Chana punjabi May 8, 2009

We’ve just passed the one month mark in the countdown to our big cross-country move.   That means that instead of picking out a few new recipes to try each week, buying new ingredients, and planning menus, we’re starting to think about clearing out the cabinets.   Some things are going to pose more of a challenge than others.  For instance, I’m dreading the day that Dylan decides to pull out those cans of smoked oysters that have been sitting silent in the back for years.  Is there any hope that the expiration date will save us from having to eat them?  And what of all of the unusual flours and powders bought to try to replicate an Irish soda bread I once tasted at Whole Foods? I don’t think that tapioca flour has made it into anything since then.

If only everything were as easy as cans of chickpeas. If only my pantry were filled with them, rather than with half-eaten bags of marshmallows and potato starch. This recipe for chana punjabi, found on the Wednesday Chef, would be my go-to dish, a low-maintenance staple to turn to at the end of the day, just as good leftover as hot off the stove. You don’t need to have a deep love of Indian food to appreciate this simple, flavorful meal. Although nearly all of the ingredients are pantry staples, it has a fresh, bright taste with complex flavors.  Dee-lish. Do as the Wednesday Chef suggests and double the recipe- it’s a lot of chickpeas, but I doubt you’ll tire of it.

Chana Punjabi (serves 2-4)

Ingredients:
1 tablespoon canola oil or other vegetable oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 teaspoon minced ginger
1 small Thai bird chili, chopped or 1 jalapeño, seeded and chopped
2 large tomatoes, chopped or a 14-ounce can of diced tomatoes, drained
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon salt, or as needed
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon garam masala
1/4 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, drained
2 tablespoons minced cilantro
Cooked rice for serving (optional)

1. In a medium saucepan over medium-low heat, heat oil and add onion. Sauté until translucent and soft, about 5 minutes. Add garlic, ginger and chili, and sauté until soft and fragrant, about 3 minutes. Add tomatoes and 1/4 cup water. Cover and cook until tomatoes are very soft, about 5 minutes, then remove from heat.

2. Purée mixture in blender or food processor until smooth. Return to pan and place over medium heat. Add paprika, 1 teaspoon salt, coriander, the garam masala, turmeric and lemon juice. Add chickpeas and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low.

3. Cover and simmer until sauce is thick and chickpeas are soft, 45 minutes to 1 hour. Stir pan about every 10 minutes, adding water as needed (up to 1 1/2 cups) to prevent burning. When ready to serve, sauce should be thick. If necessary, uncover pan and allow sauce to reduce for a few minutes, stirring frequently, until desired consistency. Stir in cilantro, adjust salt as needed and serve with cooked rice, if desired.

Caramelized tofu with brussels sprouts April 22, 2009

Having a baby does not do wonders for the brain.   Between the sleep deprivation (which is, thankfully, largely a thing of the past for me now) and having your attention pulled in every direction, a new mother’s memory is like a sieve.  Or swiss cheese, to use a metaphor more appropriate to this blog.  There is evidence that it’s a hormonally-induced amnesia and there have also been arguments made that it’s an evolutionary adaptation that allows parents to focus on their children’s survival, letting the less important stuff fall to the wayside.  I’m even heard it said that the memory loss common to new mothers is adaptive in that it makes them forget the pain of childbirth, increasing the likelihood that they’ll be willing to go through it all again.  That one always seemed a bit far-fetched to the biological anthropologist in me.

Adaptive or not, the memory loss and intellectual slugishness are very real and being hyper-organized can only take you so far in combating it, or so I’ve learned.  There remain those little tell-tale signs that part of your mind is always somewhere else.  Like trying to take a drink of a bottle of water without taking the cap off first (did that yesterday).  Or losing your keys- yeah, I know everyone does that but I swear I never did until I had a baby.  Or perhaps less commonly, trying to caramelize tofu using bulgur.  WHA???

We keep all of our grains and various bulk goods in see-through bags in a large bin and yes, my addled mind mistook bulgur for a nice coarse-grained brown sugar.  It was only after about 10 minutes of sauting, with no hint of the “sugar” melting and caramelizing that I caught on to the fact that something might be wrong. Looking wretchedly at the skillet upon what looked like a pile of tofu absolutely caked and coated with sugar, bemoaning what seemed to be shaping up as a particularly unfortunate meal, I finally tasted a chunk of the tofu. Surprisingly unsweet, yet with a distinctive crunchy chew. A quick look in the gain bin confirmed that I had, in fact, substituted bulgur for sugar.

Some cooks might abandon the meal right there, but I decided to persevere as though the tofu were not entirely coated in bulgur and I can safely say that the dish dramatically improved once the sugar was added and it caramelized. In fact, it was pretty tasty and a nice change from the strictly savory dinners that we usually have. Let me suggest, however, that adding bulgur will not improve the dish, so one might consider leaving it out and sticking to the original recipe. Just a thought.

The original bulgur-free recipe can be found here on Serious Eats and was based on this recipe from the wonderful 101 Cookbooks.

[As if to prove my own point, it 's taken me over a week to sit down and concentrate for long enough to write this post. When I tried to return to finish it just now after several days away from blogging, though I remembered that I was writing about maternal forgetfulness, I couldn't for the life of me recall which draft I had actually been working on...sigh.]

Caramelized tofu with brussels sprouts (serves 4)

Ingredients:
1 block of extra-firm tofu (about 16 oz), cut into thin 1-inch cubes
3 tablespoons olive or peanut oil
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup pecans, toasted and chopped
3 tablespoons fine-grain natural cane sugar or brown sugar
1/4 cup cilantro, chopped
1/2 pound Brussels sprouts, washed, ends trimmed off, and cut into 1/8-inch wide ribbons
Salt to taste
cooked rice for serving

1. Put a large skillet over medium heat and add oil. Add the tofu with a pinch of salt and cook until lightly browned, then add the garlic and pecans and cook until the garlic is soft and fragrant, about one minute.

2. Lower the heat and stir in the sugar, stirring often to avoid burning. Remove from heat and add the cilantro, then transfer to a warm plate.

3. Add the Brussels sprouts to the pan and stir and scrape to combine with any pan residue. Season with salt and cook, stirring only occasionally to promote browning, until there are golden bits and the sprouts turn a brighter hue.

4. Put rice on plates, transfer brussels sprouts mixture, and top with the tofu.

Warm butternut squash and chickpea salad with tahini April 10, 2009

When last I wrote, of drama and mashed potatoes, we were about to put an offer on a house among other momentous events. Well, dear readers, we now have a new home. Or to be more precise, we are under contract, as they say in home-buying lingo. We are waiting for the inspection, shopping mortgages, and dreaming about painting Maddie’s new room something other than the bizarre acid green that it currently is. Our tentative moving date is the first or second week of June, which leaves us just about two months to wrap up our Southern California lives, pack up our teensy-tiny apartment, and haul everything cross-county. (Speaking of which, has anyone ever driven cross-county with an infant? Is it as bad of an idea as I think it is?)

So here on Superspark, you may see some unusual, pantry-emptying recipes in the weeks to come. For instance, what will come of those canned oysters that have been sitting on the shelf for years? (If it’s up to me, they’ll quickly find a home in the trash, but I’ll let Dylan reserve the right to eat them if he so chooses. Canned molluscs, not my thing.) And what of the huge jar of preserved lemons I made last year? (Also the trash, in all likelihood- they didn’t turn out so hot.) How about the approximately 25 lbs of whole grains that we’ve stashed away or the giant, half-used vat of black bean paste? Oh, the possibilities!

Tahini is another one of those ingredients that often goes unnoticed and untouched for a long time in our house. There’s a great spinach salad with tahini dressing recipe that I’ve written about and love, but aside from that, I don’t have any “go-to” recipes with tahini. So I was hoping that this might turn out to be a classic, something that I’d want to make again and again to use up the remainder of the tahini in the house.

Weirdly, I had bookmarked the recipe multiple times in various spots, never remembering I’d seen it before: once from Smitten Kitchen, once from A Veggie Venture, once from Everybody Loves Sandwiches, and finally from Orangette, where it seems to have originally entered the blogosphere. With such a pedigree, it seemed like a no-brainer, sort of like the uber-popular roasted shrimp with broccoli recipe that the whole blogging world seems to have embraced.  But for all of the hype and hubbub, this recipe didn’t do that much for me. I mean, it was good enough- I like chick peas, I like butternut squash, and tahini is nice, but the build-up had been a bit much.  I might make it another time, but I wouldn’t particularly miss it if it never crossed my lips again.  For me this was an instance in which the sum of the ingredients was no greater than their parts, unfortunately.

If you were to recreate anything from this meal, incidentally, let it be the simple velveted chicken we had alongside the salad.  Learn how to “velvet” here (read on until the bottom) and even those who eschew the lowly boring chicken breast will become converts.

Warm Butternut and Chickpea Salad with Tahini Dressing (serves 4)

Ingredients:

For salad:
1 medium butternut squash (about 2 to 2 1/2 pounds), peeled, seeded, and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1 medium garlic clove, minced or pressed
1/2 teaspoons ground allspice (I skipped this)
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt
One 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained and rinsed (1 1/2 cups)
1/4 of a medium red onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro or parsley

For tahini dressing:
1 medium garlic clove, finely minced with a pinch of salt
1/4 cup lemon juice
3 tablespoons well-stirred tahini
2 tablespoons water
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more to taste

1. Preheat the oven to 425°F. In a large bowl, combine the butternut squash, garlic, allspice (if using), olive oil, and a few pinches of salt. Toss the squash pieces until evenly coated. Roast them on a baking sheet for 25 minutes, or until soft. Remove from the oven and cool.

2. Meanwhile, make the tahini dressing: In a small bowl, whisk together the garlic and lemon juice. Add the tahini, and whisk to blend. Add the water and olive oil, whisk well, and taste for seasoning.  You may need to add more water to thin it out.

3. To assemble the salad, combine the squash, chickpeas, onion, and cilantro or parsley in a mixing bowl. Either add the tahini dressing to taste, and toss carefully, or you could serve the salad with the dressing on the side. Serve immediately.

Colcannon April 7, 2009

There has been entirely too much drama in this house lately.  There are some people who thrive on drama, who go to lengths to create it and fuel the fires of excitement when things get a little too ordinary.   I generally find myself at the other end of the spectrum, now more than ever.  I feel like my everyday life is busy enough without added angst and unpredictability.  Heck, forgetting to set my alarm to get up in the morning sometimes sends me into a frenzy over how those lost 10 minutes will affect the rest of my day.

So you can imagine that when the perfect storm hit last week (Maddie’s freak fever, my maxillary sinus infection brought on by using prescription steroids for this weird eye thing I’ve been dealing with, and the shock of finding out my new salary was half what I had expected), I was in something of a tizzy.  Luckily things  evened out quickly with my infection subsiding and Maddie’s fever quickly resolving.  As for the job issue, well that’s still a work in progress, but I’m happy to report that said “dream job” is still in the works, with the salary slowly rising and a faculty title being added (I’m going to be an assistant professor- woo hoo!).   So all things are looking up in that respect.

At the same time, the drama goes on and the latest is that we’re about to put in an offer on our first house today.  Pretty big, huh? I kind of feel like I could use a year (or perhaps even a week or month) without something major occurring, a nice quiet period to go about my day to day business rather than constantly having something new and important brimming.  A little bit of boredom might even be welcome.

Admittedly that is a terrible way to transition into talking about this perfectly lovely recipe for colcannon, the traditional Irish mashed potato with cabbage.  This version is based on a recipe I bookmarked long ago on Everybody Loves Sandwiches, which used leeks.  It is simple, unassuming, comforting, and entirely undramatic.  You won’t get bold flavors or unexpected bursts of spice.  Rather you’ll find the smoothness of potato, the creaminess of butter, and the subtle hint of sauteed cabbage.  I tend not to be a fan of cabbage, but I was definitely digging this dish and Dylan went so far as to say it was the best use of cabbage in a recipe that he’d ever had, declaring that he would happily eat it whenever I might choose to make it again.

Colcannon (serves 4)

Ingredients:

4 red skinned potatoes, cut into quarters (I used Yukon Golds instead)
1/2 head of green cabbage, sliced
1 leek, (white and pale green parts only), cut into slices (I substituted 2 small onions)
1 cup whole milk
4 tbsp butter
salt & pepper to taste

1. In a medium pot, boil up the potatoes. Meanwhile, combine milk, cabbage, leeks, half the butter, salt and pepper into a large pot and bring to a simmer. Cook until the cabbage is soft, about 15 minutes.

2. When the potatoes are fork tender, drain well and add to the cabbage mixture. Mash with a potato masher, adding in remaining butter and more salt & pepper if necessary.

Tofu with hot and sour rhubarb sauce April 4, 2009

This is a recipe designed for “chefs” like me, who choose their recipes on titles alone, not bothering to look at the ingredient list until the last minute.  For those who are more inclined to think ahead, to peruse the component ingredients, thinking about how the flavors work together, you might be a bit stymied, if not downright turned off.  Your unease would be doubled if you looked at my substitutions- agave nectar for honey (as suggested in the original recipe) and gin for rice wine (as suggested online)- agave nectar, gin, rhubarb, tofu, and chili peppers? I’m not going to lie, as I whipped up this dish, intrigued as I was,  I was nevertheless fully prepared to hate the finished product. Dylan was even more doubtful but after hearing me yammer on for several weeks about how I wanted to try this very interesting recipe for a savory rhubarb dish (originally found here on Mostly Eating), he decided to play along.  There were, after all,  tamales, veggie burgers, and dumplings in the freezer if my creation turned out to be totally inedible.

But shock of all shocks, it was actually really good.  Just how the very unusual combination of ingredients managed to work together is beyond me, but the sauce was delicious, with a spicy kick and the tanginess of rhubarb.  We thought it would be great on chicken as well, if one wanted to do that sort of stir-fry.  In fact, my only objection to this dish was the kale.  Being fairly clueless about kale varietals, but knowing that black kale (or lacinato) is the trendy type that foodies prefer, I decided to go with that one.  In actuality, something softer and less aggressive might be better, even spinach or chard.  But beyond that, no complaints.  If you’re looking to move beyond the ordinary when using spring’s bounty of rhubarb, this one is worth a try.

Tofu with hot and sour rhubarb sauce (serves 4)

Ingredients:
The tofu and marinade:
1 Tbsp honey (or substitute agave nectar)
1 tsp five spice powder
Quarter tsp dried chili flakes
1 Tbsp vegetable oil (plus a little extra for cooking)
1 Tbsp rice wine (I substituted gin)
1 package plain firm tofu (14-20 oz), cut into chunks

The sauce:
400g rhubarb (about 3 stalks), trimmed and roughly chopped
A big thumb-sized piece of fresh ginger, peeled
A red chili (I subbed a jalapeno)
3 cloves garlic
3 Tbsp honey (or agave nectar)
3 Tbsp soy sauce

The topping:
1 red chili, finely sliced (again, subbed a jalapeno, but it was spicy enough without the additional topping)
2 Tbsp cashew nuts, roughly chopped
4 spring onions, finely sliced
A small handful fresh cilantro
2 limes, halved

The rice:
Brown rice (cooked, or substitute cooked white rice or noodles)
Kale, sliced (as much as you can fit in your pan as it will shrink down massively)
Sesame oil

1. Marinate the tofu by mixing all of the marinade ingredients together and pouring the marinade over the tofu. Mix and leave aside in the fridge for 2 hours or more.

2. Put all of the sauce ingredients into a food processor and blend until smooth. Pour the resulting puree into a saucepan and simmer for about 20 minutes.

3. Heat a tiny splash of oil in a non-stick pan and sauté the tofu slices until golden. Put aside somewhere warm.

4. Just before you are ready to serve, use the residual oil in the non-stick pan (add a little more if you need it) to cook the kale until it softens a little and turns bright green. Add the cooked rice to the kale along with a scant few drops of sesame oil.

5. To serve, dish out the rice/kale mix into warmed bowls, followed by the tofu and topped with the sauce. Finish by sprinkling over the topping ingredients, giving each person half a lime to garnish.

Whole wheat fusilli with swiss chard and balsamic roasted onions April 1, 2009

I have been in need of comfort of late.  Just when you think everything is going fabulously, a bump (or two or three) arises in the road, throwing your best laid plans asunder.  Already preoccupied by a couple of nagging health issues of my own, last weekend I awoke to Maddie’s screams in the middle of the night, something she hadn’t done in weeks.  In the past we had tried to give her a few minutes to settle herself, but this time there was an urgency to it and Dylan and I both quickly got up to find her in her crib with a high fever and her little body in periodic spasms.  No, they weren’t febrile seizures (thankfully) and yes, we have had her checked out by a doctor.  She’s fine, but fever in kids can do funny neurological things, and make new parents batty with anxiety.

While home from work and nursing her back to health on Monday, I was hit with more bad news in the form of a surprisingly, shockingly lowball salary offer for the otherwise “dream” job I was supposed to be starting this summer.   We’re talking so low that I thought perhaps they had accidentally given me a figure for half-time work.  To go into the details would be far too long and boring for people who come to this website looking for just a recipe and a bit of a break from the work day.  Suffice to say, that taking a large pay cut for a job that has a lot more responsibility just doesn’t seem right.  Yes, I know we’ll be moving to a smaller market (upstate NY as opposed to our current home in LA), and I certainly know there are many out there with far worse situations.  We will be just fine, no matter how this works out.  It is, after all, only money.  But in the thick of it right now, it’s very hard to find perspective and my only glimpse of clarity so far was brought on last night after a few sips of a gin and tonic and a deep sigh. I’m hoping I can bring myself back to that calming moment (sans gin) throughout the day today.

So between a sick baby and visions of an empty wallet, I’ve been craving comfort food.  Truly, what I most wanted in the midst of all of it was to run out and have a gargantuan piece of chocolate cake in the middle of the day, well-balanced diet be damned.  I’ve managed to resist that urge so far, though, and drowning my sorrows in a big bowl of pasta seems like nearly the next best thing.

Should you find yourself in a similar situation, let me recommend that you embrace your comfort food- this is not, I’m afraid, the time for whole wheat fusilli.   I would also suggest that you use your favorite tomato sauce (be it homemade or jarred), a generous sprinkling of parmesan, and a handful of fresh mozzarella chunks.  Then mix it all together until the cheese goes gooey.  Heaven.

You will be sorely disappointed should you instead try to self-medicate with healthy comfort food, like this recipe from The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen by Peter Berley.  Whole wheat pasta is okay, but I’ve yet to try one I really like.  The texture always seems just a little bit off and the taste too powerfully cardboardy.  And while the onions were nice and I always like a little bit of greens,  I missed having a real sauce.  This was just sort of dry and balsamic-y.  I almost imagine it might be better as a room temperature pasta salad one day for lunch.   So mental note, next time just go for the full-on classic bowl of pasta when feeling down.  Or better yet, skip the pasta and run straight for the chocolate cake.

Whole wheat fusilli with swiss chard and balsamic-roasted onions (serves 4)

Ingredients:

2 red onions, sliced lengthwise into thin wedges
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar, plus more later for serving
Coarse sea (or kosher) salt
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons dry thyme
1 pound Swiss chard, trimmed
1 pound whole wheat fusilli
4 large garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons pine nuts

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, toss the onion slices with the thyme, 2 tablespoons olive oil, 1/4 teaspoon salt and 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar.

2. Spread the onions on a baking pan and roast them for 30 to 40 minutes, until they’re soft and caramelized. Stir them after 20 minutes of roasting.

3. Bring a large pot of water to boil. Add 1 tablespoon salt. When the water returns to a boil add the chard and cook for 2 minutes, or until wilted and tender. Using tongs, remove the chard from the water and drain in a colander. Bring the water to a boil again and cook the pasta according to the package instructions.

4. While the pasta cooks, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large pan. Add the garlic and cook for about 1 minute over medium heat, just until it’s fragrant. Add the pine nuts and cook for 1 more minute. Add the swiss chard and 1/4 cup of the pasta water, then cook for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the roasted onion slices and cook until they are heated through.

5. Drain the pasta and transfer it to a large serving bowl. Add the vegetable mixture and toss. Season with extra balsamic vinegar, if you like. Serve immediately.

Roasted shrimp with broccoli March 27, 2009

I would consider myself astounded, dumb-struck if there were a Superspark reader out there who isn’t familiar with the likes of The Wednesday Chef, Orangette, and The Amateur Gourmet, That’s not to say that I consider myself in the same league as those well-loved blogs- no, I am quite clearly an amateur and dilettante by comparison.  Rather, what I mean to say is that if you read Superspark, you are most likely an avid food blog reader with dozens of subscriptions in your RSS feed  (listen to me getting all techie!) including the most popular and well-written food blogs.

All of which goes to say that you have probably already seen this  most wonderful recipe for roasted shrimp with broccoli from the New York Times.  So you’ve read what the food blogging elite have to say about how moist and delectable the shrimp are, how perfectly roasted the broccoli is, and how easy the whole thing is to put together.   My guess is that many of you have already tried this terrific recipe, added it to your repertoire of super-simple, delicious meals.   Truly, this post is intended for the handful of you who might have let this recipe slip through the cracks, fall by the wayside – barring vegetarianism and shellfish allergies, you’ve found your dinner for tonight.  Go get some shrimp and broccoli and turn the oven up high.  Then sit back with a nice glass of wine and let your dinner cook itself.

Roasted shrimp with broccoli (serves 4)

Ingredients:

2 pounds broccoli, cut into bite-size florets
4 tablespoons ( 1/4 cup) extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon whole coriander seeds (you might consider grinding them up- your call)
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds (see above)
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/8 teaspoon hot chili powder
1 pound large shrimp, shelled and deveined
1 1/4 teaspoons lemon zest (from 1 large lemon)
Lemon wedges, for serving

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. In a large bowl, toss broccoli with 2 tablespoons oil, coriander, cumin, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/2 teaspoon pepper and chili powder. In a separate bowl, combine shrimp, remaining 2 tablespoons oil, lemon zest, remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt and remaining 1/2 teaspoon pepper.

2. Spread broccoli in a single layer on a baking sheet. Roast for 10 minutes. Add shrimp to baking sheet and toss with broccoli. Roast, tossing once halfway through, until shrimp are just opaque and broccoli is tender and golden around edges, about 10 minutes more. Serve with lemon wedges, or squeeze lemon juice all over shrimp and broccoli just before serving.

Grilled lemon cumin chicken with feta March 20, 2009

I won’t regale you with tales of the multi-course celebratory dinner we ate last night, keeping Maddie up way past her bedtime.  I won’t tell you about the three bottles of wine that proved to be little match for four very thirsty people in very festive spirits.  Nor will I expound upon the half dozen cream puffs and tubs of ice cream that became mere memories as the hour grew late.

Yesterday was “match day”, you see, when fourth year medical students at long last get their assignments as to where they will spend the next few years of their lives.  Unlike college admissions, in which you collect acceptances and rejections, weighing the possible offers and ultimately deciding where you want to go, the residency “match” process is all or nothing.  After submitting your preferences as to where you’d like to do your residency, you receive an assignment and you either take it or you don’t practice medicine the following year.  Adding to that stress, the big reveal, when students receive word of their “match”, happens very publicly at a brunch, so that those who thrillingly open their envelopes to find themselves destined for the program of their dreams may find themselves alongside those faced with bitter disappointment.  Stressful? Nah.

Maddie, Dylan, and I went to USC yesterday morning to find out our future, where we’d soon be headed for Dylan’s five year surgical residency.  Had you told me a year ago that I would be jubilantly celebrating an impending move to upstate New York, I would never have believed it.  Yet there we were, hugging, kissing, and even shedding a few tears as our future unfolded.  We would have happily taken our second or third choices (Manhattan and Los Angeles), but for many reasons abandoning big city life for something a bit slower seems to make sense for us for the next few years.  Dylan and I will be working in the very same building of the hospital, our commute will be no longer than ten minutes, and we’ll be able to afford to buy a gorgeous house with a yard for Maddie to make snow angels (let’s not forget that snow will be a very constant part of our lives!).  And in five year, when Dylan finally makes a salary commensurate to his 25+ years of schooling and his long hours of training, we can reassess whether we want to move back to somewhere a bit more urban and cosmopolitan.

So, what, you may be wondering now, does this possibly have to do with grilled lemon cumin chicken with feta? Well, not much, to be honest, aside from the fact that three bottles of wine and several thousand calories later, in our post-celebratory haze, all we can think about eating is something clean and healthy, with fresh, unadulterated flavors.  Not one for the hair of the dog and all that jazz, I just want something simple and nutritious, like this well-balanced meal from Family Style Food.  I made it several weeks ago and it was a perfect combination of flavors and textures, with a little protein, a little bit of carbs, and some veggies and dairy thrown into the mix. Although it was originally envisioned with fava beans, I was more than happy to skip the labor of shelling them and substitute frozen edamame instead.  Now if only it could whip up itself as we recover from our post-excitement exhaustion…

Grilled lemon cumin chicken with feta (serves 4)

Ingredients:
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons chopped fresh mint
2 teaspoons ground cumin
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 lb frozen shelled edamame
1/2 cup crumbled feta or ricotta salata cheese

1. Pound the chicken between sheets of plastic wrap to an even 1/4-inch thickness and place in a large ziptop bag.

2. Whisk the lemon juice, oil, mint and cumin together. Reserve half, and pour the rest over the chicken. Seal the bag and refrigerate for an hour and up to six hours.

3. Rub a grill pan with oil and heat the grill to medium-high heat. Remove chicken from the marinade and season on both sides with salt and pepper. Grill the chicken, covered, about 6 minutes per side.

4. Meanwhile, cook edamame on stovetop or in microwave according to directions on package.

5. Serve chicken over couscous or brown rice with the edamame, sprinkled with cheese and drizzled with remaining lemon-cumin mixture.

Broccoli soup March 13, 2009

It’s about this time of year when even the most devoted seasonal eaters among us start to waver in our devotion to winter’s produce.  There are only so many potatoes, beets, and turnips a girl can eat before starting to think that $2 Whole Foods mangoes imported from warmer climes might not be a bad idea after all.  Last year it got so bad that I couldn’t even look at that most delectable of all winter veggies, the butternut squash.   Just thinking about it turned me off and it seemed like an endless countdown until spring’s apricots and cherries started to arrive at our farmer’s market.

So the last thing you probably want at this point is broccoli.  And on top of that, a soup, no less!  Believe me, I feel your pain.  Even as I set out to make this soup, I was skeptical, chopping and pureeing half-heartedly, steeling myself for a heavy, wintry meal.   Yes, I had read Molly’s enthusiastic post about the soup (found here on Orangette), but figured that she might not be the first food blogger among us prone to a little exaggeration or hyperbole.  What a treat to find myself pleasantly surprised by this delightfully quick and modest little soup.  A little bit creamy, a lot bit fresh and wholesome, this soup managed to convince me that we were on our way to spring.  Was it the lemon-chive sour cream on top, so bright and tangy? Perhaps.  But even served in a more ascetic way (over brown rice and right out of the microwave at work the next day), the soup still hit the spot.  The birds are chirping outside my window as I type and I’m feeling optimistic.  Spring is in the air, people.

Broccoli Soup with Lemon-Chive Cream (serves 4-6)

For the soup:
1 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 medium leeks, white and tender green parts only, sliced (I substituted an additional large onion instead of the leeks)
1 small yellow onion, coarsely chopped
3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 ½ lb. broccoli, both crowns and stems, trimmed and coarsely chopped
5 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1 rind (about 2 inches square) from a piece of Parmesan cheese
¾ tsp. kosher salt

For the sour cream:
1 cup sour cream
2 scallions, white and pale green parts only, very thinly sliced
¼ cup minced chives
1 tsp. grated lemon zest
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
½ tsp. kosher salt
¼ tsp. pressed or minced garlic

1. In a small pot, warm the butter and oil over medium heat. Add the leeks and onion, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they have softened and the onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic, and cook for one minute. Add the broccoli, stock, Parmesan rind, and salt, and stir to mix. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook, partially covered, until the broccoli is tender, about 20 minutes.

2. While the soup cooks, prepare the cream. In a medium bowl, stir together the sour cream, scallions, chives, lemon zest, lemon juice, grated Parmesan, salt, and garlic, mixing until fully combined. Taste, and adjust as necessary. Serve the soup hot with a dollop of the sour cream mixture on top.

Quinoa soup with avocado and corn March 9, 2009

City living requires a little bit of flexibility and a “roll with the punches” attitude.  Our apartment seemed small but manageable before Maddie came along and with plans to relocate this summer, we figured we’d just squeeze her in with us.  How much room could one small baby need?  Not much for Maddie herself, of course, but today’s babies come with all sorts of accoutrements- cribs, strollers, toys, clothes, changing pads…did I mention that the child has three varieties of chair?

She spent the first 4 months or so of life sleeping only a few feet away from us in her crib, an arrangement that seemed perfectly lovely until she started doing a vocalization I call “Dolphin Speak”, a high-pitched shriek (not unlike Flipper) that could come at any hour of day or night.  Having had enough of awakening to midnight squeals, I came home one day to find Dylan moving Maddie’s crib into the all-purpose room that serves as a dining space and office.  So now it’s Maddie’s room as well, which has worked out swimmingly aside from the fact that all of its contents are off limits once she goes to bed around 7:30 pm.  How unfortunate that for nights on end our good camera, the amazing Nikon D70 which lets even the most clueless among us take beautiful photos, was shut in the dining room/office/nursery along with our slumbering baby.  All of which is a roundabout way of saying that yes, I know this photo sucks, but I hope you won’t hope it against this perfectly delicious and insanely simple soup.

It comes from a blog I recently discovered and has quickly become one of my favorites, Cheap Healthy Good.  I like the attitude, the writing, the variety, but above all, the postings tend to be the kind of things I like to eat from day to day.  This quinoa soup with avocado and corn, found here, is the first recipe I’ve tried from the site, but based on its success, I’ll certainly try more.  To give credit where credit is due, I think it orginally comes from Lorna Sass’ Whole Grains for Busy People.

It was so simple a monkey could put it together in minutes (so says the anthropologist in me) and yet had lots of interesting flavor and texture.  I had never tried quinoa in a soup before, to my recollection, but I’m sold. Sweet corn, creamy avocado, a splash of lime, and tiny grains of quinoa added up to a delightful weeknight meal that we liked so much that we ate the whole pot in just one sitting.

Quinoa soup with avocado and corn (serves 4)

Ingredients:
4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup quinoa
1 cup frozen corn kernels
1/3 cup chunky salsa, to taste
1 ripe but firm Hass avocado, diced
Salt
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Lime wedges, for serving

1. In a large saucepan over high heat, bring the broth to a boil. Stir in the quinoa, reduce heat to medium-high, and continue boiling, uncovered, for 15 minutes.

2. Stir in the corn and salsa, then return to a simmer. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the avocado. Season with salt and stir in the cilantro. Ladle into large bowls, accompanied with lime wedges.