Single Parent Week & Strawberry-Basil Sorbet

Apologies for my absence these past few days. Kevin left Sunday morning for a trip to Bloomington, IN, home of our doctoral alma mater, Indiana University. He's ensconced in ancient texts in the Lilly Library all week (although he freely admitted to absconding for a few hours to watch the European Champion League soccer match).

Meanwhile, I'm home alone with the Nickster who, while adorable, sweet, and fun, is exhausting--and demanding (e.g., "Mommy, take that phone out of your ear!"). I have been cooking, and photographing, but by the time Nick is tucked in, I'm wiped out.

But I cannot bear being away another moment, so here I am, typing outside while Nick plays with toy dinosaurs at my feet.

The subject I've been burning to blog of is noting short of extraordinary: Strawberry-Basil Sorbet.

Unlike the majority of my dessert creations, this was for a special occasion: Kevin's and my 6th wedding anniversary. Much like our wedding, our anniversary dinner was a quiet, intimate affair. Kevin made a pasta with portobellos and sausage and I made the dessert. I had planned on making a regular strawberry sorbet, but as I boiled the simple syrup, I mentioned to Kevin that I might try adding basil in a future batch.

"Why not add it now?" he asked.

Why not indeed. So I did.

We have a good crop of basil this year: lemon-basil, purple basil, and Italian basil. I picked a mix, and added them to the syrup, letting them steep for a about 15 minutes before straining.

The rest of the sorbet is a snap, pretty much puree, chill, then freeze. I like to add a tablespoon of alcohol to all of my sorbets; it's a tip I picked up from Sara Moulton (she is fabulous) on one of her cooking shows years ago. The small addition changes the finished texture of any sorbet from icy to creamy.

Apologies for the brevity of this post, but single parenthood calls (it sounds like this: " MOMMY!!!!!!!!")

Strawberry-Basil Sorbet

1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1 cup loosely packed fresh basil leaves, roughly chopped
4 cups quartered hulled fresh strawberries
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon vodka or orange liqueur

Combine water, sugar, and basil leaves in a medium saucepan. Stir over medium-high heat until sugar dissolves and mixture comes to boil. Reduce heat and simmer 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let steep 15 minutes; strain through fine mesh sieve (discard basil) and chill until cold.

Puree quartered strawberries in blender or processor until smooth. Add lime juice, vodka or liqueur, and basil sugar syrup; process until blended. Chill mixture until cold, about 1 hour.

Transfer strawberry mixture to ice cream maker and process according to manufacturer's instructions. Spoon sorbet into container; cover and freeze until firm, about 4 hours. Makes about 4 cups (Eight 1/2-cup servings).

Rice Noodle, Carrot and Mint Salad with Peanut-Lime Dressing

I've come down with a tenacious strain of spring cleaning-itis. It must be the beautiful weather; I want the house to look and feel light and fresh, too. So yesterday, the refrigerator and floors were scrubbed, the cookbooks were codified (and dusted), the equipment was polished and systematized, and last, the walk-in pantry (which was approaching nightmare status), was given a massive overhaul. In the process of that final activity, I discovered not one, or two, nor even three, but four jars of peanut butter.

The discovery got me thinking of my tried and true, though occasionally unorthodox, relationship with the stuff.

It's best if I begin with a confession: I'm a peanut butter deviant. When the masses opt for the normalcy of peanut butter and jelly, I reach for bananas, raisins, marmalade, or toasted coconut. Family socialization--namely a father for whom peanut butter is the foundation of his nutritional pyramid--explains these mild, sandwich-based transgressions, but it was my later exposure to Southeast Asian food that prompted my more serious peanut butter breaches.

It began with chicken satay and rice paper-wrapped spring rolls, served at a local Vietnamese restaurant, and accompanied by salty-sweet-sour chile-lime peanut sauce. I was infatuated. I attempted the sauce in the privacy of my own kitchen, where I whirled blenders-full of the peanut butter stuff, free from reproach. The early batches were ghastly--I had no sense of direction. But with the help of a short stack of Southeast Asian cookbooks, I blundered (and blendered) until I had it right. In the weeks to follow, most every food that passed my lips was enrobed in said sauce.

These days, peanut butter sneaks it's way into my stews, soups, marinades, wherever a touch of sweetness and creaminess are needed; I have no boundaries. It adds just the right note to the my carrot and noodle salad; a scant tablespoon, whisked into the dressing, helps the dressing coat the noodles, and balances the tang of the lime juice and umami of the fish sauce.

Though I think it is just right as is, it is delicious with chicken or tofu, too, to make it more of a main dish to (I didn't want Kevin to say "we're having carrot noodles for dinner???").

One final confession. It turns out that a two-year-old can temper one's peanut butter ways: before making the salad, I sat down with Nick to share and savor my/our new favorite snack: plain peanut butter on plain graham crackers. Straight-laced can be darned delicious, too.


 
Rice Noodle, Carrot and Mint Salad with Peanut-Lime Dressing 

Thai chile peppers are not available in my neck of the woods, so I opt for smaller, squatter red finger peppers when making Southeast Asian foods; they have a mild sweetness and just the right amount of zing to enliven the noodles without burning the palate.

I use my ersatz version of a mandolin (it looks like a piece of infomercial junk, but works well) to grate the carrots into long, thin shreds; it's not necessary--a box grater is fine, too--but I like the way the mandolin-cut mimics the noodles in size and shape.

4 ounces rice vermicelli noodles
3 tablespoons Thai fish sauce (e.g., naam pla) (or Braggs aminos if making it vegan/vegetarian)
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 teaspoons freshly grated lime zest
1 tablespoon light brown sugar
1 tablespoon creamy-style peanut butter
2 shallots, finely sliced
2 red chiles, very thinly sliced crosswise (or 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper)
3 large carrots, peeled, then finely grated
About 1 packed cup fresh cilantro leaves, chopped
1/4 cup roasted, lightly salted peanuts, chopped
Optional: shredded chicken or diced firm tofu

Follow the package directions to soak the noodles until soft and pliable.

Meanwhile, whisk the fish sauce, lime juice, lime zest, sugar, peanut butter, shallots and chiles in a large bowl; let sit about 5 minutes (to dissolve the sugar).

Add the carrots, drained noodles and cilantro and toss everything together. Top with the peanuts. Makes 4 servings.

Skillet Chicken Sausages with Grapes and Onions

As a child, I never thought much about weather. The San Francisco East Bay is temperate year-round: winter meant a switch to long sleeves, perhaps a sweater, and summer, short sleeves...and perhaps a sweater. There was no switching of wardrobes, perhaps explaining why closets in early- to mid-century California houses (such as my parents') are (a) tiny, or (b) absent altogether.

East Texas is no East Bay. I cannot complain too much; most of the year is mild, warm, and sunny. Gone are my Indiana graduate school winters of snowbanks and frozen windshields, hallelujah, and here to stay are idyllic springs with glorious flora and fauna.

But summers in East Texas are a full-scale assault. This part of Texas is lush and wooded, which makes for great beauty, but also stifling humidity mid-May to late September. Add to that consistent complements of 90-100 degree temperatures and mosquito sieges. We spend much of the damp, sticky season under self-imposed house arrest, with only the occasional parole for snowcones and swimming.

The sweltering began anew three weeks ago (high 90s), which explains why Sunday morning was a shock. I opened the back door to feed kitty, and I was cold.

61 degrees. 61 degrees! A shocking 20 degrees lower than the previous morning. And fog to boot, a soft, gray blanket of dewy cool. This is the summer I grew up with, the summer I still miss. I grabbed my sweater, Kevin, and Nick, and together we skipped church to sip coffee, nibble toast & jam, and play catch in the backyard. We also chuckled over the final set of English paper bloopers:

*The sock market is back on the upswing (thank goodness! my argyle supply is low...)
*Norfolk, Virginity (I imagine the population is dwindling)
*my grandparents only read nonelectronic books (they must be very old...)
*The Renaissance papacy was extravagant; the Poop was omnificent (poop does have that power, spread in the right places)

The lazy morning progressed into a lazy afternoon. Kevin headed to his workshop to finish the construction of a specialized sander (I don't think I've mentioned before now that he is a woodworker in between the English professoring):


And once the sun emerged, Nick and I headed to the park to swing, slide, and frolic. Dinner was the last thing on my mind, so upon our return at 6:30, I had neither a plan nor groceries.

I scavenged the deep freeze. Hmm..chicken apple sausages. But what else? A peak in the produce bin confirmed what I already knew: no salad greens, no vegetables (save for some aging scallions). But as I continued to stare, the one item in decent supply--red seedless grapes--sparked a memory. Roasted sausages with grapes, or Salsicce con l'Uva . I'd made one version from Gourmet several years back that I liked very much, but after looking up the recipe on epicurious, I realized I didn't have quite enough grapes. But a second recipe on the same site, from 2002, used far fewer grapes, and added onions to the mix. So I improvised, combining the best of both recipes, keeping the preparation on the stovetop, limiting the vinegar to two tablespoons, and adding a bit of fresh rosemary from the garden. Nick aided in the final bit:


The results were smashing, if I do say so myself. Easy, gorgeous, and that perfect combination of different, yet familiar. What a wonderful day.




Enlightened Chicken Sausages with Onions & Grapes

I served this with a quick, soft polenta; I used a recipe from Cooking Light (but used regular yellow cornmeal in place of the quick polenta). Need I say delicious?
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 chicken-apple sausages
2 medium yellow onions, sliced
2 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary
2 cups seedless red grapes
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet set over a medium heat. Add the sausages; cook 4-5 minutes, turning every so often. Stir in the onions, then leave to cook for 5-6 minutes more until the sausages are browned and the onions softened.

Add the garlic, rosemary and grapes to the pan. Cook and stir 5 minutes longer until the grapes are starting to soften. Add the vinegar to the skillet. Cook 3-4 minutes longer until the onions are sticky and caramelized. Makes 4 servings.
Nutrition per Serving (1 sausage, 1/4 of the onion-grape mixture): Calories 222; Fat 3.8g (poly 1.2g, mono 1.4g, sat 0.7g); Protein 37g; Fiber: 2.3g; Cholesterol 99mg; Carbohydrate 27g.

Lemon & Coriander Chocolate Budini

School's out, and I'm celebrating with chocolate.

I may have left behind both my life as a student and as a professor, but after spending close to two decades of my adult life in the academy, my inner-clock is forever set to the semester system. But my English professor-husband is still fully ensconced in college life and its accompanying timetable, so I can lionize vicariously through him and his completion of another round of classes.

My giddy mood is also explained by the fact that Kevin is an English professor; this means that, come semester end, he compiles a fresh list of giggle-worthy grammar and spelling errors from final papers and exams. My favorite from last semester was Emma Bovary's tragic tail...

Our mutual friend Jeff (a friend from grad school, also an English professor) took all, though, with the following, both of which appeared in student bibliographies:

(1) The distinguished publishing house of Penguin Boobs, and
(2) Shakespeare's early tragedy, Tits Andronicus

I'm keeping fingers crossed that this year's crop will deliver a few chuckles. But whether the exams and papers are perfection or hilarity, we'll be eating some chocolate tonight.

Here’s the thing about my relationship with chocolate: I love it, but I’m no chocolate purist. Rather, I typically temper it with something else: peanut butter, spices, citrus, herbs, chile peppers, whipped cream, and on and on. Seems I like chocolate best when its playing the role of Romeo to another ingredient.

Case in point, this chocolate pudding. I'm calling it budini, but that's Italian for puddings. Why play with your food if you can't play with the accompanying language, too?

I’ve infused fresh basil, chipotle peppers, and lavender into chocolate creations before now, but the combination of citrus zest and coriander is a new one for me. I'm very fond of the way the fruity, mellow notes of ground coriander play off of lemon in savory dishes, so why not in sweet? Better still, in chocolate?

An unrestrained licking of the bowl confirmed my suspicions as correct; lemon and coriander belong in chocolate. This comes together in no time, so whisk and enjoy! Kevin may bring home some doozies after a day of grading, but I'm confident my chocolate budini will trump all.



Lemon & Coriander Chocolate Budini

2/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch process)
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons grated lemon zest
4 cups lowfat milk (preferably 2%)
3 large egg yolks, lightly beaten
2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon ground coriander
Optional: tiny dollops of whipped cream, chocolate shavings

Combine the sugar, cocoa powder, cornstarch, salt, and zest in a large saucepan. Gradually add milk, stirring with a whisk. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring constantly. Cook 1 minute, stirring constantly.

Place egg yolks in a large bowl. Gradually strain hot milk mixture through a fine mesh sieve into bowl of egg yolks, stirring constantly. Return milk mixture to pan. Cook over medium heat 5 minutes or until mixture is thick, stirring constantly. Remove mixture from heat, and add chopped chocolate, lemon juice and coriander, stirring until the chocolate melts.

Spoon pudding into a small bowl. Place bowl in a large ice-filled bowl for 15 minutes or until pudding is cool, stirring occasionally. Remove bowl from ice. Spoon pudding into small glasses or ramekins. Cover and chill. Makes 6 servings.

Nutrition per Serving (1 budini):Calories 262; Fat 8.7g (sat 5.1g, mono 2.1g, poly 0.3g); Protein 8.4g; Cholesterol 119mg; Carbohydrate 43g; Sodium 138mg.
(Note: I did the nutrition analysis using Diet Analysis Plus 7.0.1)

Peas Read

Brilliance, beauty, and kindness must be recognized, especially if they come in one neat package. Hence I am writing about my friend Eralda, and her new food blog, The Split Pea.

I met Eralda a year and a half ago. She was one of my husband's graduate students (her husband, Brian, too), and they came to our house for a grad student Christmas party. I liked her immediately. Charming, beautiful, and warm, Eralda put me at ease, an effect I've since learned she has on most everyone who knows her.

I soon discovered she has a little boy the same age as Nick, so we had an easy entree to conversation that first night. But it was when another graduate student (and fellow mother) at the party cornered us for an exhortation of the virtues of cloth diapers, with detailed descriptions of assorted baby poops (size, color, texture) and thier abilities to break down in the washing machine with said diapers, that I knew I had found a kindred spirit: we could barely suppress the confluence of gags and giggles.

It wasn't until several months later that I learned Eralda is a brilliant cook. She plays with herbs and spices, tries new things (often), experiments with a range of cuisines (including her native Albania), bakes as well as cooks, and does it all with generosity, the true mark of any great cook. Once you read her blog, it will come as no surprise that she is a creative writer, too.

Her first post is up; as good as it is, I cannot wait for more.

*************************************************************************


All of the above will undoubtedly embarass Eralda beyond measure (sorry Eralda, it's all true), so I'll switch gears to talk about a recipe.

The name of Eralda's blog hooked my brain on the subject of peas. Before I get to the culinary conclusion of this brain lock, I'll reveal one of my tricks for ensuring I eat my vegetables.

I love vegetables, but despite my joy in eating them, and my pleasure in cooking in general, I find that if I don't make a concerted effort, I end up consuming little more than a handful at dinnertime. Sure, I put spinach leaves on my sandwiches, and eat salads often, but woman cannot live by spinach sandwiches and salad alone. And if I make the mistake of vegetable zealotry at lunchtime--a recent everything-but-the-kitchen-sink vegetable stir-fry comes to mind; heaven help me, I even threw in some kale--I end up strangly stuffed yet starving, and subsequently grumpy.

My solution is pureed vegetable soups. I like to sip hot things in general--coffee, tea, yerba mate. So I've taken to throwing vegetables into a pot of simmering broth, seasoning with a short list of herbs and spices, cooking until tender, then pureeing in the blender until smooth. No cream required; the blender renders silken soups without added dairy. The results are easily sipped or spooned, go down easily, are loaded with nutrition, and most importantly, are darn delicious.

Back to the peas.

I've made carrot, spinach, broccoli, tomato, and pumpkin in recent weeks, but why not peas? Frozen peas--the petite ones--are one of the best buys around, from the multiple perspectives of flavor, quality, convenience, and good health. And I knew from pureeing them in the past that thier starchiness makes for a notably velvet texture.

I kept the ingredients to a minimum, making fresh mint from the garden my principle flavor note. It tastes like spring in a spoon. Thanks for the inspiration, Eralda.




Fresh Mint & Petite Pea Soup

Frozen peas are loaded with nutrition: they're a good source of Protein, Carbohydrates, Vitamin C, Vitamin B6, Riboflavin, Thiamin, Niacin and Iron, and an excellent source of Vitamin K1 and Folic acid.

The peas don't cook long, just enough to blend the flavors yet maintain the bright green hue.

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 and 1/2 cups chopped onion (about 1 large onion)
2 16-ounce packages frozen petite peas, divided use
5 cups low sodium vegetable broth
2-3 teaspoons lemon juice
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaves
Optional: Plain nonfat yogurt, stirred

Heat the oil in a large saucepan set over medium-high heat. Add the onion and sauté 5minutes until translucent. Reserve one cup of peas. Add the broth and remaining peas. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and simmer 3 minutes.

Working in batches, puree soup in blender until completely smooth. Return soup to same saucepan. Bring to simmer and thin with more broth if desired/needed. Stir in half of the mint and 2-3 teaspoons of the lemon juice, to taste. Generously season with salt and pepper to taste.

Sprinkle with reserved peas and remaining mint and, if so inclined (I am), drizzle or dollop with yogurt. Makes 8 servings.

Nutrition per Serving:Calories 118; Fat 0.9g (sat 0g, mono 0.4g, poly 0.5g); Protein 3.4g; Cholesterol 0mg; Fiber 2.6g; Carbohydrate 9.2g; Sodium 449mg.

Fast FoodL Antipasto Pasta and Arroz Con Pollo

Most critics of “fast food” object to the “food” component of the term: it’s too fatty, caloric, salty, processed, and the list goes on.

I agree a diet built on a foundation of assorted McMorsels will lead to ill health, but I’m no extremist; it seems silly to bemoan an occasional hamburger & fries indulgence, particularly if healthy choices are made the majority of the time.

Instead, my objection to “fast food” is the adjective “fast.” If hunger strikes in the midst of scaling Mount Laundry, for example, the least efficient thing I can imagine doing is leaving the comfort of my AC (no small thing in East Texas), loading Nick and myself into the car, only to drive to a line of 15+ cars all waiting for the same “quick” fix.

But fast food is available, in healthy, delicious form, from my own kitchen. It doesn’t come with a plastic toy for Nick, or a vanilla milkshake for me (shhh), but for speedy dinners—the meal I am most often pooped for—I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Consider my interpretations of antipasto pasta and arroz con pollo. These two recipes have little in common save for their speed and convenience (and jars of roasted red bell peppers—why are these so well-priced when fresh red peppers are exorbitant?). Each is ready in minutes, a cinch to prepare, and made from pantry ingredients.

The pasta was supper last night; I've been nibbling on a bowl of re-warmed leftovers in between typing. You could add some cooked chicken (that's a direct quote from Kevin), but I like it without--it's hearty with the whole grain pasta, and the Barilla brand has added protein, too. Besides, adding chicken is one more step, and one I'm willing to nix.

I made the arroz con pollo about a month ago, when I was in the blogging doldrums. I photographed it, but it's been waiting for a spot on the blog since. It shoehorned easily into today's topic. Sofrito, a sautéed mixture of onion, bell pepper, and garlic, is the typical base of arroz con pollo. It's missing, technically, in my speedy version, but makes a stealth entrance by way of the chunky salsa, which delivers the aromatic trio, along with tomatoes, in one fell swoop. It's such a good weeknight meal; you barely need to blink to bring it together, but you'll be wide awake once you dig in.

Antipasto Pasta

I think just about anything is better with goat cheese, and if I were a single woman, I would top this pasta with goat cheese every time. But Kevin holds that goat cheese should have boundaries, and is best on a baguette. Whether Parmesan or goat cheese, you'll love this.

1 16-ounce package multigrain penne pasta (e.g., Barilla Plus)
1 28-ounce jar good quality chunky marinara sauce
1 4-ounce jar marinated artichokes, drained, halved
1 10 to 12-ounce jar roasted red bell peppers, drained, cut into strips
1/4 cup pitted kalamata olives
1 packed cup fresh basil leaves, sliced or chopped
1/2 cup finely grated parmesan cheese OR 1/2 cup crumbled goat cheese

Cook pasta in a large saucepan of boiling, salted water, following package directions, until tender. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup pasta water.

Meanwhile, place the marinara sauce, artichokes, peppers, and olives in a medium saucepan. Bring to the boil over medium high heat. Reduce heat to low. Simmer for 5 minutes or until sauce thickens.

Add sauce to pasta. Stir to combine. If desired, add some of the cooking water if too thick. Top with basil and cheese. Serve. Makes 6 servings.

Nutrition per Serving (1/6 of pasta dish):Calories 294; Fat 6.4g (poly 0.4g, mono 1.7g, sat 3.1g); Protein 11.6g; Cholesterol 24mg; Carbohydrate 41.8g; Fiber 7.2g; Sodium 795mg)(Note: I did the nutrition analysis using Diet Analysis Plus 7.0.1)


Rápido Arroz Con Pollo (I've been watching a lot of Dora the Explorer, lately...)

I'm not sure when garlic powder went out of fashion, but I still keep a jar on hand when the thought of peeling a few garlic cloves is enough to send me over the edge. There's nothing artifical about it: it's pure garlic, dried and pulverized to a powder. I find it works best in stews, soups and casseroles, including this stovetop "casserole," where it can blend in and develop its flavor with other herbs and spices.
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 tablespoon Hungarian (sweet) paprika
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 cup long-grain white rice
2 cups (1 16-ounce jar) thicky and chunky-style salsa
1 and 1/3 cups low sodium chicken broth
2 cups cooked chicken, chopped or shredded
1 10 to 12-ounce jar roasted red bell peppers, drained, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup finely chopped ham
1/4 cup coarsely chopped cilantro or flat-leaf parsley leaves
2 tablespoons lime juice

Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add paprika, cumin, garlic powder, and turmeric and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds until aromatic.

Add the rice, salsa, and broth. Bring to the boil. Reduce heat to low and cook, covered, for 18 minutes or until rice is tender.

Add the chicken, peppers, ham, lime juice and cilantro, and cook, stirring, for 2-3 minutes or until heated through. Remove from heat. Divide the arroz con pollo among serving bowls and serve immediately. Makes 4 servings.

Nutrition per Serving (1/4 of recipe):
Calories 331; Fat 3.1g (poly 0.4g, mono 1.4g, sat 1.0g); Protein 7.7g; Cholesterol 3.1mg; Carbohydrate 47.3g; Fiber 5.1; Sodium 793mg)
(Note: I did the nutrition analysis using Diet Analysis Plus 7.0.1)

Roasted Sweet Potato Salad with Fresh Herbs & Sherry Dressing

I had no plans to write about last night's dinner; Kevin grilled some chicken, and I made a salad from the May issue of Bon Appetit. A pleasant, easy Mother's Day meal, but not one for the blog.
But as I gazed down at the assembled salad, I changed my mind. It looked stunning in its simplicity of sweet potatoes, peppers, and herbs, and after a few forkfuls, I was enamored. I whipped out the camera and snapped some pics.

The salad in question is Roasted Sweet Potato Salad with Red Bell Peppers. In the end, a post is justified, as I made a number of changes. For example, I left out the jalapeno (it's heresy to say this in Texas, but I'm not a fan) and added hot smoked paprika (pimenton) to the potatoes before they roasted. I'm also specifying the amount of salt, because you need ample seasoning on the potatoes to make the salad sing. Since this salad was chosen in very large part because I had everything I needed on hand, I swapped 1/2 a medium onion for the shallots (none of the latter in my larder), and, for the same reason, used cooking Sherry in place of the mirin.

Finally, the salad was crying for acid upon first taste, so I added a tablespoon of Sherry vinegar. When next I make this, I will add the vinegar at the same time as the Sherry, as I've indicated in my directions below.

The salad is exceptional served warm (warmer than room temperature), and the leftovers today at lunch were equally scrumptious. This is definitely a salad to impress, and according to my wry husband, that is praise indeed for a salad.



Roasted Sweet Potato Salad with Fresh Herbs, Red Pepper, & Sherry Dressing

Nonstick vegetable oil spray
3 3/4 pounds red-skinned sweet potatoes (yams), peeled, cut into 3/4-inch cubes
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided use
1 and 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon smoked hot paprika (or 1/4 teaspoon cayenne)
2/3 cup thinly sliced onion (about 1/2 of a medium onion)
1 red bell pepper, seeded and very thinly sliced
1 1/2 tablespoons sweet Sherry
1 tablespoon Sherry vinegar
4 large green onions, chopped
2/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro leaves

Preheat oven to 400°F. Spray 2 large rimmed baking sheets with nonstick spray. Toss potatoes with 1 tablespoon oil in large bowl; divide between sheets. Sprinkle with the salt and smoked paprika. Roast 10 minutes. Reverse sheets and roast until potatoes are tender and browned, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes longer. Transfer to large bowl.

Heat remaining 2 tablespoons oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add sliced onion and sauté 3 minutes. Add bell pepper; sauté until beginning to soften, about 3 minutes. Add Sherry and vinegar; simmer 1 minute. Mix in green onions and stir 15 seconds. Scrape mixture over potatoes. Mix in cilantro. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve warm or at room temperature. Makes 8-10 servings.

Devonshire Tea for Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day!

It may be 90 degrees plus 100% humidity today in Texas, but that's not keeping me from having the one thing I want to have at 4 pm on a day that is all about me: Devonshire Tea.

Forget the brunch, or formal luncheon. After a few days on the road in Philadelphia (jointly spent across the river in glorious Camden, NJ; alas, not pleasure, but work at the Campbell's Kitchen HQ), I've wanted nothing but favorites on my plate this weekend, which meant yogurt and fruit for breakfast, Greek salad for lunch, and now my tea: a pot of Darjeeling, warm scones, a bit of cream, and jam.

Kevin's turning or sanding some piece of wood in his shop as I type, sip, and nibble, and Nick is napping, so I have time to tell you about the scones.

This is my favorite scone recipe. I am pretty sure it originated in a newspaper food column I clipped from the San Francisco Chronicle ages ago, but I cannot locate it (I didn't look very hard). It doesn't matter, though, because with a mere four ingredients, it is easy to memorize.

Actually, the original had only three ingredients. It was meant to be a biscuit, but the texture, but I felt from the start that the tender texture was more suitable to a scone, so I added a bit of sugar, and ta-da: a foolproof scone recipe.

Unable to leave well enough alone, I decided to try the recipe with a bit of whole wheat. I have never seen whole wheat self-rising flour before, so I decided to make my own. The essential recipe for a self-rising flour is 1 cup flour to 1 and 1/2 teaspoons baking powder and 1/2 teaspoon salt. So for a whole wheat variation, I use 1/2 all-purpose flour and 1/2 white whole wheat flour. The scones baked up as tender and delectable as ever, with a new hint of nuttiness from the white whole wheat flour.

And because today is a splurge day, I whipped up some Devonshire cream. Grant it, it's is not the real thing, but it tastes very close. True Devonshire cream comes from Devonshire County, England, and is a thick, buttery cream. It is also known as Devon cream and clotted cream. But all you really need to know is that, along with jam, it is the very best thing to eat with warm scones. My mock version is merely a light cream cheese-enriched whipped cream, whipped with a hint of sugar and a pinch of salt. I could have made a half-recipe this afternoon, but it keeps well for several days, so it will make it's way onto the raspberries and strawberries that have been on sale.

To tea (and, more importantly, the accompanying scones)!


Camilla's 4-Ingredient Basic Scones

3 cups white whole wheat self-rising flour (see recipe below)
1/4 cup sugar
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) salted butter, cubed
1 and 1/4 cups 1% lowfat milk

Preheat oven to 400°F. Lightly dust a cookie sheet with plain flour. Whisk self-rising flour and sugar in a large bowl.

Using your fingertips, rub butter into flour mixture until it resembles breadcrumbs.

Make a well in the centre. Add 1 cup of milk. Mix with a wooden spoon until mixture forms a soft dough, adding more milk if required. Turn onto a lightly floured surface. Knead gently until smooth (don't knead dough too much or scones will be tough).

Pat dough into a 1/2 inch-thick round. Using a 2-inch round cutter, cut out 12 rounds. Gently press dough together and cut out remaining 4 rounds. Place scones onto prepared baking tray, 1/2-inch apart. Sprinkle tops with a little plain flour. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until golden. Transfer to a wire rack. Serve warm with jam and cream. Makes 12 scones.

White Whole Wheat Self-Rising Flour Recipe

You can use this in any recipe calling for self-rising flour.

1 and 1/2 cups white whole wheat flour (e.g., King Arthur brand)
1 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 and 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 and 1/2 tablespoons baking powder

Combine all ingredients; store in tightly covered can or jar. Use in any recipe calling for self-rising flour. Makes 3 cups.

Mock Devonshire Cream

3 ounces 1/3-less fat cream cheese, room temperature
1 tablespoon sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup whipping cream

Place all of the ingredients in a large bowl. With an electric mixer, beat mixture until stiff peaks form. Store in refrigerator in a covered container. Makes about 1 and 1/2 cups.

Cardamom-Honey Yogurt with Strawberry Coulis (4 ingredients)

Happy May Day!

It's no mistake that my post is on Sunday, May 3rd. Today is the official May Day at my alma mater, Bryn Mawr College; it was always celebrated on the Sunday just before or after May 1st.

Bryn Mawr is a school steeped in traditions. The list is long, but they include Lantern Night (a a welcoming of the freshwomen into the academic community of Bryn Mawr; we get our lanterns with owls, BMC's mascot), Parade Night, Hell Week (it really did feel like hell; it can be yours, too, for the bargain tuition price of $30,000 per annum! But it is worth it; hell week has a twist, but keeping the secret is another tradition), Teas (parties), and the Senior Steps & Senior Row (walk on, up or down either, and tradition has it you will not graduate).

But May Day was everyone's favorite, in part because it signals the end of the semester, but mostly because it is a day of dancing, partying, lolling on the grass with friends (no small deal at a school where Sundays are universally intense with study), and dancing around the Maypole:

I should add that the grandeur of the Maypole dancing is countered shortly afterward by an unofficial Mayhole dance, a wry feminist response to the traditional English fertility rite. It's a hoot.

Then there's the food. Bryn Mawr was unlike other colleges in that the cafeteria food was consistently good, and very often great. Rather than one enormous cafeteria, Bryn Mawr has multiple dining halls, and much of the food was made in-house (instead of being purchased en masse from Sysco). We had special dinners throughout the year, but May Day was the big blowout, beginning at dawn with strawberries and cream, followed by more strawberries and cream, and more strawberries and cream. Plenty of other delectables played accompaniment, but none surpassed the simple joy of the strawberries and cream.

It's been more than a few years since I've marked the day in any way, but after seeing a clip of maypole dances on CNN on the 1st, I picked up a packet of strawberries for Sunday breakfast.

Since I am loathe to miss my morning yogurt, and because (often to Kevin's chagrin, I like to mess with classics), I put a twist on my May Day memory: Greek yogurt whisked with honey and cardamon, topped with a no-cook blender coulis of strawberries and honey.

Oh me oh my; this is exemplary of a recipe that is greater than the sum of its parts. I'm already making plans to serve this to guests, it's that good. Happy May Day.

Cardamom-Honey Yogurt with Strawberry Coulis

2 cups nonfat yogurt (regular or Greek-style)
4 tablespoons honey, divided use
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 and 1/2 cups strawberries, hulled

Whisk the yogurt, 3 tablespoons of the honey, and cardamom in a medium bowl until blended. Divide yogurt between two short glasses.

Puree the strawberries and remaining tablespoon honey in a blender until smooth. Divide over the yogurt. Serve immediately, or chill until ready to serve. Makes 2 servings.