Independence Day

The house was dim, half-lit in a twilight, although outside the sun blazed full strength at four pm. The shades were drawn, and the steady whirrr of the air conditioner hummed, slow, soft, underscoring every other sound.

In the kitchen, one of our houseguests - one of eight we have had so far this summer, counting the baby they brought with them, each guest a dearly beloved friend - sat, chatting on the phone with her mom, saying in French, "It's great, Mom, but outside? It's exactly like Hell."

I had to laugh. After all, this wasn't just a friend, but my best friend, best friend since five years of age in Mexico, visiting with her little family from Montreal. We were lucky for most of Fourth of July weekend, with our Quebecois friend visiting and their group of friends in town from Denmark. Sun-filled days with little humidity, hot enough to remind you that this is DC in the summer (and DC doesn't mess around with heat) fading into cool nights, cool enough for dips into the hot tub and open windows.

Sunday, when the heat hit, we were standing elbow to elbow with thousands of people on Constitution Avenue watching the Independence Day parade wind down the smoking hot street. It hit like a damp towel to the face, a breath of hot soup, a burst of steam and asphalt with summer ozone and a little bit of city for good measure.

Later that day, we would eat garlic french fries and burgers at Gordon Biersch, 16 Danes and Mexicans and Swedes and a Middle Eastern fellow I like to call my husband.

My best friend and I would sit in the cool shade of the atrium at the National Portrait Gallery, an oasis of gray calm in the city and a perfect respite from the heat during a day of patriotic sightseeing. We'd rest, feet up on the white marble planters, chatting the way we always have for hours on end while her baby - a strapping nigh-fifty pound three-and-a-half year-old I can't help but still call a baby - napped.

Later that night, we would join the mass migration of humans to the National Mall and find a prime spot near the Washington Monument and watch fireworks so splendid my body broke out in goosebumps.

Later on, we would sit, bare legs on grass, watching the darkening sky as the fireworks reached their brilliant zenith and, in the distance, a solitary plane began its descent towards National Airport, lit up like an opal in the fire-lit sky.

The fireworks kept bursting, exploding in an increasingly dazzling display, and the sight took my breath away: the Washington Monument so massive, so close, and the fireworks so frenetic and bright that there were moments when I didn't know if it was the fireworks moving towards us or if the Monument itself was moving, pulsing like breath or heartbeat in a human body, or if it was all of us, the Monument and the lights and the people, moving on Earth, hurtling through space together, eyes on that multicolored summer night sky, all fireworks and heartbeat and furious sound.

But early Sunday, we stood together on the edge of Constitution Avenue, and the members of the Order of the Purple Heart drove by, waving at us from their vintage military cars. Somewhere up ahead, the Third U.S. Infantry Old Guard Fife and Drum Corps could still be heard, playing The Star Spangled Banner. Even with the moments that would come later on, that moment, watching the brave soldiers who showed the utmost courage in defense of our nation, with our national anthem playing just on down the street, was my favorite.

They had their Purple Hearts pinned to their chests, to their sleeves, and they waved at us all on the street, and we waved back. They had their Purple Hearts pinned to their chests, and we waved back, all thoughts about the summer heat vanished, feeling nothing but gratitude and pride, tears in everyone's eyes all down Constitution Avenue.

The Breakfast House: Savory Dutch Pancake

This is the pancake of many names. When we're feeling like something sweet, pancakes rarely pop up anymore. A bit of toast spread with labneh and a layer of sugar-free apricot jam is usually enough to satisfy my own sweet tooth, and we keep Nutella on hand in case of emergencies. Even this pancake - known as a Dutch pancake, Dutch baby, German pancake, a Honolulu or Hawaiian pancake, or a David Eyre - doesn't get whipped up too often.

The process couldn't be more simple: eggs, milk, flour, and plenty of butter. Whirred in a blender, tossed into a hot oven, the Deutsch pancake puffs up airy and golden, before collapsing theatrically at the table, covered in powdered sugar and a squeeze of lemon, or the finest maple syrup you can find. This savory variation reminded T of his mom's haje, a Middle Eastern omelette-type cake, with parsley, garlic and scallions. The most important thing is to get the proportion of eggs-to-skillet down correctly. In this case, for the two of us, I used 3 eggs, in a slightly smaller skillet. More eggs? A larger skillet.



A sweet Dutch pancake may be served in its unadorned glory, or with sweet sauteed (or fresh) fruit in its delicate, concave hollow. This savory version was "stuffed" with a loose, soft scramble of eggs, havarti, onions, and tons of fresh dill from our garden. We served with a side of thinly sliced sweet and spicy ham, sauteed in a tiny bit of maple syrup and sriracha, or a dusting of cayenne pepper.

Savory Dutch Pancake for Two
Serves 2-4

Ingredients: 3 room-temperature eggs * 3/4 cup milk * 1/2 cup Parmigiano Reggiano * 2 minced garlic cloves * 1/2 cup flour * 1/4 cup chopped thyme * 3 tbsp. butter * 1 teaspoon salt * fresh ground pepper



INSTRUCTIONS

1. Heat oven to 425 degrees. Place a cast-iron or ovenproof skillet in the oven to pre-heat while you prep the batter.
2. On a high setting, blend the eggs, flour, cheese, garlic, thyme, salt, and pepper until smooth. Place the butter in the hot frying pan, and once it sizzles, spread it around the pan until evenly distributed.
3. Pour batter into pan, and bake in oven for about 20 minutes, until batter is puffed and golden brown. Remove and serve.

Any filling may be placed in the hollow center of the Dutch pancake once the puffed and airy tent of the pancake collapses.

If preparing a sweet Dutch pancake, omit cheese, garlic, and thyme, and add vanilla, lemon zest, etc.... as you like.

Black Honey Chicken and Coconut Rice

I love researching recipes, and I know there exists considerable disagreement about what it means to make a recipe your own. This is not like American Idol, where you can use a synth-pop beat and set of gyrating hips for a Johnny Cash song and be lauded for having made it your own. After all, the difference between a knockout recipe and a total bomb can be as subtle as the difference between the Snuggie and the Slanket:



As far as I can tell, the only difference between the two is that the Snuggie leveraged recession-driven rock-bottom infomercial advertising rates into a juggernaut of such proportions that its popularity has even increased sales for the woefully ill-named Slanket - which prededates the Snuggie by over two years - and the little-known precursor to the Slanket, the Freedom Blanket.

And so, sometimes I'm not sure what makes a recipe I've adapted different from its original source, if I even know it. If I'm using a recipe created by or popularized by someone else or from a certain, trackable place, I will attribute it as such. If it is a completely made-up dish, I'll of course note it as such, but will also probably apologize for having wasted your time. Like everyone else, I too search the internet for recipes. I scour my cookbooks, and recipe sites like Epicurious and RecipeZaar, and save recipes clipped from magazines and newspaper food sections. And sometimes, because of what I have in my kitchen and the personal tastes of this writer, and our household, I'll change things around a little bit. This may not be enough to make a recipe my own, but it does mean that, moving forward, I may feel it just no longer resembles the original recipe from which I adapted it.

Case in point: The Gourmet Cookbook's La Brea Tar Pit Chicken, and The Opera Lover's Cookbook's Black Lacquer Chicken, adapted from a blog I love, Desert Candy.

This Sunday, we had family over for dinner for an early Sunday supper, a lazy evening filled with unexpected sunlight after a blustery, gray weekend, and I'd been dying to make a variation of a soy sauce, maple syrup, and sriracha sauce I prepare to glaze chicken and vegetables. I loved the idea of the Black Lacquer chicken's salty, sweet sauce, but not its Semi-Homemade-by-Sandra-Lee use of bottled teriyaki sauce. And I have made, and loved, Gourmet's La Brea Tar Pit chicken, but I really dislike the name.

With a few tweaks, I came up with a recipe that I felt incorporated the best aspects of both, but truly became a standalone dish in its own right. I used chicken drumsticks, but this would work beautifully with thighs or with chicken wings, as well, which T loves but I of which I am not the biggest fan.

I served the chicken with a dish of incredibly flavorful coconut rice, fluffy and complex with the addition of ginger, garlic, and shredded coconut, and paired them with green beans quick sauteed with ginger and garlic in olive oil, and topped with a shake of salt and slivered, toasted almonds. The semi-Asian theme of the meal was completed with an appetizer of boiled artichokes with a sesame-chili mayonnaise (using David Leite's recipe), and mini coconut flans with salted caramel sauce.

Black Honey Chicken
Adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook and The Opera Lover's Cookbook
Serves 4 adults



Ingredients: 8 chicken drumsticks, exterior layer of fat removed * 1 to 1 1/2 cups soy sauce * 1/2 cup B-grade maple syrup * 1/2 cup honey * 1/2 cup pomegranate juice * 1/2 cup white wine * 5 minced cloves of garlic * 1/3 cup minced ginger * juice of one lemon

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Mix all the ingredients together in a bowl and add the drumsticks. Let them marinate for at least 10 minutes or so, or as long as you like.

2. Place chicken in a single layer in an ovenproof baking dish. It really is a good idea to line the dish with aluminum foil too: this sugar-rich sauce bakes on like nobody's business. Pour the sauce on top, and bake for one hour, turning occasionally and basting with the marinade.

3. Increase heat to 450 degrees. Remove chicken from the oven, and place under tented foil to keep from drying out. Cook sauce down until it becomes a thick, black mess, about 30-45 minutes. Place chicken back in the oven to warm, and baste each little drumstick in the sauce until a La Brea tar pit, black lacquer, or black honeyed look results. Serve on a dish with any remaining sauce pooled around the chicken and top with a sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds, chopped cilantro or parsley, or chopped scallions.


Coconut Rice
Serves 4 or more

Ingredients: 1 cup brown rice * 2 cups (or more) light coconut milk * 1 tsp. vegetable oil * 1 tbsp. coconut oil * 5 minced cloves of garlic * 1/4 cup minced ginger * 1 heaping tbsp. unsweetened coconut flakes * salt and pepper to taste

1. In a large lidded pan or pot, heat oils on medium high heat. Add garlic and minced ginger, and stir until they soften and cook. Add coconut flakes, and saute - stirring and monitoring carefully - until just toasted. Add brown rice, stir until rice is well-coated with a glossy layer of oil and seasonings, and add coconut milk and water to cover.

2. Once coconut milk is simmering, turn heat down to low and cover. Cook, covered for 45 minutes to one hour, until brown rice has absorbed all the cooking liquid and is tender to the bite. Fluff with a fork, and serve with toasted shredded coconut on top, or your choice of chopped scallions, cilantro, or candied ginger.

Homemade Eggless Mayonnaise

Is this title an anachronism? After all, I've never seen processed milk mayonnaise: this is, by default, an at-home creation, but somehow the rubric homemade just fit. It's creamy, comforting, delicious, not at all polished and perfect, and best of all, as a no-egg mayonnaise, it is a heart-healthier alternative to the usual mayo.

After all, we are always in a struggle in this house to eat more healthily. Among other things, we seldom buy junk food, keep away from processed foods, and avoid products that contain high-fructose corn syrup, the worst of the food dyes (you know, the industrial strength blues and reds and yellows), and nitrites. Of course, it's not easy to walk the straight and narrow living in this land of plenty. We definitely buy chips, cookies and other snacks on occasion: Cheetos and Doritos, cokes and McDonalds meals. I have a weakness for Five Guys cheeseburgers and french fries, and pizza, and try as I might, I cannot quit Velveeta cheese. Mind you, I don't have these items often - once every few months, maybe? - but I'm not proud of it, either way.

On the plus side, before I broke my foot, my greatest challenge was fitting enough exercise into my packed schedule. My greatest concern isn't really with my diet: we eat a diet rich in whole grains and complex carbs, lean proteins and plenty of leafy greens and veggies. We try to keep away from the starch. On an average evening, T and I both prefer a dinner of miso-glazed salmon with asparagus and quinoa salad over some of the entries you may have seen here - braised lamb, butter-rich eggs Benedict, that heart-meltingly rich caramel flan.

Quite simply, I feel better when I eat better. I feel better when I move more. One thing about flinging myself around the house on crutches is the inherent exercise they involve, so at least one of my legs is getting a stupendous workout. But in this time of inertia, working from my home office, it's even more important to watch what I eat. Breakfast is tea and steel-cut oatmeal with dates and almonds; snacks are fresh veggies, yogurt, and nuts; mealtimes are salads and poached fish and roasted chicken- well, it's certainly not a menu of deprivation. And one of the items keeping me on track is something that feels like an indulgence but that, in moderation, is actually quite heart-healthy: home-made mayonnaise, with the curious and effective quirk of being made using whole milk, and no eggs.

I first read about this recipe courtesy of David Leite's wonderful cookbook, "The New Portuguese Table." This version, using two flavors of garlic, is incredibly simple, light and creamy, but rich enough to serve anywhere you'd put mayonnaise to use. One of my favorite uses for mayonnaise is as a hedonistic dip for french fries; another is a simple sandwich on toasted bread featuring the best tomatoes you can find, a light sprinkling of salt, and mayo. And, of course, egg salad.

This egg salad sandwich was a standout for me because it really lets the eggs shine through. There are just a few ingredients, and it's not just a muddled mess of eggs and celery like some deli versions of it are prone to be. This is a real egg sandwich.

It was also incredibly simple to make: if you want to let your main ingredient shine, you don't need to do a lot to them. Prepare them with ingredients that complement them, and let them be. It's also not a recipe, so I don't want to pass it off as such. It's just an assembling of a few ingredients, and if you look at the photo above, you can see everything that went into this sandwich: whole hard-boiled eggs; crunchy dill pickle; fresh chives and dill; a simple binding agent like yogurt and mayonnaise.



Simple Egg Salad Sandwiches:
Chop 4-6 hard-boiled eggs in half lengthwise once, then once again. Chop in half width-wise. Chop a large pickle to medium size bits. Dice 8 sprigs of dill (a good size portion. This is a dill-centric sandwich) and a good quarter cup's worth of chives, both fresh from the garden (and of course, herbs of any provenance are welcome). Place all of these items in a bowl, and gently fold in 1/4 cup of yogurt, and 1/4 cup of milk-based mayonnaise. This egg salad requires a gentle hand to preserve the integrity of the eggs. Salt and pepper to taste, and scoop into toasted whole wheat pita bread halves.

Whole Milk Mayonnaise
David Leite's Maioneise de Leite, adapted from The New Portuguese Table

This mayonnaise is so adaptable: experiment with it as much as you want, and you cannot go wrong. Add more garlic and use as a condiment for Middle Eastern dishes. Add roasted poblano peppers, cilantro, and serve topped with pomegranate seeds for a Mexican dip. Omit the fresh garlic and use only roasted garlic, or add a little mustard and cayenne pepper for more of a kick. One of my favorite variations is one using roasted jalapeno peppers, and I especially love Leite's green olive version - swoon. Try mixing in tarragon with the milk, and serve it with cold roasted chicken and a glass of vinho verde on a summer's evening in DC.

The key to this mayonnaise is to start with very cold milk (I've seen some variations online using warm milk, but haven't tried them). Start off adding your oil as slowly as possible, one drop at a time, and work your way up to a thread-thin stream. In this recipe, I used half roasted garlic vegetable oil, and half plain vegetable oil. As you can see in the photo, I also use black pepper, and no one has run screaming from the table in terror yet. Leite's recipe calls for a handheld blender in a 2-cup glass measuring cup, but I've always used my blender to great results.

Ingredients: 1/3 cup very cold whole milk * 1 teaspoon lemon juice * 2 cloves garlic * 3/4 cup vegetable oil or combination of oil to your taste * salt and pepper

Directions
1. Place the milk, lemon juice, and garlic in a blender. Make sure the top is on tight, and that the center of the top is open so that you may dribble in the oil when needed.

2. Blend on high speed for a few seconds until milk is frothy, and the begin to slowly drop in your oil: a few drops, a few drops, a few drops becoming an incredibly thin thread, and continue until the milk magically emulsifies with the oil and you have a thick, pillowy mayonnaise. Gently fold in any seasonings. Keep refrigerated for up to a week (or so).

He's Little

There are some things that I find it useful for people to know about Romeo.



He's little.
He doesn't often smell as great as he could.



He snores.



When he was a puppy, he usually kept a little bit of tongue hanging out. This happens less often now, but mainly, it happens when he sleeps.



He's had something like fifty nicknames.



T blames him for breaking my foot. I have tried to disabuse him of this notion, but secretly I kind of like not having to be too responsible for my own stupid self.



He spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping.



And yawning.
And, as mentioned, being little.

Pan-Roasted Garlic

It's funny how we classify food by seasons. Of course, so many of the items we cook with are, in fact, seasonal. I know plenty of people, for example, who will not touch tomatoes in winter, and whose entire menus revolve around the bounty available at their local farmers' market. But another system of classifying food involves the way in which we prepare it: long, slow braises and winter-heavy sauces and fare for the cold months; and light salads, snappy marinades, and grilling outdoors in the waning summer sun for the warmer months.

Because I grew up in a tropical climate where you rarely chose warm-me-to-the-bone type foods (as we often do on the East Coast), it's true that I have a little bit of an issue with seasonality, and especially, seasonal cooking techniques. One of the items that is year-round in my house is something that, in another, might be verboten: we keep fresh salsa and homemade tabbouleh on hand all year round, rife with tomatoes and limes redolent of summer's sharp green tang. Another cross-season pleaser for us is long-roasted garlic, cloves just barely retaining their consistency and collapsing upon impact, soft pillowy flesh gone almost liquid after an hour on low heat.

I definitely have memories of roasted garlic that warmed me on a cold, cold night: walking down Columbus avenue in the damp San Francisco fog to the Stinking Rose, dipping bread into warm bagna cauda and spreading it with buttery cloves of garlic.

However, the best memory of warm, roasted garlic still comes courtesy of a tropical memory: Mom, roasting garlic in her trusty broiler, whole cloves dabbed with olive oil and wrapped in aluminum foil, roasted til tender. It was a full moon night, and sometimes I really do feel you have not lived until you see a clear full moon night in Zihuatanejo, Mexico. This is a land already painted in deep greens and golds, ochers and ambers, with the cobalt relief of the sea and an odd coral snake or two in there for contrast. But on a night with a bright, full moon, the land is bathed pale blue, and it casts a sharp shadow on every tree, every leaf, every knife-edged pebble and stone. You've got to walk carefully on our land in Mexico - one false step, and a stumble or a trip, and it's straight to the nearest tube of Neosporin for a hypochondriac like me. But a lifetime on that land - the place where I was born - teaches you to trust your instincts.

The moon was full, but it would soon disappear completely. What I remember most about that night was that it was the night of a total lunar eclipse.

We sat out on that flat terrace of land and talked, and laughed. My mom set out an amazing spread, and we squeezed cloves of garlic onto bread, ate guacamole, and waited for the shadow of the Earth to dance its way across the face of the sun. And, from one moment to the next, a rounded edge of black cast itself upon the bright shining face of the moon, and we literally saw ourselves move between the moon and the sun. The round edge of black became became a curve, and the curve became a circle, and a dark pall cast itself upon our world, and we stayed there staring, until the deep black night revealed a Cheshire-cat crescent of light, and the moon peeked out again.



PAN-ROASTED GARLIC



Ingredients: 20-40 cloves of garlic * enough vegetable oil to cover, or your oil of choice

There is a reason I don't always roast whole heads of garlic, although I should be a bit embarrassed to admit it: I often keep a container of peeled garlic, purchased that way from my local Grand Mart, in the fridge. Really, we use garlic so frequently and cook so often at home that it just makes sense for me. I adore whole roasted heads of garlic, and especially love squeezing the garlic out of its papery sleeve onto bread.
This garlic is going to feel different: you scoop it out of its warm bath of oil and spread it on the bread. The taste is the same, and you do get to enjoy as much of the garlic or more as in the whole-head oven-roasting method. In the DC summer heat, sometimes, I don't even feel like turning my oven (or broiler) on. This bridges that gap beautifully.

I love to keep it on hand to mix into soups, spread onto bread, blend into hummus and homemade mayonnaise, use as a sandwich spread, or eat with crackers and pesto.


Directions
1. Choose your pan based on the amount of garlic you'll roast. Place the pan on high heat, add the garlic, and pour oil in until garlic is covered. After a few minutes, once oil has had a change to heat, lower heat to lowest setting. Your oil may have bubbles in it at this point.

2. Cook on low heat for 1-1.5 hours, until garlic has colored ever-so-slightly and is tender to the touch. Turn int he pan with a spatula every 30 minutes or so, being careful not to let your garlic burn. The goal here is long, low, slow cooking. Cool, and refrigerate.

On Summer's Side of Winter

I don't know who it was that wrote that spring is summer in the sunshine, winter in the shade. Was that you, Mark Twain? I will paraphrase that here, then, and lazily fail to seek out any kind of attribution.

Maybe this week I get to be a little bit lazy. Truth is, every activity requires a herculean effort now that I am officially a human with a broken foot.

On Tuesday, before the x-ray, I was only a stupid human who had tripped on the stairs and sprained her ankle. But later Tuesday, post-x-ray, I could breathe a great, deep sigh of relief regarding why I haven't been able to walk fully on my foot since I tripped on Monday. It's because you broke the right side of it, stupid, the foot seemed to be telling me.

This morning, with no appointments to keep - since I cannot drive, and T is helping me keep my weekend appointments - I hauled myself out of bed relatively late, and slowly strapped on the ten-piece plastic, foam and velcro boot that is my foot's home for the next six weeks. It actually has rubber air pockets that I inflate with a small blue pump, like an Air Jordan.

I sat on the deck working on my laptop, and little Romeo stood on the wrought iron spiral staircase edge, feeling the still-weak morning sun warm the metal, and dry his little post-bath fur, and every little hair ruffled in the breeze, the butterscotch fur on his face and legs, and his little black body. This little dog spends half of his time asleep, a quarter of it being pissed off, and another portion of it inappropriately demanding more play, play play. Rare are the moments when he just closes his eyes and enjoys the breeze blowing on his face, the warm honey touch of summer carried on it.



I thought about the work schedule I've been keeping leading up to the spring, the packed days and fly-by crescents of cool nights before the waxing morning starts the clock again. Lately, it seems like rare are the moments when I just close my eyes and feel the pleasure of this crepuscular season, living this side of winter, with nothing but summer ahead.

New Potato Soup for Spring

The chives were the first ones in this year.

They're always the most aggressive of the herbs, coming in like a right-strong champion and growing almost out of control before the three oregano plants, the lemon balm, and the other herbs have even sleepily unfurled a green budded leaf. We spent the spectacular weekend gardening, and being together, and ended it with Five Guys burgers and fries that felt like an allowable indulgence considering how often we cook in.

And then, a Monday morning injury changed the whole week. T made a lot of our food, an amazing pasta with portobello mushrooms and paper-thin ham with caramelized onions, and oatmeal in the mornings. But I was basically sofa-bound, and a girlfriend and I ordered in a storm in takeout, leaving enough leftovers to pad the corners of the still-full, but woefully neglected fridge.

Today, I was ready to do a little something in the kitchen, but couldn't really move enough to do what I wanted to do. My food processor was in the basement, and we were out of chickpeas, so I couldn't make the hummus I'd promised for T's colleague's get-together over the weekend. And the temperamental weather kept pulling my appetite in every direction - something comforting, but light, the warm wrap of a blanket and the cool touch of a breeze. I crutched my way over to the wild tangle of chives in the planter, and took them all, and with them, I made this soup. Hot on a cool spring night, this is an enveloping, soothing soup, bright from the yogurt and chives; balanced just perfectly with the starchiness of a few new potatoes and the silky sweet snap of apples. Served cold with a dollop of yogurt or sour cream, this soup rivals vichyssoise for its velvety texture and gazpacho for its clean, light feel.

This soup walks the seesaw balance of spring in one spoonful, and I actually prefer it cold, in a decorative little bowl, with a squeeze of lemon and - like most things - a good book on the side. I served it with a quenelle of garlicky, rich chive pesto, a shake of cayenne pepper, and three soft, jammy pan-roasted garlic cloves. When I mashed the garlic against the side of the bowl with the spoon and swirled it into the cool soup, I wasn't sure if I was going to write about the soup, or the garlic in it.

New Potato Soup
Serves Four



Ingredients: 8 small new potatoes or fingerling potatoes, chopped * 1 golden apple, cored and chopped * 1/2 onion, chopped * 1 cup chopped chives * 3 cloves garlic, smashed * 1 small pat of butter * Vegetable stock to cover, or water * 1/2 cup yogurt

1. In a small pot, heat 1 tbsp. olive oil on medium high heat and saute onions til translucent, about 2 minutes. Add apples, potatoes, and garlic, salt and pepper to taste, and simmer on medium heat for 15 minutes, stirring, being careful they do not color. Add 1/2 cup chives and butter. Stir, cook for 5 minutes. Add vegetable or chicken stock or water until potatoes are covered, and simmer until tender.

2. Using a stick blender, blend until super smooth. Once smooth and cool, add yogurt and remaining chives and blend only until chives are still slightly visible. This is a light, green soup, and the chives and yogurt give it an almost live quality. With the squeeze of lemon before serving, this soup is unlike any (also delicious) potato soups I've had in the past - but there's always room in my heart for chowder.

3. Serve hot, or cold. Enjoy.

Snack Time in Rockville

I recently had that rare bird of paradise visiting Rockville, Maryland: my mom, that most beautiful creature not made for the Maryland suburbs, briefly here from Mexico, for one fleeting week that started with a 3 a.m. low of around 29 degrees and ended with an explosive bang of spring blossoms, a riveting canopy of pink and fuchsia and cottony white and palest green, 85 degree heat, springtime in the District.

It was a wonderful week. It involved shop-til-you-drop fun, many dinners on the little lakes in our area, lunch on a river in Annapolis cracking crabs and late night snacks in the kitchen, watching movies and hanging out and doing all the things you dream about doing when there are three thousand miles between you and the ones you love more than anything on earth. Except, of course, my husband, the anchor that keeps me so happily here, and who makes the places we are together our home.

But sometimes, I ache for the simplicity of living near my family. Thanks to modern day technology, we are always in touch. But the one thing I yearn for is the thing I cannot have, that impromptu popping by each others' houses, that casual sense of safety and familiarity in knowing the ones you love are just right down the road.

When she left, she didn't just leave behind a daughter with a slightly aching heart (but also so much more than slightly buoyed by her visited. Soaring from it, in fact.) She also left behind the beautiful scattered remnants of her visit. A Mexican morrala stamped with an image of the Virgen de Guadalupe; a diminutive gardenia plant with one miniature creamy white gardenia; a half-finished bag of Milano cookies; the scent of Molinard perfume in the air; and the ingredients for this perfect 7 pm snack, her staple snack, which is such a knockout perfect combo that, if you are a crackers and cheese type and a pickle fiend as we are in my family, you must try it.

And the snack must be prepared this way (sorry to be so stringent, but one must have standards): Room temperature Swiss cheese. Salt. Cold Claussen miniature dill pickles. Triscuits. A small slice of Swiss lightly salted, atop a Triscuit. A bite of dill pickle.

Funny how just the sight of her favorite snack in the kitchen when I woke, the morning after she flew back to Mexico, caused a startling aching emptiness in my stomach, in my heart. There you are, loneliness, I thought. Loneliness for that rare wild bird that comes to visit, but that you may not ever cage.

Risen

Five-Hour Spring Lamb

I wish I had taken a better photo of this dish. The truth is, I am not sure I'm capable of taking a delicious-looking photo of meat that's been stewed for hours. Seared meat, crisp and lacy, hinting of a ruby-red center? Definitely. Grilled meat, with delicious dark char marks and juicy flesh? Yes, I think I can. Sauteed fish or chicken, gone burnished and gold in a pan, with a light crust? I do.

But stewed meat sometimes seems, by its nature, to be almost unphotographable. For me, at least. It's rustic, fork-falling-apart tender, old-fashioned and cozily homely, best photographed next to homemade bread and in a hearth-fired bowl. But please don't judge this dish by its photo. Sure, I wish I had cleaned off the tremblingly thin spring carrots, wiped them down and arranged them more beautifully on the plate. The fingerling potatoes? When I served these at my beloved father-in-law's 75th birthday party, we simmered them in the pot with the long-braised lamb, and threaded them on rosemary stalks from our garden before serving them along with the main course. And the shallots that went into this dish? A dozen of them, gone jammy and just plain gone, threaded through the stock as another delicious layer of flavor.

I have some dishes in my repertoire I always return to. I've written about my fail-safe flan, my winter squash panade, my indiscriminant and promiscuous use of truffle salt. This lamb is one of those dishes. I'm almost embarrassed to write it down as a recipe: start with a flavorful mirepoix, add chopped rosemary, twigs of thyme, as much smashed garlic as you can handle, sear a leg of lamb on screaming high heat til all sides are brown, and braise in a liter and a half of red wine, on low heat, for about five hours.

That's it. It's tremendously easy, so flavorful, and can be adapted any which way you please. It's one of my father-in-law's fave things I make (and he's not prone to effusive praise), which makes it one of my favorites as well. In fall, I serve it with creamy polenta and fall vegetables, turnips and parsnips. I use the leftovers for open-faced sandwiches using a base of garlicky hummus and arugula greens dressed in olive-oil, lemon, and salt. If you have less time on hand than I did, you can knock it out in a few hours, as long as the low heat has broken down the fatty connective tissue. What I love is that you may use any cut of lamb, and can truly just set it in the oven and, aside from checking the liquid levels a few times, just let it cook, and let it cook (as my sister would say).

In this world of vast mistakes and human error, this really is a dish you can't mess up. The kitchen is somewhere where a too-hot flame, an unstable ingredient, a splash of too much acid or miscalculating the baking time for that cake or pie could spell disaster. Isn't it nice to have a constant in the place where variables are king? Sometimes, it's nice to let safety, sureness, reliability, be the regent of your small, oh-so-human domain.

Braised Lamb
Serves 8

Ingredients: 1 large lamb shank or leg of lamb, fell (thin fatty covering) and extraneous fat removed (about 5 lbs. boneless. I prefer bone-in, in which case buy 6 lbs) * 1/4 cup or so chopped rosemary * 10 sprigs of thyme * 1 tbsp. cumin * 1/2 cup each evenly chopped celery, onion and carrot (mirepoix) * 1 1.5 liter bottle red wine (I used Yellow Tail Cabernet) * 20 garlic cloves * 6 shallots * 14 fingerling potatoes * 12 thin spring carrots * chicken stock or water as needed * 2 good-sized sprigs of rosemary * vegetable or olive oil

1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. In a six-quart dutch oven (I used my amazing Le Creuset-ish Calphalon cast iron enamel pot), saute a little oil and mirepoix until your veggies are a little translucent. Heap them all onto one side of your pot, and turn heat up high. Salt and pepper your leg of lamb, scoot your pot over onto one side so the burner is focused on one half of the pan, and sear the lamb, turning with tongs until all sides are browned.

2. Using the wide part of your knife, smash the garlic cloves, and add to the mirepoix. Add the rosemary, thyme, cumin, and stir. Arrange the mixture of veggies and herbs around the lamb, and pour in all of the red wine. This should more than cover the lamb. Make sure the wine has enough salt in it, and move your pot into the oven. Set your timer for two hours.

3. After two hours, check, the liquid in the pan. Add chicken stock or water if needed. If the liquid is bubbling too fiercely, lower your oven temperature. Lower temps will help make the lamb incredibly tender. Set your timer for 2 hours.

4. Carefully add shallots and potatoes to the liquid. Let them cook for 30 minutes. 30 minutes before serving, lay carrots on top of the mixture. Cook until tender, not overdone. You may remove the meat and vegetables from the pot, and strain the liquid for any major snafus: whole rosemary leaves, thyme twigs, etc... I actually strain most of the mirepoix, etc.. out too and reduce the stock. I serve this dish rustic-style, in a large, wide bowl, with the carrots and shallots arranged around the lamb with the potatoes, and several potatoes threaded onto rosemary sprigs placed decoratively around the lamb.

Easy Weekend Eggs Benedict

There's something about Saturday morning. Sometimes I hate admitting this, but I wake up as early on the weekends as I do during the week, since my personal body clock is just permanently set to early-bird. But although Friday night is the most weekend-ish of the weekend nights, Saturday morning is the most weekend-ish of the weekend mornings.

The great part about waking up early is that, even though I work over the course of most of the weekend, Saturday mornings feel like they go by more slowly. There's a languorous, warm haze to Saturday morning, on cold rainy spring Saturdays and golden autumnal ones alike, frosty gray winter ones and bright summer Saturdays, green with Washington's tropical foliage and cool before the advent of the midday heat.

I love those in-between times, those not-quite-morning, not-quite-noon stretches, where mealtime is a tossup between breakfast and lunch, and the right start to the day can make the rest of it just fall into place like a well-played piece of music.

Eggs Benedict, to me, are that right-start kind of breakfast. Nothing says brunch like Eggs Benny, and nothing is as easy to make at home but, frankly, so daunting. I have to admit I harbor an unhealthy fear of the poached egg, dating back to an ill-advised brunch for 16 several years ago where I had to assembly-line up 32 poached eggs - huge, huge mistake. Part of it is also that, although I love the tart bite and bright note brought by vinegar with most meals, I'm not crazy about the tinge of it on a poached egg. Sometimes I wing it, gently sliding the egg into simmering water and hold it together with nothing but hope and a prayer. And sometimes I use a metal mold (a clean, hollowed-out tuna can, nothing too fancy) to hold the egg together. Sometimes I use a soft-boiled egg, preserving the delicate balance of yolk and white, firm exterior and molten interior.

But sometimes, in the honor of lazy Saturday morning and the spirit of Eggs Benny, I just use eggs over easy. With their lacy whites and tender yolk, the over-easy egg's name is its best calling card. Treat your eggs gently, flip them over easy, and voila. Match them up with toasted sourdough bread or this spectacular Iranian Barbari bread we keep on hand for its pure symphonic perfection when matched with eggs, add Canadian bacon or ham, and, in the time it makes to whip up a quick Hollandaise, you have Eggs Benedict. I pair mine with breakfast potatoes with rosemary and garlic, and a bit of extra Hollandaise on the side. Since you're making the Hollandaise at home, you can flavor it with whichever citrus you prefer. I've been using Alton Brown's modified double boiler method of perching a bowlover a pan of simmering water and whisking the heck out of everything until it turns into Hollandaise sauce (to that end, I've been using my handheld mixer with its little twin whisk attachments).

I've tried orange-scented Hollandaise, drizzled on asparagus, or lime Hollandaise, with fish, but my favorite really is the classic lemon Hollandaise, on a Saturday, in hours that get stuck before morning and noon, when even the most rational part of your brain remembers what it's like to believe the weekend and its lazy, laid back vibe might just conceivably last forever.

OVER EASY EGGS BENEDICT

Ingredients for Hollandaise Sauce: 3 egg yolks * a teeny pinch of cayenne pepper, a good pinch of sugar, and a larger pinch of salt * 1 1/2 stick of butter cut into pats (if salted, omit all other salt) * 2-4 teaspoons of lemon juice *

For assembling Eggs Benedict: 4 slices of sourdough toast, or 2 English muffins * 4 thin slices of Canadian bacon or thick slices of ham * 4 eggs



1. Fill a saucepan midway up with water. Bring water to a simmer and reduce heat til it's on a low simmer. In a heatproof bowl, whisk the eggs with a tiny bit of water (about a teaspoon) until they lighten in color - about a minute or two. Add a pinch of sugar and whisk til incorporated, another minute or so. I set the little mixer on medium high.

2. Place the bowl over the pan of water and whisk steadily for 3-4 minutes, until the mixture has emulsified and thickened and coats the whisk. Remove from the head, and gradually add the butter, whisking on low until the butter is all incorporated. You can leave the bowl on the water to melt the butter if you need to. As soon as the butter's incorporated, whisk in the lemon juice, cayenne, and, if needed, the salt. This part is all up to your own personal taste: I love a lemony Hollandaise, so I add three teaspoons at least, and I do add that extra pinch of salt.

3. Toast the bread, and while it's toasting, cook your eggs over easy. I just use an all-natural cooking spray and flip them carefully. Heat the Canadian bacon in the same saute pan til golden. Assemble your Eggs Benedict with a layer of toast, ham, and one over-easy egg. If needed, warm the Hollandaise again over the simmering water, and then arrange a generous pour of sauce artfully over each egg.

When Spam is Funny

I really do detest junky chain emails. I especially dislike the one that points out that sometimes a junky spam email from a friend is that friend's way of reaching out and telling you they're thinking of you. That seems like a double cheap shot, does it not?

And yet. And yet, sometimes a spammy junk email comes along from someone you love and it really does make you laugh out loud (which is what we old timers used to call LOLing. You know, in the olden days). A completely inappropriate-for-work French joke email from a good friend. A bit of sage advice about connecting with your circle of women friends. A helpful household hints email that informed me that a slice of cucumber can serve as a quick shoe-shine device, in a pinch (except that, in a pinch, I never seem to have shoe shine or a sliced cucumber. Rather curious). And then this one, below, forwarded to me courtesy of my mom. I don't know who wrote it, or to whom I should attribute it, although I'm sure there's an original author - it has the acerbic wit I sometimes tag Erma Bombeck with, in my head, or George Carlin, or Dave Barry. It seems to be a random little collection of throwaway lines from what's most likely a variety of sources, though, so hopefully there's no harm if I post it here. A few of these little disposable one-liners in I actually DID start to laugh out loud, here at home by myself with no company but the quizzical glance of a little Yorkie. And since this blog is, sometimes, about food, doesn't that mean I may occasionally write a post about - ahem - spam?

PONDERISMS

I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.

Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a replacement.

Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.

There are two kinds of pedestrians: the quick and the dead.

Life is sexually transmitted.

Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

The only difference between a groove and a grave is the depth.

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.

Have you noticed since everyone has a camcorder these days no one talks about seeing UFOs like they used to?

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

In the 60's, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

How is it one careless match can start a bushfire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?

Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, 'I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out?'

Who was the first person to say, 'See that chicken there? I'm going to eat the next thing that comes out of its arse.'

Why is there a light in the fridge and not in the freezer?

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song about him?

If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?

Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride; he sticks his head out the window?

Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?

Mini Aubergine Fries with Tahini Dipping Sauce

There are several things I love about my mother-in-law. She is a dynamo, a non-stop motion machine, always in the kitchen, or elbows-deep in a project. She's not only an incredibly accomplished artist, but she also has a knack in the kitchen I wish I could just inhale. And although she does many things that bring a smile to my face, I especially love it when she calls eggplants aubergines.

T and I don't often indulge in fried food, but a small helping of it can't hurt too much, right? I love the tiny hush puppies at Jimmy Cantler's Riverside Inn in Annapolis; french fries anywhere, but especially fast food drive through french fries, the thick-cut twice-fried in duck fat fries at The Blue Duck Tavern, and the truffle french fries at Poste at the Hotel Monaco; the avocado egg rolls at Cheesecake Factory; well, you get the picture.

But something I do even more seldom that eat fried fare is to fry at home. We have a very small townhouse, and I can't stand the smell of the frying oil lingering in the corners of the house, the scent of it when you walk through your front door the next day. And yet, once in a blue moon, I can't resist! It's like sauteing fish, or frying bacon: I may not like the way it makes the house smell afterward, but the taste can't be beat. It might seem a little contradictory: one post on heart-healthy salmon, the next on something fried til golden in a bubbling pot of searing hot oil.

But, oh, these mini eggplants, sliced into six thin wedges, seasoned with salt and patted down til dry, dusted with cornmeal and flour, and served with a creamy, tangy tahini dipping sauce and a dusting of tart sumac powder! These little fries were worth it. Crisp on the outside, the bitter bite of the skin (which may be removed), and the creamy, sweet flesh inside. Quick, so so simple, and addictive, I only served up enough for a quick appetizer for us, since the key to indulging in fatty fare is making it a brief indulgence. And on a day like today, the temperate climes of spring just beg for you to open every window, let the breeze saunter through the house, and leave not even a trace of frying oil behind. Heat 'em up.

MINI AUBERGINE FRITES WITH TAHINI DIPPING SAUCE

Ingredients: 5 firm miniature eggplants * 1/4 flour mixed with 1/4 cup cornmeal * 1 tsp. each garlic powder, cumin, salt, pepper, and (optional) cayenne pepper * vegetable or peanut oil for frying * 4 tbsp. tahini (sesame seed paste) * 2 tbsp. yogurt (Greek is best) * 1 minced garlic clove * juice of 1 lemon





1. Slice each little eggplant into six wedges. I left the little eggplant hat on, and sliced them into rustic but finger-food-sized wedges. Salt liberally and set aside on paper towels, for about 10 minutes, to allow the eggplants to release a little liquid. Pat dry.

2. Place oil in a pan on high heat, enough to cover eggplant wedges in a single layer. Place a popcorn kernel in the oil and, when it pops, the oil is ready for the eggplant.

3. While the oil heats, prepare the flour to dredge the eggplant. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, garlic powder, cumin, salt, and pepper (and cayenne if you like it spicy). After patting dry, dredge the eggplant in the flour, making sure it's well-coated.

4. Place the eggplant in a single layer in the hot oil and fry until golden. Don't crowd the eggplant in the pan - fry in batches if needed.Using tongs, carefully turn eggplant if needed to ensure the eggplant is golden all around. Remove from oil, place on paper towels to drain, and salt while hot.

5. In a small bowl, whisk together the tahini, yogurt, garlic, lemon juice, and season with salt. Thin with water if needed.

6. Serve the eggplant, hot, with the tahini dipping sauce on the side.

Miso-Glazed Salmon

Spring is everywhere in Rockville right now. It's that beautiful pre-pollen stretch of days where the temperatures hit the 60s (today - gasp! - the 70s!) and the collection of gloves, ear muffs, scarves and hats that we keep in a basked by the front door seems incongruous, like, why would I wear all this? It's warm out! Get me some sunglasses!

It's also the time when the body years for something light, green, the kind of high-energy food that sustains you through a busy work day filled with deadlines, tasks, goals you need to reach, clients whose needs come first in your own career playbook, and a personal life happily muddled with plenty of family, friends, and assorted loved ones. Sometimes, this means that some of us set aside time dedicated to ourselves and our own needs in order to take care of everything that needs taking care of - that is, everyone's needs except your own.

But you matter, right? When spring hits, the carelessness with which you may have treated your own body over an exceptionally cold and snowy winter is suddenly brought to the forefront. Layers are shed for short sleeves, and long johns and lined pants make way for dresses and cropped trousers, and the spring in your step is not just a saying but a literal need to get going, get moving, take advantage of every second of these miraculously longer and sunnier days. I've tried to get a head start on spring - which officially starts tomorrow, March 20.

One new addition to my schedule is a three-mile run through my bucolic suburban neighborhood, past the single-family homes with owners puttering in the yards, past little-dog owners standing on corners and chit-chatting, past the park where a small family is playing a haphazard game of catch, past the elementary school where the expensive cars are dropping off expensive little children for a top-notch public school education, past the parking lot where the Chinese women play music on a tinny-sounding little boom box and practice slow and lyrical tai chi. I run, listening to my favorite running playlist of the moment, slower in that first mile, faster in the second, flying through the third, running the last half of that last one around the little lake where we live. A smile plastered on my face, each step lighter and stronger, the lyrics moving through my head and easy on my lips. When I get older, I will be stronger, they'll call me freedom, just like a waving flag....

I live a schedule-driven life, a schedule that sometimes skews too far toward taking care of others, with my own well-being placed - by no one but myself - on the back burner. After a long run and before a long work day, I seek food to fuel that long, great day. Protein-packed, complex carbs, healthy fats and fiber, and packing a serious flavor punch: this salmon, glazed with sweet, complex and nutty miso and paired with a salad of mixed greens, asparagus, toasted pumpkin seeds and barley, is a foolproof dish that will take care of you, even when you won't. Ready in 15 minutes, the key is mixing the vinaigrette on your own and drizzling it over the greens before serving, and placing the salmon on the greens while warm. And like most of the quasi-recipes on this site, it's infinitely adaptable.

MISO-GLAZED SALMON

Ingredients: 2 six-to-ten ounce salmon filets * 2 tbsp. sweet yellow miso paste * 1 tbsp. soy sauce * 1 tbsp. maple syrup * 1 good squeeze of sriracha hot sauce



For the salad: 3 cups mixed greens * 12 stalks of asparagus, broiled, blanched or steamed * 1 thinly sliced tomato * 1/2 cup toasted pepitas (pumpkin seeds) * 1 cup cooked barley or any grain you like
Vinaigrette: 3 tbsp. olive oil (or a good, good glug) * 2 tbsp. balsamic vinegar * 1 minced garlic clove * 1 tsp. dijon mustard * the juice of one lime * salt and pepper

1. Preheat oven (I use our little broiler oven) to 400 degrees. Whisk together miso, soy sauce, maple syrup, and sriracha (if you like things spicy!). Sprinkle salmon filets with salt and pepper, spread miso mixture evenly over the fish, and place skin-side down onto an aluminum-foil lined tray. Bake for 10 minutes or until firm. Don't overcook.

2. Mix all the ingredients for the vinaigrette in a small glass jar. Shake the jar until the vinaigrette is blended together. Place the greens, veggies, nuts and barley in a large bowl and cover with vinaigrette, and mix well. If there's not enough vinaigrette, make a little more. I prefer less dressing on my salad, but you may prefer more.

3. Arrange the salad on a plate, and top with salmon. Yum