First things first: you guys? You’re the best. Your excitement and support and nuggets of wisdom from when I shared our news were exactly what I needed. Thank you. It’s really been a wild ride so far, and I know we’ve only just begun.
I’m toeing a thin line between total, rock-hard pragmatism and instinctive, uncontrollable emotion. One moment, I’m all “why are the randos on the bus touching my belly?” and the next, I’m crying at a J&J commercial. It the pregnancy? Partly. But it’s also been a very newsy few weeks for my family and my loved ones, and not all the news is good. Some is worrisome, some is frustrating, some is downright scary. Life suddenly sped up, and I can’t seem to slow it down. My due date feels like the first steep drop in a roller-coaster that’s just begun its initial climb, and everything along the way — including life and health events from many others in our lives — has taken on a similar inevitability. We’re drinking life from the fire hose.
Summer is also bursting forth at unstoppable speed. Soon, we’ll be heading to the market for one last haul of strawberries. I’ll be scrambling to macerate and cook and can as many as I can so that when life gets a whole lot busier, at least I’ll have some jam. Asparagus are in full bloom, likely only a few weeks from burrowing away until next year. The weather’s unmistakably warmer, and the fruits and vegetables and herbs are paying close attention, blooming on command. With such sudden abundance, I catch myself wondering whether it wouldn’t be a little better if things could grow slightly less quickly, extending the bountiful season a bit longer, staving off the end.
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D and I recently rewatched all seven seasons of The West Wing, start to finish. We loved it when it aired, we’ve loved it the other five or so times we’ve watched it, and I gotta say, the show stands the test of time. Late in season 7, it dawned on me that I’d spent days – nay, weeks – of my life watching that show. For sanity’s sake, I decided not to calculate how much of my life I’ve wasted watching tv in general, and instead declared that as soon as West Wing was done, The Year of Reading would commence. A cleanse of sorts: less tv, more books. The Year started at the perfect time, since spring is in full bloom and our deck is a positively joyful place to relax after a long day or whittle away a weekend morning. So far, I’ve made my way through Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage (a wonderful book of short stories by Alice Munro, highly recommended); The Imperfectionists, about journalists in Rome, which I also loved; and The Lowland, Jumpa Lahiri’s latest. I’m working my way through The Goldfinch now, and it feels like a winner. Next up: another Alice Munro book, The View from Castle Rock.
We got smart this year and planted our mint in the front of the house, where we get loads of sunlight. The stuff is like a weed, and so far, I can’t get enough. We did plant one pineapple mint plant out back, since it’s a shade lover, and it’s done great even with minimal sunlight; if you’ve got a shady outdoor area, I recommend it. The picture above is my first harvest of the stuff, and it’s mildly minty and quite lovely.
One of these days, our beautiful spring will turn to summer. It may not be hot yet, but DC summer sneaks up on you when you’re least expecting it. This year, I’m coming into June prepared. I’ve got a summer’s worth of cold, not-so-fussy drinks that can stand up to even the most energy-zapping heat. In case you’re already weathering the heat and humidity, here’s drink the first: a sort-of traditional savory lassi with mint.
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Ooh, have I been excited to tell you about these shortbread. I first made them as a way to use up some very ancient cocoa nibs taking up space in my tiny pantry. The irony: I loved them so much, I went out and bought more cocoa nibs to make them again. I’ve made them five times now, and since they keep so well, I’ve had a stash on hand at all times, for company and impromptu snacking. I tucked a few in my bag last weekend for a post-museum snack with my parents (they’re very portable) and a few more for yesterday’s baseball game. We served them on the patio last Sunday night to munch on after our gazpacho was gone. These cookies are happy things.
But mostly, I’m really excited to be back in the kitchen. Spring brought on a bit of a cooking hiatus: I didn’t eat much of anything, let alone cook. D subsisted on frozen Indian food and lots of sushi, while I ate an obscene quantity of pancakes (out of the rotation for the time being). The upside: I have officially mastered one-bowl pancakes. They’re done in around 10 minutes, they’re darn near perfect, and when I can stomach the idea of eating them again, I’ll share the recipe. But for now, we’re on to bigger and much, much better things: if all goes well, come November, we’ll be a family of three.
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Friends, today is the day I almost told you a story about the time I made a recipe I’d had my eye on for forever, and it was a total dud.
The recipe came from Elaine Sciolino, by way of the NYT dining section. Sciolino shared it last year, along with the jealousy-inducing tale of her adventures foraging white asparagus in the forests of France. The white asparagus in the pictures that accompany the article look they were pulled from the earth: they’re a rustic shade of white, with dull black bottoms. They look like springtime.
I don’t have easy access to the forests of France, nor my own personal crop of white asparagus. I do, however, have easy access to a grocery store. Determined to finally make this recipe, I went to the nearest Whole Foods and spent too much money on creamy, pale stalks of organic white asparagus from California. Then I headed home, pulled up the recipe, and tried to make magic.
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by rivka
on April 28, 2014
Whew! It’s been a while, hasn’t? I could make excuses — work, Passover, a drab, terrible winter that dragged on and threatened never to leave — but I’d rather just get down to business. I hope you’ve been well these last few weeks, cooking all sorts of delicious things and enjoying the change of seasons. We’ve been busy, and also under the weather, which hasn’t resulted in much cooking. But I’m back, and I’ve got a slaw to share today. I want to share it, so you can go and make it. There’s no time to waste.
In my recipe browsing, I saw a recipe for red cabbage salad and thought, now whatever happened to red cabbage? I haven’t touched it since sometime last year. It seems I’d forgotten about it. And while red cabbage brings braised, creamy joy in winter, it makes a fine base for a spring salad, too.
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by rivka
on April 4, 2014
It’s been quiet around here this week, since I’ve been tied up with other things and haven’t had much chance to cook. Still, the weekend is here. That should give you some time to make this lovely semolina bread, or perhaps these gingerbread oat waffles. Maybe it’ll also give you some time to catch up on your food reading. Here are some things I’ve been eyeing, for your reading pleasure. Happy weekend, friends.
An unassuming little cocktail that isolates the DNA of strawberries so that it’s visible. Awesome.
A deep and devastating look at animal cruelty on factory farms – the latest in a string of pieces that reinforced my conviction to avoid the stuff entirely.
I’ve wanted to take a food tour of Queens (or some part of Queens) for eons, and now Mary Jane Weedman has put together a thorough list of 48 eateries on one little stretch of Queens Boulevard…which Grub Street kindly made into a map. Let’s do it, k?
We made this (from the Kitchn)Â with lamb shanks, apricots, and brandy. It was incredible. Already scheming to make it again with prunes.
A make-your-own-sparkling-wine-cocktail bar – brilliant! Part of our next party, for sure.
My next brunch project. It really does look like the kind you’d buy in a bakery.
This honey-lemon tea-infused butter has me excited.
On a tip from Luisa, I made this “faux-tisserie” chicken last week. Guys, it’s a keeper’s keeper.
Last but not least, that picture at the top is from this time – eons ago – when I made a version of Deb’s spring vegetable potstickers but used kimchi, broccoli, and tofu. All in a pan, saute till soft, then process a bit before filling the dumpling wrappers. Not terribly difficult, really delicious. Highly recommended.
Happy weekending!
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by rivka
on March 27, 2014
I made this recipe on an absolute whim, because my in-laws were coming over for dinner and we had no dessert in the house. My father-in-law, whom I am on record as saying I adore, has very simple tastes in food. He wouldn’t have enjoyed the labneh tart I had my eye on. So instead, I figured I’d make straightforward, no-frills brownies. I got home, dropped my shopping bags, pulled up the blog on my iphone, and started at my standard recipe, taking as many shortcuts as possible. One bowl, a fork to mix the batter, a sprayed pan. To make sure the brownies weren’t completely flavorless, I added a teaspoon of ground coffee. Not espresso powder; just regular ground coffee.
I anticipated a passable version of a loved dessert. Instead — and maybe none of you will find this surprising — I made a batch of hassle-free brownies that were actually delicious. As in, my stepmother-in-law asked me for the recipe. I hadn’t even written it down, because it seemed like nothing. But I sent her the basic instructions for what I’d done, and then, a couple weeks later, I followed the instructions myself.
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by rivka
on March 24, 2014
Last week at work, I spent at least half of a 30-minute meeting peppering an Indian colleague about why my curries don’t taste “authentic.” I told her I was starting to think that my chosen guides to Indian cooking, Julie Sahni and Madhur Jaffrey, were just like the Jewish grandmothers of my youth, who mysteriously “forgot” one or two ingredients when sharing a family recipe. I wondered, were they adding an extra half-cup of ghee or cream to every recipe? Was there yet another important Indian spice — not hing or kala namak, because I have both of those — that they were quietly adding to every dish? Lately, it’s started to seem that authentic Indian food, the stuff of Langley Park and Fairfax and my friends’ mothers’ kitchens, requires a secret handshake, a lifetime of understanding, or something else that I just don’t have. My curries taste good, but sometimes they recall hippie sustenance more than Saravana Palace.
But, until some merciful expert comes to my rescue, I’m going to keep chipping away. The good news is that, with a few dozen experiments under my belt, I’m starting to get the rhythm of curry: making the tarka, or spiced ghee; sautéing the aromatics and adding the tomatoes to build a gravy; cooking the legumes just right; adjusting the heat; and so on.
I wouldn’t say I’m ready to take on curry without a recipe, but I’m definitely at the point where I can look at a few templates and find my way. This eggplant-pea curry came out of such an experiment. I love baingan bartha, but coaxing all that smoke out of the eggplant takes more time than I had. I also love a good aloo muttar (peas and potatoes), but I had a couple eggplants that needed immediate attention. That’s how I settled on a curry of eggplants and peas, cooked in a style that melded baingan bartha and aloo muttar. I broiled the eggplant, which softens it quickly and infuses it with mild smoke; I used frozen peas, and I’d use them even at the height of spring (which is coming!!) because guys? Frozen peas are always better. Let the farmers come after me.
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