Butternut squash, roast beets and grilled halloumi salad

In winter, my salad consumption drops dramatically. This is partly because I think winter is for hot cocoa, soups, casseroles, and other foods that warm you from the inside out. Partly, I think it's because we all know that animals couldn't hibernate based on a salad diet, so it seems to go slightly against nature. However, I don't actually want to put on 30 pounds and sleep for 4 months, so sometimes a salad is what's called for.

The secret to winter salads is to base them around heartier, more substantial vegetables, and to make the flavors zing. In my vegetable box this week, I got a butternut squash and a few beets. Roasted, the sugars in the squash become toasty and caramel flavored while the texture goes wonderfully soft, and the beets retain a wonderful density. Both vegetables are on the sweet side, so I dressed the salad with a very lemony dressing to add acidity for balance. To make the salad more of a meal, and to add some needed saltiness, I bought some halloumi to grill.

For those of you who have never had grilled halloumi, you are in for a treat. Everyone loves a grilled cheese sandwich. But halloumi is cheese that can go straight on the grill. It looks like a hard mozzarella right out of the package, but add some fire and it softens, then crisps up and browns. It is indeed something magical.

All in all, this is a great salad for the cool evenings. Also, I might add, it makes a great lunch that does not induce post-prandial hibernation. Sleepiness might be good for bears, not so much for the working stiff.

Butternut squash, roast beets and grilled halloumi salad

Cubed butternut squash, roasted

Wedges of beets, roasted or boiled and peeled

Slices of halloumi, grilled in a nonstick pan until browned on both sides

Watercress, arugula, or other peppery leaf

Dressing made with 1 part lemon juice, 2 parts olive oil, dash of Dijon mustard whisked together

Mix dressing in a bowl. Toss all ingredients except beets with the dressing in the bowl and plate. Toss beets in the bowl to coat with remaining dressing, then add to salad. (Or, if you don't mind them bleeding onto the rest of the salad, toss all together at the same time.)

Pasta with fresh basil and tomatoes confit

This is hardly a recipe, but it's one of my favorite uses for my tomato confit. In the same way that I love a fresh tomato pasta, as the heat of the spaghetti cooks the tomatoes, with maybe just a little garlic and olive oil, the tomato confit makes for a slightly more robust version. In this dish, the intensity of the tomatoes is balanced out by a good handful of fresh basil. Especially in winter, when tomatoes need to be coaxed to release any sort of flavor, this dish still brings back memories of summer.

So there you have it, a simple dish that can't be improved by any addition of any ingredients. I think that's about all that needs to be said. Eat up.

Italian job and fresh mozzarella and tomato salad

By popular demand, a few photos and memories of my vacation in Italy. I'm almost loath to post these because it's like reviewing your favorite local restaurant: you want to spread the word because it's amazing, but it's partly amazing because nobody goes there, and if you spread the word you'll never be able to get a table again. But Italy is less easy to get to, so I'm not as worried.

My "discovery" was the little island of Procida, a tiny neighbor of Capri. An archetypal Mediterranean fishing village, the only tourists there were other Italians, or day-trippers from Naples. Nobody spoke English, which resulted in me buying an entire box of nectarines for 2 Euros rather than 2 nectarines as I had tried to communicate.

This serene retreat is bounded on all sides by beautiful, dark, volcanic sand beaches that dip in to the bathwater-warm Mediterranean. We spent a day lying on some lounges, under an umbrella decorated like a giant hula skirt, watching the extremely tanned Italians walk past. I think when Italian women die, they don't go to heaven, they go to Louis Vuitton to be made into luggage.

But ah, the food. from the thin and crispy crackly pizza crust up north (did I mention I also got to go to Tuscany?) to the more robust crust of the famous pizzas of Naples, the perfectly brewed cappucino and the characteristic local (as in, grown the next hill over) wine, the tomatoes reeking of sunshine, the fish so fresh it's practically still swimming. And the paintbox palette of gelato in each cafe's freezer case: pistachio, melon, frutti di bosco, deep dark chocolate, and stracciatella (is there a more fun way to say chocolate chip?). I relax my rule about not having dessert twice in one day because I feel that if I'm not having gelato after lunch and dinner I'm wasting my time.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Now back home, trying to recapture my sojourn on this island, I tried to cook up something quintessentially Italian. Nothing says "Italy" to me like a fresh mozzarella and tomato salad. I know this is hardly a recipe, and more like a collection of ingredients arranged on a plate, but it is so evocative of Italy that I had to post it. In Italy, we were buying tomatoes of all colors because they are sold when still green, even though the flavor has fully developed in the hot sun. Here, to get that snazzy look, I had to buy some different varieties for the color contrast. Red, yellow, orange and purple: how could you not like this? It is almost worth coming home for.

Fresh mozzarella and tomato salad

Fresh mozzarella, torn into chunks

Ripest tomatoes possible, sliced any which way

Handful of basil scattered over top

A drizzle of herbacious olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Mid-summer ratatouille with polenta

I have been on vacation in Italy (just to gloat a little) and had intended to set something up to publish automatically while I was away, just in case everyone missed me, but in the pre-holiday craziness I forgot. Better than forgetting to turn off the oven, but I apologize to everyone who pined away for my posts in my absence.

More about Italy soon, but having just flown back in this afternoon (and boy are my arms tired) I am busy doing laundry, making sure nothing major happened at work, and reconciling myself to the fact that my vacation is over. I don't think I have anything in the fridge right now -- I made sure to pour out the dregs of the milk before I left (I have made that mistake before and it is a really smelly welcome home gift) -- so will have to hit the store to see what I can whip up. As much as I have been enjoying my pasta and pizza, I'm thinking tonight might be something more along the lines of a curry or a stir fry just for some variety.

But for now, though the cupboard is bare, I have a little something waiting in the wings to be posted. A few weeks ago, I went on a vegetable shopping spree at Borough Market because summer is all too short and I felt like I needed to lay in a supply, just because it was available. What to do with the bounty, besides put it in my vegetable bowl and admire my still life (which I think sounds much nicer than the French "nature morte", though I suppose the French is technically more true)? Thinking French, I decided a ratatouille -- or at least my interpretation of one -- would be perfect. I could have served it with crusty french bread, toasted, rubbed with garlic, and drizzled with olive oil, but instead I decided to make some polenta. It was a perfect way to celebrate the season.

And now to try to find something for dinner tonight...

Mid-summer ratatouille with polenta

olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 large clove garlic, minced

1 medium carrot, halved & quartered lengthwise, then chopped

1 medium zucchini, halved & quartered lengthwise, then chopped into 1/2 inch thick pieces

1 red, yellow or orange bell pepper, cut into 1/2 inch pieces

1 can chopped tomatoes

1 can chickpeas

fresh basil

In medium sauce pan, heat oil and saute onion until soft. Add garlic, cook for a few minutes. Then add carrot and tomatoes and cook for 5 minutes. Add zucchini and bell pepper, cook until soft but not falling apart. Add chickpeas and heat through. Serve with fresh basil leaves torn over the top, with polenta.

Polenta:

1/2 C. polenta

2 C. water

1 tsp. salt

Boil water. Add polenta to pan of water, whisking to remove clumps, then stir through while polenta thickens and cooks. Polenta is supposed to cook slowly for 30 minutes or more, with the cook stirring all the while. I find I make very tasty polenta in about 5 minutes, just stirring so it doesn't burn.

Serves 2

Pasta primavera

Pasta primavera means springtime pasta, but pasta estate doesn't sound quite so appetizing, if more seasonally appropriate. This is high summer pasta -- when the tomatoes start to burst open, the summer squash is in full swing, and you can smell a basil plant a mile away. Yes, and the living is easy: this dish can be made in 10 minutes, provided you can chop quickly enough.

The beauty of this particular recipe is that it is not really a recipe at all, but more of a suggested line of inquiry. Any vegetables will do, in any combination, and any quantities. Feta, goat's cheese, mozzarella -- the world is your oyster (am I mixing my foodie metaphors here?). And on a long, warm evening, watching the world slide into dusk, with a glass of a good pinot grigio from Orvieto, or a vernaccia from San Gimigniano, you couldn't ask for more flavor from less work.

Pasta primavera

1/2 lb pasta

1 clove garlic, minced

1 large or 2 small green onions

10-12 plum tomatoes

Handful peas or frozen soy beans

1 medium zucchini, cut into batons

2-4 Tbsp. Fresh basil, chiffonade

crumbled feta

Cook pasta according to instructions. While pasta is cooking, saute garlic in a little olive oil in a large skillet. Add zucchini and cook until soft, but still crisp. Add peas and green onions, then heat tomatoes through for just a minute. Once pasta is drained, mix with vegetables, basil and feta.

Serves 2

Broccoli with peanut sauce two ways

At the last minute, I found this week's Blogger Secret Ingredient on Chaya's Comfy Cook Blog. Being somewhat of a working stiff these days, I don't always discover the BSI in time to ponder, prep and post an appropriate recipe. This week, I found out Sunday morning of the closing date. That meant I had some time to cook and lunch to think about, so I did what any blogger in my position would do: I went out to buy some broccoli.

I know it's not everyone's favorite vegetable, but I love broccoli. I like to think it's because of the emerald green colour, the sweet taste of lightly steamed florets, and some sort of sub-conscious/pyscho-somatic appreciation for the vitamins and anti-oxidants. But really, I think it's because of The Enchanted Broccoli Forest, a favorite cookbook in my house when I was young. What child wouldn't want to think of her vegetable as home to a magical land?

Sadly, said favorite cookbook is still in my parent's house, so I had to use a more recent favorite broccoli recipe. I decided to post two versions because the basic recipe usually gets turned into the second variation (and, well, why not?). Broccoli is the perfect vehicle for strong flavors. When lightly cooked, its inherent sweetness provides balance to garlic and chili. The vegetable is a great side dish and ingredient itself, but is also hearty enough to be the main attraction. Plus, both recipes are dead easy.

So, without further ado, here goes:

Broccoli with peanut dipping sauce

Steamed or blanched broccoli

Sauce:

¼ C. smooth peanut butter

1 T. oil

1 T. minced garlic

1 T. minced ginger

1 T. lime juice

1 tsp. mirin

1 T. soy sauce

¼ tsp. red pepper flakes

Blend or just mix well. Serve with broccoli.

Broccoli and soba noodles with peanut sauce

I like to eat this dish cold, but it is very tasty warm. I also like to make broccoli the star ingredient, so it's more like a broccoli salad with soba noodles rather than the other way around. Depending on the consistency of the peanut sauce, you may need to thin it slightly with a teaspoon of water (or more soy sauce/lime juice/whatever your taste buds fancy).

Cooked soba noodles

Steamed broccoli florets

1-2 T. peanut sauce (see above) per person

1 tsp. sesame seeds, toasted in a dry pan

Mix broccoli and soba with peanut sauce, thinning if necessary. Top with sesame seeds. Eat!

Serves as many as you have broccoli to cook.

Beet and goat's cheese risotto

Part deux of my quest to use up my beets:

Election day 2008 was one of the great days in recent memory. I am a big fan of our new president for many reason, including but not limited to the fact that on the following day no fewer than 15 people of varying British and European origins in my office came by to congratulate me, as though I personally had something to do with it (in a larger-than-my-absentee-ballot way). I could go on about his attributes, but instead I will turn to something I consider to be a major drawback in him: Barack Obama does not like beets.

I can sort of understand people who don't like beets. Many of them are victims of canned or pickled beet induced childhood trauma. Those would certainly be enough to spoil my beet appetite for life. I personally think they should be banished to fall-out shelters and labelled "Eat last". But beets in general -- fresh, newly picked, boiled or roasted or shredded raw, these garnet gems of the vegetable crown -- clearly they make me wax poetic, but they also make me want to eat them. And with the new White House garden which could supply fresh beets, I think there is really no excuse. For shame, Mr. President

So my point, and I do have one, is that despite my taste for the roots, I have more beets than I know what to do with. Last recipe was a fresh and flavorful salad. This week, something a bit heartier. One of the pleasures (and dangers) of beets is that they turn everything bright pink. Well, who doesn't like bright pink food? Risotto is a great vehicle for beets because not only does it blush beautifully in their juices, but it also complements their inherent creaminess. I like some sharp counterpoints, so goat's cheese and arugula (which, I have on good authority, the Prez does like) are the ways forward there. A good grinding of black pepper finishes the dish. Hail to the beets.

Beet and goat's cheese risotto

1 small onion, chopped finely

1 clove garlic, minced

1/2 cup arborio rice

2+ C. vegetable stock

2 medium or 1 large cooked beet, peeled and chopped

2 T. soft goat's cheese

handful of arugula

Saute onion until soft. Add garlic and cook gently for a few minutes, then add rice and cook, stirring, for another few minutes. Start to add warm stock, 1/2 C. at a time, waiting between each addition for the rice to absorb the liquid as it cooks. Stir frequently (or just enough).

When rice is nearly cooked, stir through the beets so they warm through. Then mix in the arugula so that it just wilts. Dot the cheese over the top.

Serves 2

Beet, feta and herb salad

This recipe was inspired by a dish at Mohsen, my favorite Persian restaurant in London (or in the world). There, along with flatbread, smokey eggplant dip, and hummus, they serve a plateful of fresh herbs, feta and radishes. Rolled up in a flatbread, or just eaten by the sprig, the intensity of flavors transports you away from the rather uninspiring view of the Earl's Court Homebase across the street.

Having received beets in the veg box several weeks in a row, it was time for a batch of beet cooking. I plunked them all in boiling water, peeled them, and put half in the freezer for future use. The other half went into the fridge for immediate delectation. (And more recipes to follow shortly.)

I love beets in a salad and their natural sweetness begs some robust flavors to act as a counterpoint. I started musing on the saltiness of feta, then the sprightliness of lemon and mint, and suddenly I thought of Mohsen and their herb salad. I didn't need to think any more about it: I simply mixed everything together, closed my eyes, and away I went.

Beet, feta and herb salad

1 medium beet, roasted or boiled, peeled and sliced

handful of herbs: parsley, mint, and tarragon pictured here

crumbled or cubed feta

1 tsp. olive oil

1/2 - 1 tsp. sherry vinegar or lemon juice, depending on taste

Serves 1

Greens Casserole with Tofu Topping

The other night, drowning in veggies quickly going limp in the fridge and totally uninspired (a lethal combination) I found in this recipe from the Abel & Cole website an answer to my prayers. A good, quick dinner, this was a welcome change from the usual stir fry or vegetable soup.

I threw everything but the kitchen sink into my pan: carrots, cauliflower, chard, cabbage, a last nub of zucchini, a few peas, and cooked up all my vegetables together, giving it a little kick with the soy sauce.

It was a satisfying and easy dish. I particularly liked the tofu crumble topping -- soft and chewy below, crunchy on top. You would never know it was actually tofu (which may be a bonus to some, a letdown to others). Working Lunch says two thumbs up.

Greens (and other vegetable) Casserole with Tofu Topping

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 medium onions, thinly sliced

450g any cabbage, cored, cut crosswise into thin slices

450g kale, stems and ribs removed, leaves coarsely chopped

200g carrots, cut into thick matchsticks

240ml water

2 tablespoons soy sauce or tamari

1/2 teaspoon salt

150g fresh or 200g dried wholemeal breadcrumbs

200g firm tofu, drained and roughly chopped

50g Parmesan, finely grated

50ml olive oil

2 teaspoons dried basil, crumbled

1 & 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano or marjoram, crumbled

1 teaspoon paprika

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 180°C, 350°F, gas mark 4. Heat the oil in a large, deep frying pan over medium heat until hot but not smoking; sauté the onions until softened and beginning to brown. Add cabbage, kale, carrots, water, soy sauce, and salt. Cook covered, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are just tender, about 10 minutes. Transfer all the vegetables and cooking liquid to a large, shallow baking dish. To make the topping, pulse the rest of the ingredients together in a food processor until combined well (or mash together with a potato masher). Spread the tofu mixture over the vegetables and bake, uncovered, until topping is golden brown, 15-20 minutes.

Serves 4 as a main dish, and 6-8 as a side.

Potato and thyme gnocchi with garlic mushrooms

I actually managed to find this week's BSI in time to think about making something. Better yet, this week's ingredient -- potato -- coincided nicely with a veritable explosion of said veg in my cupboard. An overly-zealous potato packer in the veg box, combined with several weeks of cooking less than normal, equals enough spuds to stave off a potato famine. Fate intervenes courtesy of Chez What?: I have an excuse to use some potatoes.

At first, I said to myself, "Self: what is better than pure, unadulterated potato? Make your favorite roast potatoes and call it a night." But then, I also thought that the whole point of the Blogger Secret Ingredient was to make it a bit of a challenge, a la Iron Chef, but with fewer pyrotechnics (one hopes -- but one does not always anticipate what happens in kitchens).

At last, coming home on Friday evening and feeling like a bit of a challenge after a challenging week, I decided that I would make one of my favorite potato-based foods: gnocchi. Fluffy little pillows of potato, they are the perfect vehicle for any sauce. Or no sauce. Yep: I just love gnocchi in any form.

Making gnocchi is not difficult, but it requires a little finesse. The most important step is getting the cooked potatoes mashed smoothly, which -- without a ricer -- is much more difficult to achieve. Once smooth, there is a balance between combining them with the egg and flour but not over-mixing: the fluffy little pillows will turn into concrete weights.

One mixed, you have to roll out the dough -- without too much flour -- and cut it into bite-sized pieces.

There is also a rather complex method of shaping them involving rolling them down the back of the tines of a fork, but I confess this is where I give up and leave them rustic. I think they look pretty nice:

Into a pot of boiling water and they are transformed into dinner. If only everything was so easy.

Potato and thyme gnocchi with garlic mushrooms

750g/1.5 lbs. potatoes, cooked (I microwave mine)

1 egg

1/2 C. plain flour plus extra for dusting

1/4 C. fresh thyme leaves

1 tsp. salt

1 T. olive oil

1 clove garlic, minced

1/3 C. dried porcini mushrooms, soaked in boiling water to cover for 15 minutes

12 brown mushrooms, such as crimini, sliced

A few sprigs of thyme

When cool enough to handle but still warm, peel the potatoes and either pass them through a ricer or mash them until smooth by hand in a large bowl.

Mix the egg into the potato and then about ½ cup of plain flour. Add the thyme. Fold the mixture together, gradually adding more flour if the mixture is too wet. Do not add too much flour as this will toughen the gnocchi.

Cut the gnocchi mixture in quarters and on a lightly floured surface roll each piece into a sausage shape about 1" in diameter, then cut those into 1" pieces.

Heat a pot of water to a full boil, then add the gnocchi. When the rise to the surface, remove them with a slotted spoon and let drain.

Meanwhile, heat olive oil and saute the garlic, fresh mushrooms and dried mushrooms (which should be drained and dried first). When cooked, add the cooked gnocchi, toss through, then stir through the remaining fresh thyme leaves.

Serves 4

Gingered carrot soup

I owe many debts to my teachers over the years.  They have left me with poems that I will always know, mnemonic devices for calculating mathematical formulae, a discovery of certain books, and -- fundamentally -- a love for learning.  Yes, I admit it: as much as I loved summer vacation, I also looked forward to September and starting school again.  There was something so hopeful about new notebooks and sharpening pencils so full of promise (though only in a metaphorical sense -- obviously I had to have the latest, greatest mechanical pencils).

One teacher I had for most of my high school years was my Latin teacher.  From her I learned not only the language, but also more about English grammar than I'd ever thought possible, as well as the literature, culture, and history of the Roman empire.  We made togas and mosaics and tried out the occasional historical Roman recipe (which have not aged quite as well as, say, the Virgil or Tacitus.  Tongue of dove, anyone?).  

While I don't have as much call to use my Latin in everyday speech these days, what I do use more frequently is my Latin teacher's gingered carrot soup recipe.  This soup is a bright orange blend of the sweetness of carrots tempered with spiky ginger, lime juice, soy sauce and a little peanut butter.  It's perfect for the coldest winter day or even livening up a slightly cool summer day.

I know that many people hated the first day of school (or the rest of the days of school for that matter).  In Latin we would say "de gustibus non est disputandum."  This is true in general, but regarding this soup there can be no argument.

Gingered carrot soup

1 ½ Tbsp. olive oil

1 large yellow onion, chopped

2 stalks celery, chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

3 Tbsp. ginger, peeled, chopped

1 lb. carrots, peeled, chopped

4+ cups chicken or vegetable stock

¼ tsp. dried red pepper flakes

¼ tsp. ground coriander

½ tsp. turmeric

1 ½ Tbsp. fish sauce (leave out if vegetarian/vegan)

3 Tbsp. lime juice 

2 Tbsp. rice vinegar

2 Tbsp. peanut butter

2 Tbsp. brown sugar

1 tsp. sesame oil (dark/toasted)

½ cup coconut milk

salt and pepper

cilantro and sesame seeds for garnish

Saute onion in olive oil. Add celery, garlic, and ginger, and saute a little more. Add everything else except garnish. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer until carrots are soft. Cool and puree in blender, or blend carefully with a stick blender in the pot. Correct seasonings and reheat gently. Garnish with toasted sesame seeds and chopped cilantro.

Serves 4+

Bad picture good curry

Reading is a dangerous thing.  When I read Murakami, I need to stock up on soy sauce, mirin, and ginger.  When I read Balzac, out comes the brasserie and patisserie in my kitchen.  I haven't yet mastered Russian cuisine, partially because I have never managed to get through Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky.  One of these days...

For some reason, the last few books I've read have been set in India in the 19th century.  Intertwined with the narrative, I read description upon description of dals, chutneys and pickles, the method for making rotis or naan, how properly to cook rice, and the steamy heat of a curry cooked over a fire in a remote village.  My head filled with images of the Ganges, monsoons, small boats or palanquins on elephants, my tongue filled with turmeric and chili.  

Coming home one night with such a craving for spices and vegetables, but wanting something quick and light but satisfying, I looked through Anjum Anand's Indian Food Made Easy cookbook and found just what I was looking for.  A few tweaks -- in keeping with the spirit of her book -- and I was off.  I scarfed it down and had leftovers for lunch the next day.

It wasn't, however, until I cracked open my plastic container the next day that I really appreciated the recipe and decided it was worth recording -- hence the photo taken with my Blackberry.  The flavors had intensified and the aromas nearly transported me around the world to the land in my literature.  Proust would have been proud.

Bad picture, good curry

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp turmeric

¼ tsp red chili

1/3 C. dried shredded coconut plus hot water to cover

1 tsp minced ginger

1 medium onion, chopped

1 large carrot, chopped

1 large potato, scrubbed and cubed

1 small zucchini, halved and sliced

1 can chick peas

2 C. chopped greens such as spinach, kale or chard

Add warm water to coconut and let soak.

Saute onion in olive oil until soft.  Add ginger and heat through.  Add spices and cook a few minutes until fragrant.

Add carrot and potato to pan and cook until nearly soft, then add zucchini and allow them to finish cooking together.  It may be necessary to add a bit of water to the pan to keep the vegetables from sticking.  Alternatively, speed up cooking times by boiling the potato in a separate pot while the onions soften, then add to the pan with the carrot.

Add chickpeas, greens, and coconut and water, then stir through to wilt greens and allow flavors to meld.

Serve with naan (or pita bread as in photo!) or rice if desired.

Serves 2.

Black bean soup

Living in London, there are many things I miss about home. These include (but are not limited to) driving on the right, having a single tap for hot and cold water, not getting into awkward conversations about different definitions of the word "pants"... There are many gripes I could list (and, occasionally, do), but I generally manage to resist the urge, remembering that I live in a city that's an hour on the plane from most of Europe, has free entry to museums that hold much of the greatest art ever created, and is the birth-place of many culinary delights such as fish & chips and spotted dick. However, the one thing I have never gotten over is the severe lack of Mexican food. We have fantastic Indian food, a great selection of all the varieties of Chinese, wonderful Argentinian, Bolivian, and Colombian restaurants, but no, and I mean NO, burritos. I have seriously considered buying some super carnitas burritos when visiting home in CA, deep-freezing them, and bringing them wrapped in ice on the plane. Unfortunately, I have a suspicion that this may go contrary to most customs regulations.

We did have one stroke of luck when Wahaca opened in the last year or so. It is a great restaurant serving very tasty and mostly authentic Mexican food. I have to say that the burritos are just not the same -- they don't come wrapped in foil, which automatically disqualifies them in my book -- but they do some mean quesadillas and an amazing pork pibil. My favorite dish, however, is the humble bowl of black beans topped with queso fresco.

I was inspired to recreate this one weekend. Despite my predilection for canned beans, I have been experimenting with cooking my own from dried. I therefore ended up with a large container of black beans last week. Wanting a quick meal, I gussied them up with some onions, garlic, cumin and chipotle. I added some tomatoes for flavor and some early spring greens for color. It wasn't Mexico, but it took me a little farther south than the English Channel.

Black bean soup

1 medium onion, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

1/2 Tsp. cumin

A pinch of dried chipotle flakes

2 C. black beans

1 can tomatoes

1-2 C. vegetable broth

Sweat the onion and garlic until soft. Add cumin and chipotle flakes and stir around to release their aromas. Add the can of tomatoes, black beans and vegetable broth and bring to a boil.

Remove half of the soup and blend the remainder until smooth, either in a blender (having cooled off) or with an immersion blender. Return the chunky half to the pot, reheat if necessary.

Garnish with queso fresco (or, in my case, Wensleydale) and cilantro. Que rico!

Serves 2.

Butter bean, Brussels sprouts and potato soup

Maybe because my family didn't like Brussels sprouts, I never had them growing up.  The first time I had one was at a nice restaurant, in my mid-20s, and it was cooked to perfection.   Therefore I missed the revulsion that many people developed for the grayish-green, stinky, mushy sprouts of their childhood, and leapt straight into sprout love.

For a while, we were getting a vegetable box from a local farm that would send sprouts on the stalk.  If you've never seen sprouts on the stalk, only loose in the market, I suggest you search one out.  They are truly amazing.  Each stalk carries a true abundance of sprouts, so for a few months we had sprouts sprouting all over the place.  Luckily, I like them, and I converted my dining partner pretty quickly.  It may have helped that you can wave the sprout stalks around while saying things like "Luke, I am your father."

Sprouts are part of the brassica family, and like their distant relatives broccoli and cabbage, benefit from quick cooking to bring out their natural sweetness.   The problem with sprouts is that their leaves are so tightly packed that boiling tends to overcook the outside without touching the inside.  Fortunately, I got a tip from a TV appearance by Heston Blumenthal.  I trust the science geek chef implicitly in matters such as these, so when he said that the microwave, which cooks things from the inside out, was perfect for the tightly-wound sprouts.  As usual, he was right.  Microwaving Brussels sprouts for a few minutes, then drizzling a balsamic or mustard dressing over the top while warm, is a dish that would convert even the most entrenched sprout-hater.

Butter bean, Brussels sprouts and potato soup

1 medium onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

1 C. butter beans, cooked from scratch, plus cooking liquid

1 medium potato, cubed (approx. 1 C.)

1 C. sliced Brussels sprouts

Vegetable stock to make up liquid volume (depending on how much bean cooking liquid there is)

Salt and pepper to taste

Saute onion until soft, then add garlic and cook for a few minutes.  Add potato, cooking liquid from beans, enough vegetable stock to make up about 4 cups of liquid, and simmer until potatoes are soft.

Add butter beans, then stir in Brussels sprouts and cook just a few minutes, until they turn bright green with no hint of them going to the dark side.

Serves 2

Barley and quinoa stuffed squash

I never seem to have enough time or energy, so I love anything that gives me a little extra.  One pot meals?  Fantastic -- less to clean up.  Food that provides its own dish?  Even better.  Squash was made to become the golden bowl for any variety of fillings.  

Squash always seemed to be such a funny name for a plant that is, in fact, rather expansive.  A few bits of trivia: the English word "squash" derives from askuatasquash (a green thing eaten raw) from the Narragansett language (according to my Wikipedia).  The game of Squash seems to have gotten its name from a rather more literal description of what the ball does when it hits the wall.  And we also have Squash the drink, popular in England and the Commonwealth, which is a fruit-based juice concentrate that becomes a juice drink when diluted with water.  Imagine liquid Tang and you're on the right track.

I prefer my Squash to be of the green/yellow/orange thing eaten roasted variety.  I wouldn't recommend trying to hit one against a wall.

One squash of your choice.  Kabocha, sugar pumpkin, or delicata are all good since they have a generous cavity for stuffing.  This amount of stuffing will probably fill two butternut squash.

1 medium onion, chopped (or 4 fat green onions, sliced thinly)

1 large clove garlic, minced

3/4 C. barley

1/4 C. quinoa

2 C. water

1/4 C. dried cherries, chopped

1/4 C. toasted walnuts, chopped

1-2 T. balsamic vinegar

1 tsp salt, or to taste

2 T. chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 350.  Cut squash in half, brush with olive oil, and place cut side down on a pan into the oven and bake for approximately 45 minutes, or until tender.

 

In a medium saucepan, cook the onion and garlic until soft.  Add the barley and water, bring to the boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 15 minutes.  Add quinoa, and cook until the barley is soft and the quinoa has popped open (another 15 minutes or so).  Most of the water should have been absorbed, so watch the pan at this point so it doesn't burn.  

Stir in the cherries, walnuts, salt and vinegar to taste.  Stuff into the baked squash and return to the oven for 5 minutes.  Top with parsley.

Serves 2 as a main dish.

Butternut squash and black eyed pea chili

Soup can be a tricky dish to take to work.  Primarily, the fear of a spill is generally enough to make anyone avoid carrying it.  Plus, liquids are heavy.  However, a delicious, warming, homemade bowl of soup in the middle of an otherwise dreary working day puts those fears to rest.  (That and a really good, leak-proof piece of tupperware.)  I like to cook soup for dinner and take the leftover portion to work the next day.  Sometimes it's the only good thing about going to work.

Autumn has come and with it butternut squash and seasonal greens.  I roasted some squash on the weekend, and the remaining half languished in the fridge for a few days.  In the mood for something warming and subtly spicy, I imagined a lighter take on chili, something that celebrated the individual tastes of the ingredients.  Some leeks, kale, and a can of black eyed peas completed my vision.  (And mighty tasty too.)

1 leek, sliced into thin rounds

1 clove garlic, minced

1 tsp. cumin

1 tsp. red chili powder

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1 can chopped tomatoes, including juice

3 cups vegetable stock

1 can black eyed peas (or 1 cup frozen)

1/2 large butternut squash, roasted and cut into 1 inch cubes

several handfuls of kale, chopped

In a soup pot, saute leeks until soft, then add garlic and cook for another minute.   Add spices and cook until warmed through and fragrant.

Add tomatoes and vegetable stock.  Add peas, and simmer for 5 minutes.  Add squash and kale, cook until squash is heated through and the kale is soft.

Serves 2 for dinner, plus 1 for lunch.