Noodle Bowl

Tonight it happened that I had the perfect dinner for one. I should know, I eat alone all the time and almost always enjoy it. But there was something just so singular about tonight's meal that I found myself thinking as I ate it, I want to eat this every time I eat by myself.

Tonight I made a noodle bowl. Bowl meals in general lend themselves to the cooking/eating-for-one genre. There is something cozy about a bowl. You can hold it with one hand, taking in warmth as you eat. Bowls are round and comforting. And a noodle bowl? Well, there's something exciting about getting such a variety of goodness all in one place. Noodle bowls, as their name suggests, have noodles in them. But then they have just about anything else you have on hand in them too. I was spurred on to make one tonight while looking at David Chang's wonderful cookbook Momofuku. His signature noodle bowl, Momofuku Ramen, is full of pork belly, pork shoulder, nori, scallions, fish cake, bamboo shoots, veggies, a poached egg and of course, noodles. All topped with a rich chicken/pork broth. Now, though that sounds delicious, for the average eat-alone, quick meal in, that also sounds like a lot of work.

I was aiming for something a little more...thrown together. But still delicious. What I was craving was noodles. Skinny noodles. I was craving them in broth. I was craving them with a crispy poached egg on top. What? Those of you who know me know that I rarely eat eggs. But every once in awhile I get a craving and tonight I was craving an egg I read about in Bon Appetit magazine's r.s.v.p. section and made once before. The idea is, you poach an egg. You cool the egg in an ice water bath. You roll the egg in egg whites. Then roll it in a mixture of panko, salt, pepper and crushed red pepper. And fry it in a little olive oil. The result is a soft little pillow of egg with a thin protective coating of crisp. Great little texture play going on. (If you don't make a noodle bowl, at least make yourself this egg and eat it over some wilted greens with a little soy sauce).

Anyway, I cooked some thin spaghetti and made the egg. I quick-pickled some carrots, using an extremely speedy method I read about in Momofuku--simply coat the thin slices with a mixture of salt and sugar and let sit for 10 minutes (it really works). I happened to have a little broth leftover from making Pho over the weekend, so I heat it up. This all went into a bowl, along with some cilantro and chopped green onions. That's it. So simple, and yet so much. So many things went into that bowl, and I swear it only took about 20 minutes to throw together. And the point is, you can do it your way. If you have a can of chicken broth in your cupboard, use that, and put the extra in your fridge for another use. I'm sure the quick-pickles would be even better with cucumber or radish, but I just went with what was on hand. Add some soy sauce or Sriracha. The point is to build flavor with what you have. And then eat it all by yourself.

Kitchen Rituals

In his book, The Heart of the Artichoke, David Tanis has a section of "recipes" at the beginning called "Kitchen Rituals". Each is a moment with food that would be experienced in the kitchen, alone. They range from the simple--peeling an apple--to the more complex--making chorizo. While many of us may not undertake the making of chorizo (or tripe, another of his rituals), the point is that we all have our own. We each have our little things we do when we eat alone. Though eating is traditionally a communal activity--and I love the way food and drink bring people together--sometimes food means the most in that quiet moment when eaten by yourself.

Today is New Year's Day, and though I will be eating traditional New Year's foods like hoppin' john and pork with family later today, I also needed to celebrate alone. This was my kitchen ritual, the first of 2012:

Bread dipped into olive oil w/ salt, crushed red pepper and sumac; hard Greek feta; castelvetrano olives; glass of red

Welcome to 2012, here's to a lot of good eating!

P.S.-For more on eating alone, I highly recommend Jenni Ferrari-Adler's Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone

Summer Tomato

When the cold weather hits and stays, the only way I'll crave tomatoes is from a jar. I'll pull out a mason of the puree I canned and use it with wine for a nice slow beef braise. Or a chili. Or a long-simmered sauce. If I'm tempted to buy tomatoes at the grocery, I'll roast them till the sugars caramelize.

But right now, we're still in summer tomato season, and there are endless ways to enjoy these beauties. My biggest craving this year was for gazpacho. Mixing tomatoes with cucumbers, peppers, and acid seems like the only appropriate meal on a 90-degree summer afternoon. I added chopped raw fennel to mine this year, and the sharp-yet-subtle anise flavor sung through.

Those who love a ripe, red tomato may scoff at my next act, but I start to crave green tomatoes before the red end product even enters my mind. I love their sour crispness. Done right, a fried green tomato will retain part of this crisp texture while softening slightly, enough for the juices to flow throughout the slice. I fry my tomatoes in cornmeal, and have begun adding some uncooked grits to the mixture for extra crunch.

When my mom gifted me with beautiful lavender fairy-tale eggplant this summer, a fried green tomato seemed the perfect counterpoint to the soft, almost mushy grilled rounds. Topped with a sweet, red tomato jam, the combination was divine.

And of course, there is also a time to enjoy a tomato in its pure essence, sliced, with little adornment. After a long morning this past Saturday, I wanted a quick, leisurely lunch. A plate with kalamata olives, ricotta salata, and sliced heirloom tomato, all drizzled with garlic-coriander olive oil is a lunch you never want to end.

New riff on something great

So many people are a fan of kale chips these days, and I am certainly one of them. I first read about them in the February 2009 issue of bon appetit magazine, and instantly wanted to try them. I fell quickly for these crisp green leaves. Baking the kale slowly at a low heat with olive oil, salt, and pepper condenses the brisk, vegetal flavor.

But friends, I am here to tell you--do not limit the making of these chips to kale. Today, I made them with beet greens, and the results were superb. They have the same great crispness as the kale, and though more delicate (a little less mineral, and you can taste the beet), still bring ballsy flavor.

The best thing about making chips with beet greens is that you're probably not going to use the greens otherwise. Kale, sure, you'll saute it or throw it in a fritatta. But beet greens? Not so much. To begin, if you buy any beets other than the classic red--say golden--the greens don't taste good. But in chip form they do. Truly! Plus, different kinds of beets have different colored tops, so you get fun, multi-colored chips.

So, jump on the head-to-hoof bandwagon, only in veggie form. Buy beets from a farmer with the tops still on and crisp up those greens!

Squash Interpretations

There's a saying, "You eat with your eyes," that I think is really true. Food tastes better to us when it looks beautiful. I don't mean pretty. Chef David Tanis talks in one of his cookbooks about pretty food versus beautiful food. Pretty food is when you go to a restaurant and everything has been piled on top of each other to fit neatly in a perfect square on the plate and then the plate--not the food, but the plate--is drizzled with balsamic reduction. Lovely, pretty, but not beautiful.

Beautiful food is when the elements of the food are allowed to shine. Scattering something with a few pomegranate seeds seems luxurious, but it is also real; pomegranates

are a natural, edible jewel. Cooking a while fish, as I recently did for the first time, is beautiful. The presentation is simultaneously simple and special.

Color in food amazes me. Take, for instance, these two interpretations of patty pan squash. I had a yellow patty pan, a food that is naturally a bright, vibrant yellow. Thrilling that something like amaranth microgreens exist with their shocking burgundy threads. A salad of the two is a surprise and a great way to "eat with your eyes".

But take the same squash. Slice into thin slivers and arrange, overlapping on a plate, as if the squash is fanning itself out. Marry with pieces of basil, a lemon-Siracha-oliv

e oil dressing. Yellow and green is a more classic color combination, but the dressing brings a pink-orange note that glides across the white squash flesh. This is fresh food that is as good as it can possibly taste, but then made even better through its beauty.

American Pie

Happy 4th of July! To me, 4th of July has always been about having a brunch picnic with my family and watching fireworks. This year, neither of those are happening (though last night I saw fireworks go off here and there). So, what does 4th of July mean when the traditions are taken away? I think it's all about remembering things that make America America. Not the principles and ideas like liberty and capitalism, but the real tangibles, the fun(ny) things like cookouts and cut-off jean shorts, and those little embroidered aprons worn by 50s housewives.

And as they say, what's more American than apple pie?...maybe a cherry pie with star crust! Here's to celebrating in style!

Simple Pleasures

Food doesn't have to be fancy. In fact, it usually shouldn't be. Mint leaves, white peaches, chioggia beets, Tuscan kale, a hunk of parmigiano--these things are all beautiful on their own and need no adornment.

And sometimes, foods come upon us as a surprise. There is a place on my street where I happened to see two tiny red gems peeking up through the foliage--wild strawberries. Every so often, I will check back and gather a couple more. On Monday, I was thrilled to discover several berries, wet with dew, and I picked all of them. There is delight in holding a handful of these wild red orbs.

And sometimes the delight comes from resurrecting food from a dismal state past its prime. I had a hunk of home-baked bread that was old and had been left out over night. Was was once relatively soft and porous turned into a rock-hard heel. It was too large to crush into breadcrumbs, too hard to cut for croutons. But I developed a trick. Last night, I put the bread in a bag with a touch of milk and let it soak overnight. This morning, I was rewarded with something soft and edible. I soaked the entire piece further in milk and egg and made a hunk of french toast. And these three simple things when fried in oil become sublime.