This Salad Needs No Clothes

"Did you take a picture of it?" No! I was too hungry! And we didn't leave much in the big bowl, either. But here are the ingredients:

Fresh corn, steamed on cob and then cut off and chilled

Fresh heirloom tomato, your favorite, cut in bite-size pieces

Sliced black olives

Thinly sliced fresh radishes

Sliced fresh pepper, your favorite kind

Chopped fresh chives

I don't think I've left anything out, but you can add or subtract as you wish. My main point is that this salad needs no dressing. You may add dressing, if you like, and freshly ground pepper is always good, but it is deliciously irresistible just as it is.

The joys of late summer!

What Made This Simple Supper So Good?

It wasn't anything I planned to post here, so the only image is one of the food on my plate. 

Here's how it went:

In one pan, I browned mild Italian sausage. Into another went diced onion and garlic and eggplant, and, when the vegetables were almost done cooking (in olive oil), fresh diced zucchini, a can of diced tomatoes (because the heirlooms from earlier in the week were all gone), and some herbes de Provence. Finally, sausage into the vegetable pan so the flavors could blend, and then the whole served over spaghetti. Nothing fancy, nothing to "write home about" -- except that it was delicious! 

David gave all the credit for the taste to the sausage, and certainly that taste was in the foreground, along with the herbs, but for me it was the smooth undertone of eggplant that brought everything together. Try it yourself and let me know what you think.

Quarantine Kitchen, Episodes #2, #3, #4: Treats and Exercise Together

Kale on the left, parsley on the right

I'm going to try to condense several projects into one post because, really, how many words do I need to accompany food photos? The beautiful fresh greens above came to us courtesy of a neighbor here in Dos Cabezas who has a flourishing greenhouse. Well, she did lose tomato plants to the last killing frost, but she still has plenty of bounty to share. So I decided to take the kale by the leaves and make roasted kale chips, a snack my stepdaughter Maiya swears by. Here's how it went.

Remove stems

The stems are bitter, and you don't want them. Also, to remove bitterness from the leaves, the part you do want, you drizzle them olive oil and massage it in. Yes, massage. I know. Weird. Never thought I would be massaging a vegetable. 

Some recipes I consulted use only salt. Some recommend sea salt and cumin, and I liked the sound of that. Another possibility was garlic salt, but I didn't go that route. What do you like, and what spices do you have on hand? An idea I really liked was dusting almond flour for added crispness, but I didn't have almond flour. I thought of cornmeal, but the only cornmeal in my cupboard right now is a rather insipid variety, not the Bob's Red Mill stuff I much prefer. So I ground up slivered almonds in my spice grinder to make 1/4 cup of what I called almond flour, added sea salt and cumin and tossed the olive oil-coated kale leaves with it.

Next, spread them out on a sheet for the oven. Maiya had said a 200 degrees Fahrenheit, one recipe said 315, so I split the difference and set the oven at 250.

How did the kale chips turn out? They are very fragile and delicate, for one thing. We liked them. But my husband pronounced them -- and I did not even know this word was in his vocabulary; have never heard him use it before -- oversalted! Okay! Less salt next time!

The parsley went into tabbouleh, one of my personal favorites, although there was no cucumber in it this time. I don't mind buying green bananas and having them go brown, but a cucumber that goes soft in the fridge isn't good for anything that I can see. And while I was sure I had photographed the tabbouleh at a couple of stages, plus in a pita pocket with yogurt, I don't find those photos. Okay, I've got one image of the last bit of tabbouleh. It didn't last long. 

But here's a thought I had. Massaging kale -- does that count as exercise? Did I cover two health birds with one kitchen project?

Not all our treats are green, but exercise comes in more vigorous forms than massaging kale. What about creaming butter and sugar together with a wooden spoon for chocolate chip cookies?

Then mixing in all that flour, again by hand! I'm calling it exercise, friends. And greasing twelve separate little cookie beds in a muffin tin? More exercise. You do it your way, I'll do it mine. 

We like the crispy results

One more closing thought on treats and exercise: making bagels involves a good, long ten minutes of kneading, and when kneading dough by hand you realize just how long ten minutes can be. That counts as exercise, for sure -- and there are the delicious bagels at the end of the project. I wasn't sure the ones I made last weekend were my best-ever bagels, but revisiting them, as we did daily until all 12 were gone, I gave myself higher marks each day. (For entire wordless bagel story, see here.) They were delightfully crispy and chewy and, wow, just so worth the effort! 

Last two bagels! Time to make more!

Back to the Soup Pot: Rustic Cheesy Cauliflower

The humble cruciform beginning

Heady with the success of my savory sweet potato pie, and with a big, beautiful cauliflower head on hand (the grocery store was all out of broccoli the last time we went), once again I began searching for something new and interesting to make in the kitchen. And once again, each recipe I found was not quite, not exactly, what I had in mind. But I had already uttered the fateful words “cauliflower” and “cheese,” and the Artist was all ears. Could we please call it cheesy cauliflower? And could we have it tonight? So with ideas gleaned from various recipes and a picture in mind of the final result I wanted, I set to work in the Arizona ghost town version (much roomier) of my tiny Michigan farmhouse Paris kitchen.

Not really a secret, is it?

Here is a not-very-secret “secret” I’ve shared before in this blog: Better than Bouillon. I grew up in a household that used a lot of bouillon cubes, and I’ve gone through plenty of them in my adult life, too, but BTB (as I call it for short on my shopping lists) was a revelation, and once I brought that first jar home, there was no going back to the cubes. So stocking up the cupboards for a possible quarantine — and already, now, for a lot of staying home — meant having both chicken and vegetable BTB on hand for home soup-making. There is also a beef BTB. Tip: When you get down to the bottom of a jar, always swirl some boiling water around and make sure you don’t waste a bit!

Ingredient list: Chicken Better Than Bouillon, carrots, cauliflower, onion, chili powder, garlic salt, cheddar cheese, bacon, nutmeg

(I used half the head of cauliflower, three very large carrots, and a medium large onion but did not measure other ingredients.)

Oh-oh! Don't forget the carrots!

So cauliflower and BTB were the base, but I liked the idea of carrots, which one recipe I saw included. The Artist thought I could leave those out. He can take or leave carrots. Oh, no! Those carrots were going in! And they went in first, before the cauliflower and sautéed onions, because they would take the longest to cook nice and soft. I should have (but didn’t) get a shot of the carrots in the broth by themselves, because the rich color they impart goes a long way toward explaining why you shouldn’t leave them out.

Vegetables "getting good," as my Grandma would say

And here’s where I have to make an embarrassing admission: although I have two immersion blenders at home in Michigan (one I bought, one a gift from someone who didn’t think I would buy one for myself) … and could have brought one of them to Arizona … and actually considered bringing one — there is no excuse! — for some cockamamie reason I’ll never be able to retrieve from memory, I did not  pack a blender when we left our Northport farmhouse! I do not have a blender here in the Arizona ghost town where we are wintering. I do not even have an eggbeater — because do you know how hard it is to find an eggbeater now when everyone uses blenders instead? 

But I did add a potato masher to the kitchen recently, a nice hand tool that requires no electric power and does not need to be stored on top of the counter. My soup, then, of necessity, would be rough in texture rather than creamy. Rustic, right?

Recap: Simmer carrot slices in chicken stock or bouillon. Add cauliflower and sautéed onions and continue the simmer. Add more stock if needed. Add some garlic salt and chili powder at this stage. When all these are cooked nice and soft — and I let mine bubble away for an hour or two; you’re going to mash or blend them, so you can’t overcook the vegetables — use your potato masher to mash them to a pulp or throw everything, a bit at a time, into a blender if you want to go that route. But if you blend it, you’ll have a creamy soup, not what I’m calling a rustic soup. 

Finally, add in as much grated sharp cheddar cheese as you like and stir until smooth.

Last step is thickening. It’s like making gravy. Stir together a heaping tablespoon (not level — heaping) of flour and enough cold water to make something more watery than a paste. No lumps, please. Then add a generous ladleful of your soupy vegetables to the cold flour-water mixture, stir it well, and add it back to the soup. Stir well. 

Now leave the soup on low heat while you cook up a couple strips of bacon. These are just garnish, so don’t go overboard.

The final touch, not to be omitted!

Last touch before serving is freshly grated nutmeg. It is so satisfying to grate nutmeg! If you don’t have whole nutmegs or a grater with that necessary fine option, ground nutmeg will do, but don’t forget the nutmeg. Like the savory sweet potato pie of the other day, this is definitely a soup I’m putting on the menu of my imaginary restaurant!

You won't believe how good it is!

P.S. The Meal: Kitchen Moves Outdoors

My last post featured the garden and anticipated the dinner you see here, eggplant and chops done on the grill.

"Is It Worth It?"

Back in June

That was my husband’s question, when I told him I have an idea for next year’s garden and how I can combine straw bales with the first stage of raised bed constructions. “It’s worth it to me,” I answered, and he did not push me further. 

Before the olives

I tell the dog, as I choose vegetables from the garden,  that my Greek salad contains “all things bright and beautiful.” Cucumbers are soft green, peppers soft yellow and bright orange, tomatoes as red as red can be. Since we don’t live in the south of France (let alone in Paris), I’ll need to buy olives at the store in town, but it pleases me to look at my own garden’s bounty in a bowl. In the garden, stiff training supports that held heavy peony heads earlier in the summer now bear aloft fat purple fingers of eggplant. A few of those split in two and brushed with olive oil can go on the grill next to a couple of chops, and with salad on the side, that will be dinner.

eggplant this morning

Yesterday’s forecast of “scattered showers” for Wednesday and Thursday has been downgraded to “partly cloudy,” with hope for rain pushed back to next Monday. Having to water my garden every morning and evening, though, keeps the daily status of that riotous jungle clear in my mind.

“Is it worth it?” 

In terms of what? Given the cost of plants and straw bales and fertilizer and the time spent watering, am I saving money over buying the same vegetables at the store or the farm market? Well, they wouldn’t be the same vegetables, would they? Not to me, they wouldn’t. It is worth it to me to feel that I am inhabiting my own life, rather than simply commuting to and from a house and visiting the country as a tourist. I am living, here and now, on my home ground. 

The piper must be paid in any life. Is life worth living, with all its work and troubles and woes? I say yes. 

Home

From My Michigan Garden to My Paris Kitchen

A few little organic holes don't bother me

My home version of “farm to table” requires no transportation by air, sea, or land, unless you count walking from the garden into the house. If my tiny kitchen were in Paris, France, my only “garden” would be a row of pot herbs on a windowsill, but in Leelanau County I am not that limited, and the vegetables are doing well this summer in my garden's straw bale beds. Above, with parsley between the two plants, you see chard, glorious chard! Years ago I discovered chard as the answer to my problems with growing spinach. Spinach doesn’t work for me, chard does. Our grandchildren adored it, too, baked in a cheesy cream sauce (music to my ears: “Is there any more chard?”), which I have done again this season. Grated Parmesan sprinkled on top, baked until brown — but I didn’t photograph it, and you don’t need a recipe for anything that simple. 

Nightshade family but very edible

Eggplants are still small but coming along, as are their garden neighbors and near botanic relatives, the peppers. Acorn squash look promising. We’ll see if the tiny melons make it to eating size before frost. I hope they do.

Growing

Lots of growing to do!

I’m not finished this summer with tabbouleh, but you’ve seen that already, so here is something else to make with cucumbers: a refreshing cold summer soup. Pick the cukes while still tender (before large seeds develop), and peel, cube, and puree in a blender with as much chopped fresh onion as you think you’ll like, plain yogurt (I prefer yogurt made with whole milk, because what is the point of vitamins if the fat that makes them soluble has been removed?), and enough chicken or vegetable broth to achieve desired consistency. Curry seasoning is transformative. Chill in the refrigerator until serving time, and when serving garnish with fresh nasturtium blooms, parsley sprigs, chopped chives, or any other attractive, edible, summer-appropriate note.

Cold cucumber soup with nasturtium garnish

The flowers in my garden give me as much pleasure and satisfaction as the vegetables — purple stars preceding eggplant, large yellow squash blossoms and smaller, lighter yellow blooms on the melon vines. My straw bales are arranged in a square, with entry on two sides, but most of the weeds inside the square are safe from me, because — why remove them? They’re not in the bales, competing with the vegetables for water and nutrients. Besides, wild clovers attract and feed pollinators, and the beautiful milkweed beloved of monarch butterflies — how could I uproot and toss aside such a banquet for beauty?

A Personal Best

This is going to be your personal best tabbouleh, the perfect summer lunch to take to work. Get up early and add ice cubes to yesterday’s leftover coffee. Your caffeine jolt doesn’t need to be hot to get you moving on a warm, still morning. Last night you poured boiling water over the bulgur and let it sit, so that’s ready. Now add olive oil, chop cucumbers and tomatoes and onions (use a good, sharp knife — don’t saw!) and stir them in gently, then squeeze fresh lemon juice over everything and stir again. The vegetables are all from your own garden or the farm market, of course. 

Now go out to your garden while everything is cool and beaded with dew and gather nice, big, beautiful, dark green parsley. Chop and add. 

There’s only one ingredient missing now, so on your way to work (tabbouleh packed in a cooler, with a container of yogurt on the side), stop by a swiftly running stream and gather fresh mint. When you get to work, you’ll rinse the mint well, chop it and add it to the mix, then refrigerate everything until lunch announces itself. Hunger is the announcement. 

When you get home after work later in the day, finish mowing grass and have leftover pizza from the night before as your evening meal. (You had your salad for lunch.) Check the garden for more ripe cucumbers before you turn in for the night. Tomorrow you can make a cold cucumber soup to serve and enjoy with meat from the grill.

I used the silly word “leftover” twice above. Edit that out. Planning ahead makes life easier. You don’t throw out good coffee when you can have it the next day over ice. You order a medium pizza rather than a small for two people so there will be enough for another evening. Because if you didn’t plan ahead, how would you ever keep up with and survive the busy summer season?

“Time goes on slippin’, slippin’ / into the future….”

And eggplants are coming along. Those will be good on the grill, too.

Des Fruits et des Légumes en Hiver (Of Oranges and Green Beans)

On the rue des Martyrs, Paris, France

Well, we are not in Paris, France, but still here in northern Michigan, and we have now entered the long, glistening white tunnel of winter. We will be in the tunnel for many weeks to come, barring another stretch of unseasonably warm weather, so on a cold, wild Sunday of blowing and drifting snow it’s a great comfort to have the luxury of staying snugly home, with pot after pot of hot tea and fresh-cut sections of juicy oranges. I tell David we must eat citrus fruit while we can, since depredations of alien insects in the Florida and California groves, not only spoiling crops but actually killing trees, may put the price of oranges and grapefruit and lemons beyond our reach before too long. I hope not. Anyway, for now we have oranges in winter -- oranges in the snow, as it were. A princely delight!

On a cozy day at home in winter my food thoughts yearn toward the foods of Africa. Quite honestly, though? I’d prepared well in advance for today’s kitchen adventure. For one thing, I had to make a trip to the specialty spice shop in Suttons Bay for fenugreek seed, and then it took several visits to the grocery store before Tom’s Market had green beans nice enough to satisfy me.

Here is the inspiring cookbook: The Africa News Cookbook: African Cooking for Western Kitchens, published by Penguin in 1985. The recipe that caught my eye over a week ago is called green bean atjar, or green bean pickles, but these are not at all like pickles my mother and grandmother made. No vinegar. They are, rather, spiced green beans, packed in oil and refrigerated before serving. According to the book, they will last up to a month in the refrigerator without processing, and so I imagine my beans as one dish in an African dinner sometime in the near future.

Two notes from my kitchen: 

(1) You might think I would want to make this dish in summer with fresh beans from garden or farm market. But why sacrifice the freshness of summer vegetables to oil and spices? No, to my mind this is a perfect winter dish. 

(2) The recipe does not specify what kind of oil to use. I decided on peanut oil, because it is used all over Africa and, also, the oil in this recipe is brought to a boil – not a happy fate for olive oil, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Here is an odd kitchen tool. I have no idea what it is called or where this one came from, but I use it all the time. It is so much easier than a pot lid when water is to be drained off vegetables and quite handy on occasions when a big colander would be overkill.

Sometimes, of necessity, kitchen activities expand beyond the confines of the tiny kitchen. This is another reason for making certain dishes ahead and not trying to do everything on the evening a dinner is to be served. The dining table, tablecloth whisked away, becomes a staging area, especially important as Sunday is bread day, too.

The proof of my South African spiced green beans will be in the eating, a story for some future post. Meanwhile, “Bundle up, campers! It’s cold out there!” Now who recognizes that movie quote?