wasn't quite as gelled as I would have liked, but the flavor was excellent. Pectin is a finicky thing, and like with many things in the kitchen, making jam is a bit of trial and error, I suppose. Now, it's time to go at it again and see if with a few tweaks I may be able to get the consistency a bit firmer. Christiane said that perhaps we added the lemon juice a bit early and making it the last step would yield better results since it breaks down the natural pectin. She also said it could continue to set for the next day or two.

While it was pretty exciting to put my jam on my toast this morning, I'm most excited that making jam doesn't sound so scary anymore. I am not going to offer up a recipe just yet. I'll do that when I get it right. I'm still eating my jam, though. I'll just put a napkin in my lap.

Now we wait

So I am almost embarrassed to admit this, but even though strawberry jam was made in my kitchen today, I did very little of the making. My sweet friend Christiane came by and basically gave me a preserving lesson while she made the jam. I did things like prepped the strawberries, cooked us lunch and kept Jasper out of the trash, which is his latest trick. She watched the timer, stirred the jam and fished out the foamy stuff in the pot that she said we didn't want.


Now, she says, we wait. I'm under strict orders to leave the jars alone until tomorrow morning. Then I give them a test to see if they have truly sealed. Those that are sealed can go to the pantry. Any that aren't are still good as long as they're eaten within a week or so. I am so excited. Once I give 'em a try, I'll pass along the recipe.

Even if we weren't successful, it was worth it. There are very few things I find more enjoyable than hanging out with good company in the kitchen.

Strawberry Ambition

Today I'm trying something new. I am going to make strawberry jam. It sounds easy just writing it here, but to be honest I'm a little scared. It involves canning, which sounds intimidating to me. I like flexibility. I want to be able to shift course mid-process, and filling jars and sealing them seems so permanent.


I bought this flat of delicious, ripe strawberries at the farmer's market yesterday, so I've got to work quick. I've researched a few recipes, and a seasoned jam-making friend may stop by. I promise to update you later today and let you know just how it went. And if it's a true success and you live close enough, you may just find a jar of strawberry jam at your door.

Recreating Mom's Zucchini

When I was a kid, we had a yellow, round electric skillet that was pulled out on Saturday mornings when Dad would make an omelet and for weeknight dinners when Mom would make sauteed zucchini. I always loved this vegetable side dish, especially the parmesan cheese from the green can that she sprinkled on just near the end of cooking.

I remember once trying to recreate the dish at my friend Lisa's while I was in middle school. I didn't get it quite right and made a mess of her mother's skillet when the cheese stuck everywhere but the zucchini. To this day, I still have trouble replicating her dish. It's possible that it's one of those things that tastes better in my memory than in reality. But then again, summer squash is a delicate thing that wants to be treated just right. Unlike its fall and winter counterparts, summer squash has a soft flesh and needs only minimal cooking. Cooked too long and it turns into a soggy mash; not long enough and it's got the bite of al dente pasta.

Perhaps it was that giant nonstick electric skillet that yielded the perfect zucchini. Then again it could have been the cheese from the green can that helped absorb the excess liquid. It was probably some wacky combination of all of these things along with my mom's technique. Whatever it was, it was delicious, and I've finally found a way to recreate the same flavor. The look is different, however. My mom sliced her squash into discs about a quarter of an inch thick while I trimmed the ends and then sliced them once, lengthwise.


The result is a zucchini that is cooked through yet firm enough to hold its shape. And the salty parmesan plays well upon the slight sweetness of the squash. The dish is an easy side or could also make for a fun appetizer.

Broiled Zucchini topped with Parmesan

2 medium zucchini, washed and ends trimmed
1/4 cup or more grated parmesan
Olive Oil
Salt & Pepper

Preheat the oven on its broiler setting. Cut the zucchini in half, lengthwise. Place them on a cookie sheet with the cut sides facing up. Brush the tops with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place under the broiler for approximately 7 minutes and check for doneness. The exact time will depend on how large your zucchini are. It is done when the squash is tender and the edges begin to brown. Remove from oven and top with parmesan cheese. Return to oven to melt and brown cheese, roughly 1 to 2 minutes. Serve immediately.

Sophistication Without the Skills

The past week has been a whirlwind to say the least. Travel, sick baby, high fever and a catered event for 25 to pull off. Somehow it all came together, and we are, at last, back in our own home where everyone slept well last night.

In the spirit of busy times, I will be brief and leave you with a treat I first put together last summer. I was inspired after reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle with the book club gals and made an appetizer that was sourced completely from the farmer's market aside from the oil and vinegar.

It's a crostini topped with arugula, strawberries macerated in balsamic reduction and topped with crumbled feta. It's basically a salad that I love put onto a little slice of toasted bread. There's something magical that happens when fresh, ripe strawberries -- the kind that bleed a deep red syrup when sliced through -- meet balsamic vinegar. The sweet, tangy combination delivers five-star flavor by way of Top Ramen skills. It's really that simple. Slice them and toss them. The trick to balsamic is simply that if you're on a budget, buy a middle-of-the-road variety and reduce it to concentrate the flavor.


Crostini Topped with Arugula, Balsamic-Macerated Strawberries and Feta

1 baguette
5 oz arugula
1 pint fresh strawberries, sliced
1 1/2 cups balsamic vinegar
1 cup crumbled feta
olive oil
salt

Thinly slice baguette on the bias and brush one side of each slice with olive oil. Place on a baking sheet and bake in a 350 oven for about 8 minutes or until bread is slightly golden and toasted. This step could also be done on a grill. Bring the balsamic vinegar to a gentle boil in a heavy-bottomed sauce pan and reduce by about half and cool completely. Slice strawberries and combine with cooled vinegar for about 30 minutes. Toss arugula lightly with olive oil and salt. To assemble place a few leaves of arugula on each crostini. Top with macerated strawberries and crumbled feta. Serve immediately.

Note: The crostinis can be made several hours ahead of time and stored (once cooled) in an airtight container. The balsamic can also be reduced ahead of time. Simply combine strawberries and vinegar just a bit before serving and assemble when ready to eat.

Nothing says "I love you" like cheap food

With the folks in town, seems like I've been running around the kitchen like crazy. It's not that cooking for two extra people is much more work. It's more like I've got so much running through my brain that I could easily get sidetracked making a bowl of cold cereal.

That said, after we'd grilled flank steak, tested a delicious pasta recipe, had a burger night and visited Nathan's farm for some outstanding grilled salmon, my creative cooking well was in need of a stiff drink. That's when I decided on carnitas tacos.


Nothing says "I love you" like great, cheap food. We sat down at the picnic table in the back yard and ate with our hands. It's an unpretentious meal but not soon forgotten.

A while back I discovered this fabulous recipe. After you're done noticing how much more fabulous this blog is than mine, read the recipe. Then go make it. Pork, orange juice, salt and water never tasted so good.

Morning Treat

The cereal aisle of the grocery store was always a treat when I was kid. If we were really lucky, my sister and I each got to pick our own box. I remember really liking Smurf Berry Crunch, which must have been OK with Mom. But she did have her rules. Anything with marshmallows was out, along with anything else that was clearly dessert material masquerading in a bright colorful box with cartoon characters (although I do remember my sister going through quite the Cookie Crisp phase).

Whatever the case, I seemed to take a liking to these rules. To this day, if it is before 10 a.m. I can easily resist cookies, brownies, chocolate, Coke and the like. These were treats that were clearly not meant for the morning hour. That's why it feels a bit sinful to indulge in something studded with chocolate chips for breakfast.

Despite the rules, I made a dozen Banana Chocolate Chip Muffins for a few friends over the weekend. Both the kids and the grown ups ran around the back yard with a muffin in hand. That was really I all I needed to know, but when I returned to the kitchen after the house was quiet again, I saw only one lone muffin sitting on the platter. And it wasn't long before that one was gone, too.


Banana Chocolate Chip Muffins
Adapted from a Boston Cooking School Cookbook muffin recipe

2 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup sugar
2 eggs, slightly beaten
1 cup plain yogurt
1/4 cup melted butter
1/2 cup chocolate chips
1 medium over-ripe banana, mashed well

Combine first four ingredients in a bowl. In another bowl, mix eggs, yogurt, butter and banana. Combine wet and dry ingredients and mix just until moistened. Fold in chocolate chips. Spoon batter into prepared muffin tins (greased or lined with paper cups). Bake at 400 degrees for approximately 15 minutes or until a toothpick insert comes out clean and tops are slightly golden. Let cool in tins for 10 minutes and then remove to continue cooling.

Sweet-Tart Memory

When Seth and I moved in together, I worked days and he worked the swing shift. That left breakfast as our only option for a meal together. Eight years later, we still sit down for breakfast together every day, something that we've grown to cherish.

In those early days, Seth wasn't into fruit, but I began making a fruit salad daily that consisted of sliced bananas, apples, pears, berries or whatever else we had on hand. I'd toss in a handful of nuts, a pinch of cinnamon and a drizzle of honey if the fruit wasn't sweet enough. Fruit is now an everyday routine. Today we usually just slice a pear or apple and have that with our morning meal. Every once in a while I buy grapefruit, and even though we're not exactly in the thick of grapefruit season, I rationalize it by knowing there is no grapefruit season period in the Northwest.

I like mine simple: halved and sprinkled with sugar. Of course I run knife around the edge, so the fruit segments will give with just a little help from a grapefruit spoon. My favorite part is the end when I get to squeeze the remaining juice into the spoon and gulp it down.


As a kid, I thought grapefruits were just something old people ate. My grandparents Mom and Pop had them regularly for breakfast, just the way I described with a sprinkle of sugar. We seldom ate them at my house growing up, and I'm not really sure what turned me on to them as an adult, but I love them. A ripe grapefruit with its sweet-tart taste is hard to beat. The best part, though, is that with one bite, I taste the memory of sitting at the bar in Mom's kitchen eating a microwave-cooked egg that my grandfather probably told me came from an elephant.

Grapefruits aren't just for old people, but I doubt I would have recognized how sweet they could be until I got a little old myself.