'Tis a gift to be simple

Often, simplicity is best. Sometimes it's easier to enjoy food when you savor the food itself, pure flavors, unadorned. Think of the sweet corn of summer, simply boiled on is cob, buttered and salted. Or a sharp farmhouse cheddar, cutting off buttery shards with a knife. These are foods that want nothing more. They have no need of preparation. These are the foods that remind us why we love food. The best food can be delicious without the best chef.

Simple foods are a different kind of comfort food. They do not fall into the category of beef braised for hours in a stew or rich, gooey macaroni and cheese. They comfort--not because they are hearty, but because they are real. They need little, if any, preparation--the original fast food. We are comforted because we can eat well the moment we are hungry, without agonizing over recipes.

I ate this way last night. I recently acquired a beautiful bottle of Greek olive oil, pressed exclusively from kalamata olives. It is a bright, vibrant green, the exact green you would hope for to celebrate spring and new life. It is silky. And grassy. Perhaps you have read about olive oils before, and there are these strange descriptors, the way wine is spicy or jammy. Olive oil is nuanced in a similar way, and people say it is fruity or herbal. Or grassy. The second I opened the bottle and tasted my oil, I knew. I knew I was tasting a grassy one. It was fresh and alive. And I wanted to eat that pure flavor, un-muddied and true. So I made a vinaigrette. I smashed a garlic clove in my mortar with a little sea salt, making a satiny paste. Poured in my olive oil. Whisked in a little cider vinegar. Chopped up some romaine. Dressed the lettuce. Accompanied by a beautiful chunk of pecorino, a simple food in its own right.

And another thing about simple food--it loves to be presented simply too. And that somehow makes it all the more beautiful.

Homemade.

It is so satisfying to eat food that comes straight from my own hands, to be completely connected to what I'm consuming. Because so often, we don't know. Today's sandwich came pretty darn close, save the basil leaves scattered on top, which I really have no business eating in the winter, anyway. But sometimes we make little exceptions. But the rest? Pure goodness.

The base is Irish soda bread that I baked last night. I've started baking bread regularly, and I have a basic rustic loaf that I bake a couple times a week. When you can't find the time to let your dough rise, however, Irish soda bread is a good go-to-loaf. I like mine with currants and caraway seeds.

Next, I slathered on some good, homemade ricotta cheese. I discovered around Christmas time that it is so easy to make your own ricotta, and have been making it ever since. The texture is divine, and the taste is clean. It tastes exactly like what it's made of--milk. I have used my ricotta to make ravioli, a dessert across between a cheesecake and souffle, and ricotta fritters--little balls of fried, crisp, gooey goodness. And ricotta is great on sandwiches, especially as a foil to stronger flavors, as in today's interpretation...

Chili pepper chutney. At the end of the summer, I bought up a bunch of chilies and cooked them into a spicy-sweet mass with onions, balsamic vinegar, and brown sugar. The chutney is very spicy, so it's a perfect match for ricotta, which helps tame the heat and bring out the flavor.

It's a lunch to feel good about.

How to use up that open bottle of wine

Walking into my kitchen last Wednesday morning, you might have thought me a fool. You would have found me, standing in front of a hot oven, eyes closed, as the passionte voice of a tenor singing opera filled the air. I would have seemed lost. Anything but. In fact, I was smelling heaven. See, I made these:

Biscotti al vino. Wine cookies. Flour, sugar, olive oil, white wine, a little fennel seed and lemon peel. Basta. Now that I have made them, I can't think of anything more miraculous.

It began as I was reading Marlena di Blasi's wonderful A Thousand Days in Venice, in which she falls in love with a "blueberry-eyed" Venetian, and marries him. The book is as much a meditation on life as it is on love, and in Italy, life means food. And so, page after page contains the simplest mentions of some meal, each one restrained yet tempting. And I am easily seduced by the power of suggestion. So when Marlena goes to the bakery and buys biscotti al vino, "cookies made with white wine, olive oil, fennel seed, and orange peel," I want some too.

I began searching for recipes, finding them mostly in Italian. The ingredent list is short, however, and easy enough to understand. (None of the recipes I found called for the fennel and orange flavorings, but as she was eating her cookies in Venice, I figured that's authentic enough. I substituted lemon for orange.) The method seemed intuitive. So I began, mixing flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and fennel seed. To it, I added olive oil, white wine, and lemon peel, bringing the dough (which is almost like a bread dough) together. I let it sit. I shaped the dough into little doughnuts, dusted them with sugar, then into the oven. After awhile, I could really begin to smell them, which is where you would have found me, reveling in the luxurious combination of aromas. Let me just say, that if you ever would like someone to fall in love with you, put a tray of these in the oven before he arrives.

And they taste pretty darn amazing too. The wine offers a subtle, je ne sais quoi kind of flavor. Or, to quote one of the Italian bloggers I discovered in my search for a recipe, they are, "facile, facile, ma buona, buona" (easy, easy, but good, good). And I'm thrilled to find a baked good I can make without butter or eggs.

I have made these cookies twice in the span of one week. The first time I made them, the recipe I developed yielded good results, but the dough was hard to work with, so I tweaked it a little and was satisfied the second time around. So, here is my recipe for biscotti al vino:

Put 1 1/2 c flour, 1/4 c sugar, 1 tsp. baking powder, 1 1/2 tsp. fennel seeds, and a pinch of salt in a bowl. Use a whisk to mix. Pour in 1/4 c olive oil and 1/3 c white wine. Grate over the zest of half a lemon. Use a wooden spoon to begin incorporating ingredients, then use your hands to knead into a smooth dough. Let rest, covered with a dishcloth, for 15 minutes and preheat oven to 360 degrees.

Pour 1 T sugar on a plate. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Take a walnut-sized piece of dough and roll into a snake. Join the ends, making a little doughnut-shaped cookie. Dip the top in sugar and put on the baking sheet. Continue. Will make around 12 cookies.

Bake in preheated oven for 15-25 minutes--depending on what you want the texture of the cookie to be. Shorter time will give a softer cookie, but it will not color. Longer time will slightly brown the cookies and yield a crunchy cookie.

Mangia!

PS-Haven't tried it yet, but I hear you can make these with red wine too. Might change the other flavorings, like clove instead of fennel.

Homage to the turnip

Turnips are a humble vegetable. They get little notice, seem to be an afterthought thrown into pot roasts. I grew up eating them only on St. Patrick's Day, boiled up with the corned beef and cabbage. Turnips even look humble, their purple skins make them appear to be blushing, coloring the otherwise perfect white flesh.

It's time turnips get their due. They are sweet. Throwing turnips in a pot roast adds an unmistakable sweetness to the broth. And unlike onions, which also sweeten during cooking, turnips are perfectly sweet and delightful raw. I first discovered this when I made this salad, which has since become a personal staple, being a favorite of mine as well as my roomate. Raw, turnips give a lovely crunch, more so than that of an apple. And turnips have a slight fire to them. A little heat to contrast the sweetness, a subtle spiciness.

And so, seeing a large basket of turnips for sale at the farmers' market last week for only $2.50, I couldn't pass it up. $2.50. Talk about a deal. That's like 10 cents a turnip. They were giving them away.

But what's a girl to do with all those turnips? They'll keep for awhile in the fridge, but aren't as hearty as a squash. So, I decided to pickle some. Maybe you've never heard of a pickled turnip. I haven't. But, I thought, what's the harm? $2.50 isn't much to pay for an experiment.

So I peeled about half my turnips down to their beautiful white flesh, cut them into chunks, and threw 'em in a pot. Added some vinegar and water to cover and to season, added: peppercorns, fresh ginger, star anise, crushed red pepper, sugar, and salt. I brought it all to a boil and let the turnips cook, but not get too soft. Then put it all in jars. I also packed some sliced garlic in with the turnips as I jarred them. Kind of an asian vibe going on.

And the result? Nice. It's exciting to bite into something pure white, but get all these spicy flavors melding together on top of that underbelly of sweetness. My pantry is a little happier with these babies around

.

Pickled turnips, canned tomatoes (both diced and crushed), chili pepper chutney

Late-Night Mexican

Alright, so it's not even late. But when I'm home alone on a Saturday night, there's something that's bound to happen--snack concocting. And my kind of snack often starts with a drink. I was recently given a cocktail book, with everything from classics (a Manhattan) to "pitcher drinks" (Bloody Marys and rum punch). And then in-between there are handy little chapters organized by type of spirit. I have tons of tequila, but all I ever know what to do with it is make a margarita--wonderful, but maybe not on a cool autumn evening. So I turned to the book and found a sueno. Still has the lime of a margarita, but a little rosemary for warmth. To make:

Muddle a few slices of cucumber and some rosemary leaves in a cocktail shaker with 3/4 oz. lime juice and a pinch of sugar. Add 2 oz. tequila and ice. Shake. Strain into highball glass with ice. Pour over 1 oz. tonic water. Garnish with rosemary sprig.

Once the drink was made, I couldn't just leave it at that. I had some tomatillos that I got from my farm share today, so I chopped them into a simple salsa with onion, chili, sea salt and lime. Simple. And perfect for a little alone time.

After School Snack

I'm not great at packing lunches. It annoys me. I don't want to spend my precious morning time figuring out what I'm going to eat in five hours. Mostly, I just bring leftovers, and try to pack them up the night before.

Due to my dislike of lunch packing, I never end up packing a big lunch. And so I'm always hungry when I get home around 3:00.

But then I'm presented with another problem, which is that I never have much snack food around the place. It's for the best, but sometimes I want to eat something quickly, which means I have to make something quickly.

Now, sometimes I know exactly where I get food ideas. Just reading the mention of some food in a book makes me in the mood for it. But today I was in the mood for fried shrimp, and I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it was the nearly empty can of coconut milk in my fridge, begging for a use. In any case, I decided to give it a go.

There are certain foods that just scream "restaurant food," and I'd say fried shrimp is one of them. I've never had fried shrimp at someone's house, but it is the ubiquitous seafood appetizer on countless menus. I don't think of myself as a restaurant food cook, but it happened today. A bit of snooping around at epicurious.com, and I developed a passable fried shrimp with ingredients I had on hand. And quickly, too. Nice.

Here's the batter I used:

3 T flour

2 tsp. cornstarch

1/2 tsp. brown sugar

pinch of salt

1/2 tsp. red Thai curry paste

3 T beer (you can drink the rest!)

Put first four ingredients in a bowl and use a whisk to combine. Measure out the beer and whisk in red curry paste. Whisk beer into dry ingredients to form a batter. Small quantities, but enough batter to coat nine shrimp, which was a good serving for one.

Heat oil in a wok to almost point of smoking, then turn down heat to medium-low.

Dredge shrimp in cornstarch, dip in batter, and fry a few at a time, for about two minutes, until golden brown.

Serve shrimp with a sauce made with coconut milk, a little lime, a little cardamom, a little chili, and little salt, a little sugar.

Quick. Easy. Delicious.

Convert.

The thought of breakfast burritos has never appealed to me. I know people love them, but I just always thought I wasn't that kind of girl.

But then last weekend I had a big party. I made a lot of salsa for the party. And, well, leftovers.

So I had all this salsa sitting my fridge, begging for a use. And somehow, it just hit to me. I had some beautiful farmers' market eggs. I love making tortillas.

So. It happened. Hot peppers sauteed. Eggs scrambled. Tortillas rolled. Tortillas cooked. Burritos assembled.

The creaminess of the eggs. The sharpness of the salsa. The softness of the tortilla.

Definitely a convert.