Ginger-Lime Shrimp (and a Lesson in "Deveining")

There are so many things I love about living on the ocean, but I have to say that one of the best things is the insanely fresh seafood that I can get at a seafood shop that is on the way home from picking up Captain Reiton at the airport.

The first time I went into this restaurant/shop—Belle Isle Seafood—I (somehow? There are only signs EVERYWHERE) didn't notice that they only take cash. When I went to pay with my CREDIT CARD, the girl very graciously explained that she was unable to accept it as a form of payment—this being after a five minute conversation about how much I loved living here after being in the Midwest for so long, and blah blah blah....

So, being embarrassed but being me, I made fun of myself and then asked her if she could just keep my salmon in the case and I would run back later with cash to pick it up. To this she responded (and I quote):

"Oh, no, just take it with you. You can just pay later."

Am I serious??? Yes, I'm serious.  This is the kind of town I live in. It's small. People trust you, or they will kick your ass. And I love it.

So. As I was saying: I also love the seafood, so the other night I bought a pound of fresh shrimp at Belle Isle to sauté up for dinner.  Being fresh, the shrimp weren't processed like they are when you buy them frozen or from the seafood case at the grocery store. That meant they simply had their heads cut off, and that was it. They still had their little legs. Their full, unsplit shells. Their little poopy intestine down the center of their back...

So I shelled them. Ripped off their little legs. And then—I discovered the BEST way to "devein" the shrimp!!! 

(Why is it called "deveining," by the way? It's an intestine, NOT a vein. Are they afraid to call it "de-pooping" a shrimp? Because that is what you are doing, really...)

Now, here's the problem that I've always had about shrimp that I have bought frozen that have been deveined: in the processing of the shrimp, they are practically butterflied. They are sliced open the whole way down their spine so that they flay open when they cook.

I don't want shrimp that look like butterflies on my plate. I want shrimp that look like shrimp on my plate, damn it. Appearance is very much a big deal to me when it comes to cooking, and I have always found it so unattractive to be eating shrimp that look like they've been attacked by the SNL Samurai.

SO. As I was finishing peeling and de-legging my shrimp, I wondered if I really had to slice a shrimp the entire way down it's spine to devein it...

I took a paring knife, inserted the tip blade-up into the middle of the shrimp "neck," so to speak, and sliced upwards, making about a quarter-inch long cut.  Now I could see the poop tract laying right there...

I reached in with my fingertips, grabbed the end of the "vein," and very gently but firmly pulled...

VOILA!!! It slid out! The whole thing! I had an entire shrimp in my left hand and an intestine dangling from my right! No flaying necessary!

Now I had perfectly whole, beautiful shrimp, ready to be marinated and sautéed for dinner. 

And speaking of dinner, wowzers, have I got a shrimp dish that will knock your socks off. I very slightly adapted it from Melissa Joulwan's cookbook, Well Fed. If you are looking for flavorful but easy and fast, this is it. 

If you are in a super rush, make the marinade first before you deal with your shrimp, then toss your shrimp into the marinade bowl as you clean them up. Then, as your shrimp are marinating for 20 minutes or so, you can get the rest of your sides together. Shrimp only take a few minutes to cook completely, so depending on your sides, you could have dinner on the table in about 45 minutes, from start to chow-time.

As I've pointed out with so many recipes lately, use the quantities and ingredients you have. You do NOT need to follow ingredients and measurements here exactly. It will still taste good, I promise. But here's what I used:

Ingredients for 2-3 people:

• 1 lb. of fresh shrimp, shelled completely and "deveined" (I also give them a rinse)
• juice from 2 juicy limes (smooth skin, heavy, feel squishy)
• fresh ginger root, peeled and finely grated on a zester or minced up, about 1 1/2-in. worth
• a jalapeño, seeded and minced, or a tsp. of crushed red pepper flakes
• 3 peeled garlic cloves, finely grated on a zester or minced
• about a quarter cup of minced cilantro
• 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
• 1/4 tsp. freshly ground pepper
• 2 Tblsp. olive oil

Steps to Make:

1.  Combine the lime juice, ginger root, jalapeño or flakes, garlic, cilantro, salt and pepper in a medium bowl and whisk together with a fork. Drizzle in the olive oil and whisk rapidly to blend with the juice mixture. This is your marinade.

2.  Add the shrimp to the marinade and toss really, really well. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and stick in the fridge for 20-30 minutes but nor really any more than 45 minutes. The lime juice will cook the shrimp. Really.

3. When your sides for dinner are almost done, heat up a large skillet on the stove on medium-high. When it is nice and hot, dump the entire contents of the bowl into the skillet. Shake the skillet to create a single even layer of shrimp. Cook for about two minutes. You will see the shrimp turning pink and starting to curl. Stir the shrimp to blend them with the sauce and to flip them onto their other side (you might need to help some of them a little). Shake the pan to make your even layer again, and cook for another 2 minutes or so.

4. Platter the shrimp and garnish with some cilantro fronds or torn cilantro leaves.

That's it! Super fast. Super easy. Super delicious! You could also skewer the shrimp and grill them, too... YUM.

Word of advice: just don't overcook them. Fresh shrimp are so tender. I had no idea. If you cook them too long, they will get rubbery and weird. Don't panic about the short cooking time. If the shrimp is all pink and curling, it's DONE.

And I promise to make something shrimpy this week and video the whole de-pooping for you...

*UPDATE: I made the video! Click here to read a more descriptive post on how to devein shrimp and to watch the video. 

The Beet Salad Recipe of Your Dreams

I don't know about you, but when dealing with vegetables, rarely does the word 'gorgeous' come to mind. Vegetables tend to look a bit—well, not the most attractive. Stand in the produce section, and take a look around. Fruit definitely wins out in the looks category. Veggies tend to remind you of gawky, bad-skinned, knob-kneed teenagers with consistently bad hair-days.

That is, until you look inside.

Suddenly, some veggies become positively striking. Like the beet I couldn't help but share in my old post Talk About Random.  Take a look at that beauty!

Maybe their gorgeousness is part of the reason why I've become addicted, but beets have suddenly turned into my go-to veggie for an easy lunch salad. Chef Reiton hates beets, no matter how hard he tries to like them, so my only way of eating them is when he isn't here. Lunchtime has become perfect for that.

"So—a beet salad???" you say (I can see that lip tweaking...).

Believe me, yes, and it's delish and incredibly easy. That is, after you roast the beets. Which is also easy. I'll even show you how tomorrow because I'm going to roast some tonight (please note: TONIGHT is key in my easy roasting and peeling method).

Alright, so back to the salad. In Real Simple's November 2015 issue there was an article on easy side dishes to create for the holidays. Modestly introducing their beet salad recipe was a small notation that their beet salad is so good, the RS crew make it all the time for their gatherings.  Intrigued, I made it for our Christmas dinner, and the entire family gave a resounding 'YES!' to it's deliciousness—despite it being made with beets.

Since then I have tweaked the recipe to fit with ingredients that I tend to have at home and that I can quickly toss together for lunch. Almost all of the ingredient amounts are to what I'm in the mood for that day. So, here you go: a beet salad that is remarkably good for you, gorgeous, and incredibly delicious.

Ingredients:

• 1 roasted beet, cooled, skinned and cut into wedges
• a small (1-in. x 1 in.-ish) hunk of ricotta salata, a firm ricotta cheese, sold in wedges in the "nice cheese" section
• a small pinch of the tops of some fresh Italian, flat-leaf parsley sprigs, roughly chopped 
• chopped pecans, toasted (toss in a small skillet over medium heat until they smell nutty)
• kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• olive oil
• red wine vinegar

Directions:

1. Place beet wedges on a plate or in a bowl.
2. Crumble ricotta salata over the beet wedges.
3. Sprinkle with chopped parsley.
4. Sprinkle with chopped, toasted pecans.
5. Drizzle with olive oil and red wine vinegar.
6. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
7. EAT!

If you want to print the recipe, click "Print this recipe" below for a download and/or a print option.

Come back tomorrow for a quick how-to video on roasting and peeling beets–something I used to hate doing because the damn peel never came off easily. No more! I'll show you how.

Until then, here's to those of us who may be knob-kneed with lots of bad hair-days but strive to be beautiful on the inside! Yeah, beets!

Fall-ing for Scallopini: A Recipe for Chicken with Apple, Fennel & Thyme

I just got back from a visit to PA, right in time for the final "hurrah" of fall splendor.  The leaves on the drive down were just glorious.  My parents were having an Indian summer. The sun was shining almost every day.  The air smelled of dirt and decaying leaves.   It was exactly what I have always remembered autumn to be.

If only the visit were under better circumstances.  I drove down to be with my aunt Annie who had suddenly gotten quite ill.  She is home now, thank God; we are all very grateful.  But for a few days, things were quite scary.

My other aunt, Judy, came over for dinner one of those nights.  We were planning on going to the hospital right after we ate, so I wanted to make something quick and easy.  I decided on scallopini for ease, and in keeping with the beautiful fall weather, I chose to top it with apple, fennel, and thyme.

Aunt Judy loved it, so I decided to post the recipe for her.  This is another meal that you can really do whatever you want. Scallopini is any type of meat (although usually chicken or veal), thinly cut, and then sautéed.  You can top it off with whatever you choose, or just make a pan sauce like I taught you to make a few posts ago.  Or do both! It's all up to you.

Give it a try and let me know what you think.  Or create a different topper and share. We all would love to get some new ideas!

Serves 4

Special tools needed: large skillet, medium skillet, pie plate or cake pan, serving platter, foil

Ingredients: 

• 4 small boneless, skinless chicken breasts, each one sliced crosswise into two 1/4-in. thick pieces (if large, cut them into 3 slices); pound to tenderize between two sheets of plastic wrap, if you have the time
• 1 large apple-y apple that holds its shape when cooked (I used a Fuji), diced into 1/4-in. cubes
• several sprigs worth of fresh thyme leaves
• 1 small fennel/anise bulb, the hard root end cut off and tossed, the white part sliced very thinly (Tip: save the green part to use when you make stock)
• 1/2 cup flour in a pie plate or cake pan (use almond flour to make it gluten-free)
• kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 Tblsp-ish olive oil
• 2 Tblsp. butter
• 1 Tblsp. butter
• 1/2 cup water or dry white wine

Directions:

1.  Salt and pepper both sides of each piece of chicken.  Turn the oven on to 200° for warming purposes.

2.  In the large skillet, heat the olive oil until it is hot and shimmery.  While it is heating, dump the flour into a pie plate or cake pan and dredge (that just means lightly coat by dragging) the first two chicken pieces (called cutlets) in the flour, making sure that both sides are coated.  Gently shake off any excess flour, then lay the chicken cutlets in the skillet and brown both sides of the meat, about 2 minutes per side.  I always watch for when the chicken becomes opaque halfway up the side; that's when I flip it.

3.  Move the two cooked cutlets to a plate and cover the plate with foil to hold the moisture in; put the plate in the oven to keep warm.  Repeat the process with the rest of the chicken, adding oil to the pan if you need to.

4.  When you are halfway done with the chicken cutlets (or you can do this step after the chicken is done), melt the 2 tablespoons of butter in the medium skillet over medium heat.  Add the apples and fennel, sprinkle on a little salt and pepper, and sauté until both are starting to soften, about 5 minutes.  Add the thyme leaves and continue sautéing until the apples and fennel are golden, about another 5 minutes.

5.  Reheat the large skillet with all the browned bits in the bottom, then add about 1/2 cup of water or dry white wine to the skillet.  Simmer and scrape up all the yummy brown crud on the bottom of the pan, stirring to allow those bits to melt into a sauce.  When the water/wine has evaporated until only half is left, turn the stove off and stir in the tablespoon of butter until it has completely melted and slightly thickened the sauce.

6.  Arrange the chicken cutlets on a platter, pile the apples and fennel on top, then drizzle everything with the pan sauce. Serve!

Feel free to print the recipe by clicking on the image below.  (That is going to be project #2, once I'm done setting up the recipe index: creating printable recipes! If you find something you want a recipe for, let me know, and I'll create one for you.)

Happy November!

Pan Sauces Forever: Learning the Magic of Scraping Up the Brown Bits

Have you ever eaten something and wondered how on earth it came to be considered a food?

Like beer.  Someone boiled or soaked grain in a bunch of water, but then, upon straining out the grain, left the sugary water out for so long that it fermented and got all funky. 

Then someone decided to go and drink it.  

GOD BLESS HIM.

I kind-of imagine the same thing happening with preparing meat.  Some foodie peasant daredevil was roasting his chicken/beef/pork/whatever over the fire, and, upon plating his meat, poured some water into the pan to let it soak while he was eating—and then decided to pour that water on his meat instead.

The miraculous birth of pan sauces!

I love making pan sauces.  They can be made simply with water, or they can be trumped up to all hell with wine, herbs, 'shrooms, you name it.  There is an infinite number of ways to make it, but they all have one delicious goal: to take your meat from boring to brilliant in about 30 seconds flat.

Here are some chicken cutlets I made the other night when I was bach-ing it and just wanted something super simple to make along with my roasted veggies: 

See those yummy juices dripping off the meat? Yeah?

I made them.

They didn't exist when I took the chicken out of the skillet.  The skillet was completely dry.  HOT and dry.

Unfortunately and most likely, so would be my chicken.

So here is why I love pan sauces so so so much.  You know what I did? 

1. I took my skillet over to the sink.
2. I put the pan under the faucet and turned the water on for about 2 seconds.
3. I put the skillet back on the burner.  
4. As the water rapidly simmered off, I madly scraped with a metal spatula at all the yummy, crusty crud that had browned and crisped itself to the bottom of the pan, stirring all the bits into the simmering water to dissolve.  
5. When the amount of liquid in the pan boiled down to look like the amount I needed, I turned off the heat, scooped up a big blob of butter (I keep softened butter by the stove; you should, too), and plopped that into the sauce, whisking it in until it had melted.

And then I poured that deliciousness all over my chicken.  

Now.  That is a very basic pan sauce.  It is delightfully delicious, made with two ingredients that I KNOW you have in your kitchen, and it is damn fast to make.  You will love it.

If you want to get even more fancy schmancy, but not any more difficult (I swear!), try browning some sliced or chopped mushrooms or shallots or garlic in the pan before you add the water.  Or instead of using water, use broth or wine.  Or use a mix of both! There is no right or wrong.  Just do what you feel like or have on hand.

But no matter what additions you make or what you use as your liquid, always whisk in a plop of butter after you turn off the heat.  It thickens the sauce up a bit and just adds a nice richness to the flavor.

To top it all off—literally—try sprinkling on some fresh herbs after you pour on the sauce.  I used cilantro in the pic above because I had seasoned my chicken with some cumin and cayenne.  (If you aren't sure if an herb will go well with your seasonings, tear open a leaf and then sniff it together with your spices.  If it smells good together, it will taste good together.)

And that is that, my friend.  

PSF!

(Pan Sauces Forever)

Pepper Delirious: A Cocktail?

I don't know that there is any other cocktail in the world that has a name that actually makes me not want to drink it other than the Pepper Delirious.  (Okay, maybe Sex on the Beach.  That poor cocktail's name is just too inane to even consider seriously drinking, although, YES, I had it once.  The cocktail, I mean.)

First off, the name "Pepper Delirious" sounds like it is referencing something—and it sounds like I should KNOW what it is referencing—but I don't.  So I feel stupid every time I say it.

Secondly, pepper? In a cocktail??? Ewww.  Who wants bell pepper in their cocktail? I mean, I love veggies.  But putting veggies (with the exception of a cucumber) in your cocktail is like putting meat in your cocktail (hello, Añejo MANhattan).  It just sounds totally wrong.

Until you actually taste a Pepper Delirious.  Veggies or not, I have come to love this drink and would not hesitate in serving you one, no matter how much you objected, if you were to grace my presence some evening.  It is refreshing.  It is daringly different.  It is delicious.

The drink was created by Ryan Magarian (also the developer of the Añejo MANhattan).  He is part creator in Aviation American Gin, a gin that I would love to drink but have never had the opportunity to try.  Regardless of the fact that he is a bartender and obvious mixologist, I have adapted this recipe slightly to suit my own tastes.  His original recipe can be found in one of my most perused cocktail books by Robert Hess, The Essential Bartender's Guide (which I see now is out of print.  That is a damn crying shame.  Wow.  Mud Puddle Books—somebody! Bring this book back into print!)

ANYWAY.  (Let me put my soapbox away...)  In case you are a daring soul like my husband who made me this drink in the first place, I am putting my adaptation of the recipe below; it's a little less minty and a little less sweet than Ryan created, but that's just how I like things.

So, here you go:

Muddle in the bottom of a shaker:

• 2 thin yellow BELL pepper rings (not sweet pepper--it doesn't taste the same. We tried it.)
• half a package of organic mint (about 10 grams--Ryan's recipe calls for 40 grams; that's TWO packages! And you thought I was crazy!)
• 2 oz. gin
• 3/4 oz. freshly squeeze lemon juice (NO BOTTLED JUICE)
• 1/2 oz. simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water, dissolved)

When everything is nicely smooshed and broken down, add ice and shake like hell for 30 seconds.

Hess doesn't say to, but I double-strain this cocktail, pouring the drink into your frosty glass through this type of doodad.  It helps keep most of the chunks out (and your teeth clean as you are drinking). 

Garnish with a mint sprig (Hess says to also use a pepper ring garnish, but I don't want that slapping me in the face as I drink).

Below is a photo of my version, attempted with sweet peppers instead of bell (but again, don't do it.  They just don't add the necessary zing or color.):

Let me know if you have the gumption to try it, and tell me what you think.  Regardless of the name and those veggies, I am pretty sure you will be wonderfully surprised.

San Marzano Meatballs: A Recipe of Comfort

Despite our move-in day last Friday being pretty dang hot, the past few days have been fallish-ly cool.  Cool = cozy, in my brain (I admit it: I’m already getting the holiday itch), and this translates in the kitchen to cooking up some serious comfort food.  I’m dreaming of gloriously herbed and roasted meats and veggies, slowly simmered stews and soups, the occasional heaven of warm, yeasty sourdough bread or the buttery crust of pot pie.  Anything that compliments my desire to revel in the warmth and slowness of life is bound to find its way onto my dining room table.

That being said, it is only natural that Chef Reiton’s and my first home-cooked meal in our new little house fell into the comfort category. I found Marzano tomatoes for a great price at our little local grocery, so I used them to make a meal I am calling Marzano Meatballs (and, yes, everything about this town is little).

While this meal isn’t necessarily fast in cooking time, it is very quick to get on the stove and is pretty hands-off and easy.  If you can smash, stir, and sprinkle, you’re good.  I've included the recipe below.  If you can’t find Marzano tomatoes in the canned tomato section of your grocery store (or you can but they are so fricking expensive in your area that you just can't do it), you can use any other canned whole peeled tomato—not the end of the world.  And BTW, now that we have an organized house and are back to cooking again, we are back to eating our mostly grain-free diet, so we ate these "plain."  They could be served over zucchini noodles or a pasta of your choice.

These quantities (as well as small green salads) nicely served 2 people.

Equipment needed: medium bowl, 10-in. skillet or larger (cast iron is best), slotted spatula, paper-towel lined plate, vegetable peeler

Nice, if you have it: 1 1/2-in. ice cream scoop (#40)

Ingredients:

• 1/4 lb.-ish ground beef
• 1/4 lb.-ish ground pork or lamb
• 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
• 1/2 tsp. fennel seeds
• 1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
• 1 egg
• 1 large garlic clove, crushed or finely minced

• big glug of extra virgin olive oil
• 1 28-oz. can of whole Marzano peeled tomatoes
• half a medium yellow or sweet onion (the root end is best, to keep the pieces all together), cut into two quarters (don't cut off the roots)
• 2 cloves of garlic, smashed and broken open with the heel of your palm
• a big drizzle of extra virgin olive oil
• a big drizzle of balsamic vinegar

• a big sprig of fresh basil, medium and large leaves removed, stacked, then slivered
• a hunk of Parmesan cheese
• baby/torn basil leaves from the above sprig for garnish/extra flavor

Here’s what you do:

Place the meats, salt, fennel, pepper, egg, and crushed garlic into the medium bowl.  Using your hands (or a wooden spoon if you don’t like to get dirty), gently mix and knead the ingredients together until well blended.

Wash your hands.

Heat up the skillet over medium heat.  Pour in a big glug of olive oil, then let it get hot and shimmery but not smoky (about 30 seconds).  

Using the ice cream scoop or your hands, make about 10 small 1 1/2-in. meatballs, dropping them into the pan one at a time as you make them.  Roll the balls around every couple minutes and brown as many of the sides as you can.  (The meatballs do not need to cook the whole way through.  They will be simmering in tomatoes shortly and will finish cooking then.) 

When a meatball is browned all over, take it out of the skillet and place it on the paper-towel lined plate to drain.  When all the meatballs are finished, pour the hot fat from the skillet into an old glass jar or tin can, but don’t wipe out or clean the skillet.  You want to use those residual brown bits and a smidge of meaty fat to help flavor the sauce.

Put the skillet back on the stove over medium heat, then add your can of tomatoes, juice and all.  Taking the edge of your spatula, gently cut each of the tomatoes in half (watch for shooting tomato guts!), then cut each of the halves in half.

Now take the meatballs and nestle them into the tomatoes.  Sprinkle everything with a pinch or two of kosher salt.  Drizzle the olive oil and balsamic vinegar into the tomatoes.  Next toss in the two quarters of onion and two smashed garlic cloves.  Gently give everything a good mix, using the edge of your spatula to scrape up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan and mixing them into the sauce.  When everything is well coated with tomato juices, turn the heat down to medium-low, go pour yourself a glass of wine, and wait.  

Time is of the essence here.  The longer this simmers, the better it tastes/the more the tomatoes break down/the thicker the sauce will be/etc., etc., etc.—so really enjoy that wine, set the table, and make a nice salad.  Stir everything occasionally to keep the parts all blended.  If you are in a rush, 20 minutes of simmering will suffice.  

When you are about ready to serve, sprinkle in the basil slivers and give the saucy balls one final good mix.  Scoop everything into one large bowl or individual serving bowls.  Take your hunk of Parm and your vegetable peeler and gently peel/shave Parmesan cheese into a mound on top of the whole mess.  Sprinkle everything with the baby basil leaves, and you're done.

Serve your masterpiece immediately and get ready to make some yummy noises!

1,000 Chicken Salads: Yet Another (Summery!) Chicken Salad Recipe

Chicken salad recipes are like... well, you can look up the proverbial quote of Simone Elkeles to get my comparison.  To keep the title of this blog kosher, let's just leave it at: everybody's got one.

So I know that the recipe I am sharing with you tonight is not going to necessarily be a recipe that you've been gagging for, nor is it one that you will find yourself passing on to your children's children.

But I will tell you this: it is good.  It is different.  It is summery.  You should try it.

Here are the ingredients before they were blended with the dressing:

The chicken was leftover from my spatchcocking last night, as any good chicken salad chicken is (leftover, not necessarily spatchcocked...). And I ate the salad plain.  No bread.  You get the real taste of it that way (and you aren't eating any grain).

Here's the recipe for 2 servings:

You will need: a medium bowl; a small bowl; a small whisk; a fork

Put the salad ingredients into the medium bowl:

• 2 chicken thighs, meat diced
• 2 chicken legs, meat diced
• 1/2 chicken breast, meat diced
• cut into 1/4-in. cubes:
• 1/2 small cucumber, seeded
• 1 large radish
• 1 green onion, sliced thinly
• 3 large basil leaves, slivered
• 1/4 cup blueberries
• 1/4-in. piece of jalapeno, minced

Put the dressing ingredients into the small bowl:

• juice of half a lemon
• 2 Tblsp. sour cream
• dash of nutmeg
• kosher salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

Whisk the dressing ingredients until completely blended.  Pour over the salad ingredients and toss until everything is coated evenly.  Chill if making ahead, then plate, garnish with baby basil leaves and blueberries, and serve.

Enjoy!

A Lazy Creation: Messy Caprese Salad Recipe

To accompany our Italian-themed dinner the other evening (I totally cheated--it was a pre-seasoned Italian pork loin.  Sorry.), I decided to make a Caprese salad to use some of our beautiful Roma tomatoes and sweet basil from the garden.  But--due to my laziness--I just wanted to throw it all together and not take the time to get all pretty with the typical layering.  So that's what I did, darn it! And what resulted tasted better than almost any Caprese salad I have ever tasted! It doesn't look as pretty (especially with a kind-of crappy photo), but you can count on those flavors melding together for a true Italian eating experience!

I'm going to pull a David Rocco on you and tell you to quanto basta everything: use how much you want to—no exact measurements needed! I'll tell you below what I did, but definitely feel free to use more or less of an ingredient to suit your own tastes.

The amounts below fed just two of us, so gauge your quantities from there, too.

What you'll need:

• good, ripe Roma tomatoes, halved lengthwise and then sliced into chunks: I used 3
• fresh mozzarella cheese, torn into bite-sized pieces: I used 3 balls, still dripping brine, from BelGioioso's Bocconcini tub, usually found in the "nice cheese" section near the deli
• fresh basil leaves, slivered or torn
• fresh lemon, juiced: I used half a lemon
• extra virgin olive oil: I used about 3 Tblsp.
• kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a medium bowl, whisk together the lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and pepper until it looks like everything has completely incorporated.  Add the rest of the ingredients to the bowl and toss gently but well, making sure everything is coated.  Let the salad rest in the fridge while you finish dinner.  Toss once more before serving.

Delizioso!

Cooking Dinner for My Very Clean Colon: A First Meal Post Colonoscopy...

It may sound funny, but it's true. After my colonoscopy yesterday, my body is empty.  It's rather a strange feeling. I kind-of feel brand new—like starlight and rainbows...  (I'm just kidding. It really just makes you feel ice-cold, being poop-free.)

So tonight, when I thought about the fact that the ginormous organ inside of me didn't have anything to work on except what I tossed in there for my evening meal—I couldn't help but think twice about dinner.  The idea of gulping down a big spicy dish of somethin'-somethin' or a meaty hunk of whatever didn't sound so great as I stood in front of the open fridge.  I wanted veggies, but even the broccoli looked daunting to digest.  What did I have that was vegetarian but with minimal fiber for this first substantial dinner of mine after being made clean as a whistle?

Well, this is what I pulled out of the fridge, out of the garden, and off the counter:

• that damn box of pea shoots from Trader Joe's again (I was determined to finish it off—only a handful were left.)
• a lemon
• a small zucchini
• a clove of garlic
• a baby bella mushroom
• bacon fat
• 3 little sprigs of cilantro
• kosher salt
• fresh cracked pepper

And here's what I did with it all:

1) Over medium-high heat in a 10-inch skillet, I melted a teensy little teaspoon of bacon fat.  I added the minced garlic clove and the finely chopped mushroom, tossed them in the fat, and let them sizzle, stirring occasionally, for about 2 minutes.

2) I then added the zucchini, quartered lengthwise and chopped into 1/4-inch thick slices on the bias, to the skillet.  I tossed the zucc with the fat to coat the pieces, sprinkled on salt and pepper, stirred it all again, shook the skillet to create an even layer, then let it all sit for 3 minutes.

3) With the bottom side of the zucc nicely browned, I stirred the skillet then scattered on top the handful of pea shoots (gathered up in a bunch on the cutting board then chopped right below the leaves to get rid of the stem portion) and the torn-up leaves of the cilantro sprigs.  I squeezed a quarter of the lemon over the whole mess, then stirred it all to wilt the shoots.

4) I plated the veggies, garnished it with lemon zest from the butt of the lemon, and ATE.

Time to prep? 5 minutes (if you are a slow prepper, like me). Time to cook? 6 minutes. And, oh! What a great surprise! By cooking from my gut (I'm learning!), I prepared a dish for the transition of seasons: deep and earthy from the mushrooms, bacon fat, and garlic. Light from the zucchini. Zingy and bright from the cilantro and lemon.  It was like summer and fall mingling on my plate, both vying for my tongue's attention—and both happily getting it.

A Foodie Honeymoon: Tuesday Lunch at Borgne

Okay, I will be frank: of all the Besh restaurants that we were going to be visiting, Borgne (pronounced "born") was the one I was nervous about.  I eat some seafood, but I am certainly not one of those people who are, like, "Hey! Let's go out for SEAFOOD!" Eww.  No.  If I happen to order seafood at a restaurant--great.  But there are very, very rare moments when I will actually look to do so.

Why?

Because most seafood just sucks.  It smells.  It's slimy.  It tastes like I'm sucking out of a tide pool.  With seafood, I always have a difficult time not imagining (vividly) what I am eating, and that strikes a squeamy type of fear into my gut.  Kind-of like with eating an animal's organs.  No, okay, that's way worse.  But anyway.  It's just not how I want to treat my taste buds, spend my money, or impact my psyche.

I kept telling myself as we walked to Borgne that this, of all places, was the place for me to eat something that I was afraid of.  If I didn't try something here, I'd be selling myself short.  I determined to do so and took a big breath as we entered into the restaurant.

The decor was quite cool, modern without a hint of boat or dock paraphernalia, and the atmosphere was pretty casual.  Huge chalkboards displayed whimsical artwork of Lake Borgne and jazz players.   The building columns were wrapped with wire mesh and filled with oyster shells.

Here was a seafood restaurant that made eating seafood seem like it was the coolest and most natural thing in the world to do, and if I didn't do it, I was seriously missing out.

But I was still nervous.  And then up walked Billie.

Billie was one of those waitresses that as soon as you met her, you were relieved.  She knew everything.  She knew the beers.  She knew the food.  She knew what was in the food and where it came from and what it tasted like.  When she discovered that she was waiting on two foodies on their honeymoon, she really started to warm up.

To start, Chef Reiton ordered the local Abita IPA, and I went for Abita's farmhouse ale.  I was so excited to hear that they had one! And when it came to the table, I got even more excited.

At this point I went to check out the bathroom (beautiful), and when I returned, Chef Reiton was discussing an appetizer with Billie: broiled Louisiana oysters on the half shell with spicy garlic butter, bread crumbs, and a bit of Parmesan.  I gulped.  My only oyster experience had been 1) at a friend's home in ILLINOIS, 2) raw, and 3) disgusting.  But again--here we were in seafood country at a restaurant that is renowned for its cooking of seafood...AND these oysters were cooked.  Hmmm. We looked at each other and said, "Let's do it."  

We decided to wait to order the entrees until we knew if we liked the oysters, so in the meantime, Billie brought us a bottle of water, a paper bag of warm fennel bread, and a dish of softened butter.

We munched and drank and talked and took pictures.  And then Billie appeared again--this time with a bowl of gazpacho.  "I want you to try this," she said, and placed a brilliantly hued soup in front of me.

I had never had a cold soup before, and this one was created with yellow tomatoes.  I believe there may have been a bit of yellow pepper in it as well; but what I loved the most was the flavor added by the watermelon chunks at the bottom of the bowl.  What a deliciously light way to get the stomach ready for what was to come:

(My picture isn't very good and in no way does the flavor of this dish any justice.)

I have to admit, my first bite was timid, but within the five seconds of my first few chews, my fear was gone.  Roasting had taken the slime that I was afraid of and eliminated it.  What was left was a delicate softness that slowly melted into nothingness as I chewed.  Being Gulf freshwater oysters, there was not a hint of brine, thank God.  The butter and pepper added some depth, and the breadcrumbs added some body.  I found myself actually enjoying them.

I glanced at Chef Reiton.  He looked to be enjoying them, too.  "I can't believe I'm eating oysters," I said.  "These don't taste anything like what I had before."  

He nodded.  "They are good."  As we were each going for the last one, we suddenly remembered: we hadn't taken a picture! Imagine missing out on our experience!

When Billie returned to clear our shells, we exclaimed at how surprised we were at the flavor, the texture, the complete absence of our preconceived notions of what these oysters would be. She smiled and nodded.  "So what do you think you'll have for your main course?"

Chef Reiton decided to go for an Abita Andygator Helles Dopplebock and another oyster dish with the oyster spaghetti.  Billie told us that it was Besh's favorite dish on the menu.  I was sold on the Tuesday lunch special: cochon de leche (pork braised in milk), served over garlic mashed potatoes and roasted veggies; Billie was very excited about that choice.

Because we love to cook, which is truly a scientific art form, Chef Reiton and I analyze everything that we are served.  We try to pick out the combination of flavors used in what we are eating and strive to educate ourselves when we aren't sure what something is.  

The oyster spaghetti was spaghetti tossed with steamed oysters in your typical butter/oyster juice/wine sauce, but here, cream was added, coating the pasta and oysters and settling into a delicious little pool in the bottom of the bowl.  Scattered on top were shavings of parmesan, purple basil, and--little green things???

We weren't sure what they were.  They had a very bright, green taste, almost like a bean, but yet they looked a bit like seaweed.  Upon consulting with Billie we learned we were half correct on both analyses.  What we were eating were sea beans, an aquatic plant of the succulent family that grows in salt marshes and on beaches (see Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salicornia).  They were delicious and added a brightness to what could have been a heavy dish.

My dish was so not a summer dish, but I could not believe how happy I was as I ate it.  Piled on top of a bed of roasted eggplant, mushrooms, carrots, and white cubes that I didn't know were the smoothest garlic mashed potatoes I had ever eaten, lightly interlaced with herbs and olive oil.  Spooned over the potatoes was pork that had braised in milk until it completely fell apart, the juices and milk marrying into a gravy that surrounded tender shreds of meat, mild in flavor and almost sweet.  Chives and baby beet greens were scattered on top.  

Our forks kept intersecting as we reached for tastes of the other's dish.  "I can't place the flavors of my pork," I mumbled between mouthfuls.  "I feel like it's maybe nutmeg? Or pumpkin pie spice? Something that's in baked goods, and it's reminiscent of something sweet." Chef Reiton agreed, but we just couldn't put our finger on it.

Billie once again came to our aid.  Her eyes brightened when she heard the word "nutmeg" come out of my mouth; you could tell she was enjoying having someone who was appreciating the food for what it was.  "There is nutmeg in there," she said. "And the other spice is clove."

"Clove!" Chef Reiton and I both exclaimed together as I banged on the table.  "I couldn't get it!" I told Billie.  "I knew something in baking, but I could not place it.  Everything is just so perfectly balanced and hinted at.  It all compliments each other so well!"  Ohhh, the art of proportions--that's something that I need work on.  I'm slowly learning that I need to back off on things.  Just because I like it doesn't mean to put a shitload of it in my food.

"And what are these?" I asked, poking a white rectangular cube.  "Is that turnip?"

"It's fennel," Billie answered. 

"Fennel!" I like to repeat things when I am surprised.  I'd never had roasted fennel because I couldn't imagine it, but roasting completely changes the flavor; it loses that licorice-y taste.  So yummy.  I am now going to roast myself some fennel for Thanksgiving.

When we could eat no more, Billie came to clear our plates.  "Dessert?" she asked, and we groaned.  "How about coffee," she suggested, and so we conceded.  I don't think either of us wanted to leave just yet.  

A few minutes later a delightful little coffee set-up was placed on the table.  As we prepared our coffees and continued to talk about our meal, Billie reappeared and placed two tiny glasses on the table.  "It's honeyed rum," she said.  "It's absolutely delicious."

Chef Reiton looked at it and turned green.  "I don't know if I can drink that," he said.  (One very bad rum experience long, long ago...)

"It's really mild and mellow," Billie said.  "It doesn't taste anything like what you'd expect."

I eagerly grabbed my glass.  I'll drink anything, but you all already knew that.  A tilt of the tiny glass sent a thrill down my throat.  "Dear God, that is so delicious," I said, wide-eyed.  Chef Reiton looked at me dubiously.

"Just try it," I said.  "It really doesn't taste like rum.  It doesn't even taste like alcohol.  It's amazing!"

I don't think I've ever seen anyone take a tinier sip, but within two minutes, it was gone.  Delicious, we both concurred.  Unbelievably so.

And, so, our first seafood experience and second Besh excursion was wrapping up.  We sat in complete content for a few minutes before thanking Billie profusely and wandering towards the front door.  There we were met by the manager, who got an earful of how great our Besh experiences had been so far. When he found out our trip goal and that we were going to Besh Steak that evening, he said, "The general manager for Besh Steak is right over there eating lunch.  Go introduce yourselves!"

We quickly declined, wanting the man to eat his lunch in peace.  So the manager asked for our names and said he would pass them on.  We thanked him and headed out into the New Orleans summer heat.  As we walked down the sidewalk, sighing with pleasure and looking forward to a swim back at the hotel, I couldn't help but feel a happy premonition of the evening to come.

Herb-scented Corn-on-the-Cob

I have a faithful reader who I have been disappointing.  It's been a few weeks since I've written last, and she noticed.  So, Barb, this one is for you.

Michael loves corn-on-the-cob, so we've been buying quite a bit of it lately.  The last time I made it, as I was digging it out of the veggie drawer, I noticed a bunch of rosemary that hadn't been used yet, sitting all lonely in the drawer.  I hate wasting herbs—wasting anything—and my brain started working.  So I took a sprig of it and dropped it into the boiling water when I dropped in the corn, just for shits and giggles.  You know how I love to experiment.

The results, I am happy to report, were successful in two areas.  First, I could taste the difference.  There was just enough of a hint of the rosemary—that woodsy bite—to round out the sweetness of the corn.  A nice little tweak to what can become a bit boring.

My second success? Michael couldn't taste it, at least not enough to have his amazing sense of smell take over and his almost-teenage brain to ask, "What is this taste? It's DIFFERENT."  His only response these past two times has been, "This corn is so good.  It's perfect.  We should have it more."

And I inwardly smile.  My harshest food critic is happy.

A Brandy Smash

Tonight's cocktail? A Brandy Smash: mint and simple syrup muddled together with 2 oz. of brandy and ice.

Huh.  

I think I like it.