sriracha tofu and broccolini with coconut rice

For some reason, I forgot to make this for a year or two.

I'm not sure why, because once I discovered it again – a few months ago – I quickly remembered that it's one of my favourite weeknight dinners.

In fact, it's the kind of quick weeknight dinner that is so good and so interesting that we really should make it for guests on a weekend. I'd better get on that.

Anyway, I should probably tell you more about it.

First, do you like coconut rice? I love coconut rice. It has that extra bit of richness from the coconut milk and the saltiness is just right here to balance it.

But the best part is how exciting the tofu is. I know you might not believe me when I describe tofu as exciting, but it's true. You'll have to make it to find out. The tofu is tossed with a simple mixture of sriracha and salt but somehow it becomes a new tasty thing with just a bit of chew.

The original recipe called for shrimp but since I can never find affordable ethical shrimp at the grocery store, I put in the tofu. Cheap, and possibly even better. (I've never tried the shrimp.)

Oh, and the broccolini. Or broccolette. Or finely-chopped and peeled regular broccoli. Whatever you call it, it picks up the sriracha and coconut milk and becomes the perfect crunchy bite next to the soft tofu.

Please, just make it. And don't forget about it.

One year ago: peanut sesame noodles
Two years ago: salted butter break-up cookies
Three years ago: chocolate peanut butter mice with licorice tails


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sriracha tofu and broccolini with coconut rice
adapted from gourmet
serves 4 – 5 

1 1/2 c. long-grain white rice*
1 1/2 c. water
1 tsp. sugar
1 c. + 1/2 c. coconut milk, well-stirred
3/4 tsp. + 3/4 tsp. salt
1 lb (454 g.) broccolini or broccolette**
1 block firm tofu, cut into bite-sized cubes
2 1/2 tbsp. sriracha sauce
2 tsp. cornstarch
1/4 c. + 1/4 c. chicken broth
1 tbsp. vegetable, canola or grapeseed oil

Rinse the rice under cold water and drain well. Pour into a medium-sized sauce pan with a heavy bottom. Add 1 1/2 cups water, sugar, 1 cup coconut milk and 3/4 teaspoon salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and cover. Cook for 20 minutes, then take it off the heat and let it stand for 5 minutes, still covered.

While the rice is cooking, peel the broccolini stalks and cut the whole thing into 1-inch lengths. Set aside.

In another bowl, toss the tofu with the with the sriracha and the remaining 3/4 teaspoon of salt. Set aside.

In a smaller bowl, stir the cornstarch, 1/4 cup chicken broth,  and 1/2 cup coconut milk until the cornstarch dissolves.

Heat a big heavy-bottomed skillet or Dutch oven over high heat. Add oil. Add broccolini and fry until it turns bright-green. Stir in the remaining 1/4 cup chicken broth. Once the liquid has evaporated (about 3 minutes), add the dressed tofu. Stir often and cook for 2 minutes. Stir the cornstarch mixture again and add it to the broccolini and tofu. Stir until the sauce is slightly thickened, about 3 minutes.

Fluff the rice and serve it with the broccolini mixture. Eat!


* We like Jasmine or Basmati rice 
** You could also use regular broccoli, stalks peeled and cut more finely

eating squash pasta and talking over dinner

A couple weeks ago, I read this article by Sherry Turkle in the New York Times.

It talked about solitude and conversation and phones.

For me, it was exactly just right.

My friends know I'm already pretty old-fashioned: I refuse to text and I just joined Facebook a few months ago – for this blog.

Mostly, I don't like being interrupted. I like concentrating and listening and being listened to. And I think you can't do that very well with a phone (or two) between you.

But I do see that everywhere around me, everything is changing.

At work, students walk across campus, heads down, reading and typing. I walk into an office to ask something and the person across from me feels the pull of the keyboard and screen to keep typing and scanning while I talk. A good friend has her phone on the table, upside down, while we're meeting other friends for dinner.

In the name of efficiency – in the name of distraction – we can't concentrate on each other.

This article also looked at solitude and I suddenly realized I've been interrupting my solitude just as much. When did it become wrong to stand in a line up and look around, instead of looking down at a phone? Why do I need to check my phone on the bus or at home in the evening?

I dearly love my solitude and if I want to accomplish something more than I am right now, interrupting myself won't help. It'll just be satisfying for those 10 seconds when I see there's a new message.

I am not missing anything.

For me, at least, it's time to make very deliberate decisions about when to turn the phone off. As a rough rule of thumb, let's say more often than not.

I made this new squash and pasta dish from Luisa around the same time I read the article.

I roasted the squash with Korean red pepper flakes and olive oil, and caramelized the onions slowly in apple cider vinegar and maple syrup. Mashed together and mixed with a bit of pasta water, scooped next to corn on the cob, and showered in parmesan, it was a perfect fall meal – with not a phone in sight.

one year ago: fresh plum kuchen
two years ago: leek gratin
three years ago: beet salad with honey-horseradish dressing

squash pasta
slightly adapted from The Wednesday Chef and The New York Times

2 1/2 – 3 lb. orange squash, such as butternut, peeled, seeded and cut into small pieces (about 1/8 – 1/4 inch thick)
3 tbsp. + 3 tbsp. olive oil
1/2 teaspon Korean red pepper flakes or dried chile flakes
3 tsp. kosher salt (1 1/2 tsp. regular salt)
1 onion, peeled and thinly sliced
1/4 c. apple cider vinegar
1/4 c. maple syrup
a good amount of parmesan or asiago, grated, to top
optional: scoop out the squash seeds, toss them with olive oil and salt and roast them in a small pan while you're roasting the squash flesh.

1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Take out a cookie sheet and line it with parchment paper. Stir the squash, 3 tablespoons olive oil, chile flakes and 2 teaspoons kosher salt in a bowl. Spread onto the prepared pan, and cook, stirring once, about 15 minutes – until it's tender and a bit coloured. (You may wish to also roast the squash seeds at this point.) Take out of the oven.

2. In the meantime, set a heavy pot over medium-high heat and heat the other 3 tablespoons of olive oil. Stir in the onions and remaining teaspoon of salt. Stir often, and cook until the onions are very soft and getting darker, about 10 – 15 minutes. Then pour in the vinegar and syrup and reduce the heat to medium-low. Cook until it gets almost syrupy and the onions break down, a bit like a jam.

3. Put the squash and onions in a bowl and use a fork to mash them together. Taste for seasoning and add more salt and pepper if necessary.

4. Boil your pasta – preferably penne or rigatoni – in lightly salted water until al dente. Near the end, set aside 1 – 2 cups of the starchy pasta cooking water. Strain the pasta and then stir the squash-onion mixture in, also using some (or all) of the reserved pasta water to thin it. Serve with grated parmesan to go on top, and roasted seeds, if you made them.

pasta with yogurt, peas, and chile

Here's what I like about this recipe. You blend some peas – and hold some peas back – with yogurt, olive oil and garlic until it makes a smooth, pale-green sauce. Which is something I never would have thought of.

Later, you add coarsely-crumbled feta cheese and ripped basil leaves. Which, frankly, make everything better.

At the end, you spoon little dribbles of red-chiled-olive oil and golden pine nuts over your pasta.

And that's it. You eat it, and you thank Orangette and Jerusalem for both creating it and letting you know about it.

one year ago: buttermilk cookies en route to calgary and pasta with smoked trout and asparagus
two years ago: asparagus and cheese sauce on toast
three years ago: mango love on oahu and chinese-canadian lettuce wraps
four years ago: dutch marzipan cookies and oregon hazelnut salad
five years ago: chocolate nut balls and ripe bean soup

pasta with yogurt, peas, and chile
slightly adapted from Orangette and Jerusalem, by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi
makes six servings

500 g. (1 1/2 c.) whole-milk Greek yogurt
150 ml. (2/3 c.) olive oil, separated to 90 ml + 60 ml.
2 medium garlic cloves, chopped
500 g. (1 lb.) fresh or frozen peas, thawed
kosher salt
450 – 500 g. pasta shapes
50 – 60 g. (1/3 – scant 1/2 c.) pine nuts
2 tsp. Korean, Turkish, or Syrian chile flakes, or red pepper flakes
1/2 c. – 1 2/3 c. basil leaves, coarsely torn*
240 g. (8 oz.) feta cheese, coarsely crumbled

Get out your food processor. Blend the yogurt, 90 ml. (6 tbsp.) olive oil, the garlic and 100 g. (2/3 c.) peas. Process until it's a consistent pale green and pour into a large mixing bowl.

Boil the pasta in a large pot of salted water. Cook until just al dente. Drain.

While the pasta is cooking, heat a small frying pan over medium heat. Warm the remaining olive oil, then add the pine nuts and chile flakes. Cook for about 4 minutes – keep an eye on it to make sure neither the nuts nor the chile flakes burns. When the pine nuts are golden, take the pan off the heat.

Cook the remaining peas in water for a couple minutes in the microwave until they're not raw, but just slightly cooked. Drain.

Pour a bit of the drained pasta into the big bowl with the green sauce and mix. (If you add it all at once, the sauce could separate.) Repeat with the rest of the pasta. Stir in the warm peas, basil, feta and 1 tsp. kosher salt. Gently toss. Put into serving dishes, and spoon a bit of oil and pine nuts over top. Serve.

* This is a huge variation. If you've got tons of basil growing in your garden, do use the higher amount. But if you have to buy very expensive basil at the grocery store, it's still very good with the smaller amount.

tuscan white beans

Happy New Year!

And happy time of the bean. In the post-sugar-and-gravy-haze of the holidays, I always like to give you at least one new bean recipe before I go back to dolloping cream over everything.

Last year, it was black-eyed peas with kale and bacon (and a near identical photo – fancy that!).

I seem to have skipped a year in 2012 (it was a leap year, after all), but I did bring you the über-healthy and über-tasty glory bowl.

In 2011, I brought you glorious hummus.

And in 2010, I brought you shortbread. Hmmm . . . maybe I'm not quite as consistent as I think.

Anyway, back to this year's bean dish.

Have you ever eaten a cannellini bean?

I believe it is Italian for "buttery, wonderful bean." That might not be a direct translation.

The cannellini bean is essential for this dish because once it's fully cooked, it magically maintains its nice bean-y texture but also emits a kinds of creamy bean-y goodness. This works very well when you finish it with slivers of golden fennel and carrot that have been softened in good olive oil.

A bit of fresh sage perks it all up, as does a splash of white wine at the very end.

I should tell you that the original recipe calls for both fresh sage and fresh rosemary, but my grocery budget doesn't permit me to buy both. I find a shake of dried marjoram stands in nicely for the fresh rosemary. (The sage is also handy to have on hand to add to brown-butter gnocchi for another meal.)

Anyway, whatever herbs you use and however you want to adjust this, it all cooks up and blends together so well that you will be eating it for many Januaries to come.

Bonus photo! This snowflake just arrived in the mail from friends in Germany.
Isn't it lovely?

tuscan white beans
adapted from Ina Garten's Barefoot Contessa: How Easy is That? and Ezra Pound Cake 
serves 6

454 g. (1 lb.) dried white cannellini beans
1/4 c. olive oil
4 c. fennel, chopped (about 2 large fennels)
2 c. carrot, chopped (about 4 carrots)
1 tbsp. garlic, minced
2 – 3 c. chicken stock
1 tbsp. fresh sage leaves, minced
2 tsp. kosher salt (or 1 tsp. regular salt)
1/2 tsp. freshly-ground pepper
1/2 – 2/3 c. Asiago, Parmesan, or Pecorino Romano cheese, grated
splash of white wine
(optional) couple shakes of dried marjoram powder
(optional) 1 tbsp. fresh rosemary, minced

You have two options for soaking the beans: slow and quick.

Slow option: Cover the beans with water at least two inches higher than the beans. Cover and refrigerate overnight or 8 hours.

Quick option: Cover the beans with water at least two inches higher than the beans. Bring to a boil. Turn off the heat, cover and let sit for 1 hour.

Strain and rinse the beans. Put them back in the pot and add about twice as much water as beans. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer uncover until they are tender, about 45 minutes (depending how old your beans are).

In the meantime, heat a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the olive oil. Stir in the fennel and carrot. Cook 8 – 10 minutes, until tender. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 more minute.

Once the beans have cooked, strain them and add them to the vegetables.

Add 2 cups of the stock, sage, salt and pepper. Also add the marjoram or rosemary, if using. Bring to a simmer and cover. Stir occasionally and simmer for 15 – 30 minutes, until the beans are a very tender and a bit creamy. Add more stock if you'd like it a bit saucier.

Add the wine. Turn the heat off. Stir in the cheese. Taste for salt and pepper (you'll probably need more.) Serve hot with a piece of crusty bread or cheesy toast.

leek gratin

I tend to go a bit leek crazy.

Whenever I see them at the farm or the farmers' market, their white curly ends and smooth white-to-green stalks pull me in. I hand over my money and I'm suddenly filling my wrinkled cloth bag with bunches and bunches of leeks.

Their dark green tops peek out the top of the bag and look so cheerful on the way home.

But once in the fridge – once I've cleared a whole shelf in the fridge because, let's face it, leeks are not small vegetables – it's a different story.

Their leaves get a bit wilted and I remember how much work it is to wash all that pesky dirt out of leeks. In short, I feel overwhelmed by a vegetable.

Luckily, I stumbled onto this recipe last summer at just such a time.

It's from Beyond the Plate and it only has four ingredients: leeks, heavy cream, freshly-ground nutmeg and gruyère cheese.

I was a bit dubious, until I read that Danielle's husband learned the recipe in Switzerland. Really, that was enough. If anyone knows how to make gratin, I believe it would be the Swiss.

And they do. And now I do. And so will you, if you make this.

The technique is brilliant: simmer the heavy cream and a bit of the leek cooking water down until it's thick and pre-gratin-y (that is a new word I just made up!). Stir in a good amount of nutmeg, season it with salt and pepper, coat the tender leeks with the sauce and cover it all with a good lid of gruyère cheese.

This bubbles and burbles in the oven and the gruyère blisters into brown caramelized goodness and –

Oh.

The leek magic is realized and there is suddenly nothing else I would rather eat. I reassure myself that buying bunches and bunches of leeks was actually a very wise decision, and I dig in.

P.S. Thanksgiving is coming, and I do believe this would be a show-stopper side dish on your Thanksgiving table. Just sayin'.

Thanksgiving ideas: turnip puff, tarragon three-bean salad, creamy celeriac soup and rosemary corn butter
one year ago: beet salad with honey-horseradish dressing
two years ago: star anise plum jam
three years ago: finally yummy brussels sprouts

leek gratin
via beyond the plate

 about 1 kg. (2 – 2 1/2 lbs) leeks*
1 1/2 c. whipping cream
2 tsp. ground nutmeg or as much freshly-ground nutmeg as you can bear grating
salt and pepper
1 1/5 c. gruyère cheese, grated

First, start by preparing your leeks. Trim the end off each, then cut discs about 3 cm (1 inch) thick. The first couple disks will be white. After that, cut off a layer of green leaf and rinse it for each disc. This will keep the pesky dirt hiding in the leek away from your gratin and help make sure you're using the tender part of the leek.

Put the leeks in a pot with enough water to cover. Stir in a big pinch of coarse sea salt. Bring to a boil, then simmer the leeks uncovered for 5 minutes. Take 1/4 c. of the cooking water out of the pot and set it aside. Drain the leeks and set aside.

Pour the whipping cream and reserved leek water into a wide skillet. Bring to a good simmer over medium heat, stirring often. Over approximately the next 30 minutes, the cream will thicken and get a bit clumpy. When it's sufficiently thickened, the bubbles will have more trouble breaking through and it will look like there's a layer of cream around the circumference. (See photo.)

While you are waiting for the cream to thicken, chop the leeks into quarter-discs.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

One the cream has thickened, add nutmeg, salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the leeks and keep stirring until they're well coated. Turn the heat off and spoon your creamy leek mixture into a casserole dish (preferably a wider dish than the one I used above). Use the back of the spoon to even it out in the dish. Toss on the cheese to cover the creamy leeks. Bake for 20 – 30 minutes, or until the gratin becomes golden brown.

Let it rest on a rack for 10 minutes before serving.

* Leeks come in wildly different sizes. One kilogram could equal anywhere from 2 very large leeks to 7 smaller leeks. Try to weigh them at the store so you know what you're dealing with.

asparagus and cheese sauce on toast

Once, on Prince Edward Island, someone fed me asparagus and cheese sauce on toast.

I had a boyfriend whose mother was from the Island, and maybe it was one of his relatives. I can hardly remember anything about that trip – it was maybe 15 years ago – except that it was Easter and it was cold and snowy and someone fed me asparagus and cheese sauce on toast.

I had never heard of such a thing.

I mean, I had heard of each individual thing: asparagus, cheese sauce, toast. But I had never heard of putting them together and then eating them with a fork and knife for dinner.

I remember going home and making it a couple of times at my little apartment in Halifax where I was studying. And then I don't remember ever making it again, even though I obviously liked it.

But this week in my Prairie city, that is almost as far and as different from Halifax and Prince Edward Island as you can get in Canada, I thought of it again.

We had half a bunch of asparagus sitting in the fridge and no plan for dinner. I suddenly remembered putting asparagus and cheese sauce on toast back on the east coast (rhyme not intentional).

As a good western boy, Scott had never heard of such a thing, but he was game. Twenty minutes later – bread toasted, asparagus steamed, cheese sauce whipped up – we were eating dinner and happy as (PEI) clams.

I made the recipe up out of my head because this is not a complicated business. I did try to look it up on the Internet to see if there was some quaint Island name I could attach to it.

I found absolutely nothing related to asparagus and cheese sauce on toast and Prince Edward Island. So, as Anne Shirley would say, the name for this dinner is plain prose and not poetry.

But I think you'll like it.

P.S. If you're from PEI and you know what this is properly called, could you please tell me?

one year ago: Chinese-Canadian lettuce wraps and loganberry vinegar
two years ago: Oregon hazelnut salad and blueberry rhubarb rum jam
three years ago: ripe bean soup and chocolate peanut butter oatcakes

asparagus and cheese sauce on toast
serves 2

4 – 5 pieces of bread
enough asparagus to cover the toast (maybe 15 stalks)
1 tbsp. butter
1 tbsp. wheat flour
     or gluten-free: 1 tbsp. sweet rice flour*
1 cup milk, heated
1 c. old cheddar cheese, grated
salt and pepper to taste

Start by making the cheese sauce. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Whisk in the flour and let it simmer for 1 – 2 minutes to cook and bind together. Slowly whisk in the heated milk. Turn the heat up to medium and bring to a simmer. Simmer for a minute or two until it's thickened somewhat. Whisk in the cheese a bit at a time until it's incorporated. Add salt and pepper to taste.

In the meantime, put the asparagus in simmering water and cook until bright green and tender. Alternatively, steam it until tender.

Toast the bread.

Set the table with butter, asparagus and cheese sauce. Butter your toast. Lay the asparagus on top. Pour cheese sauce over to taste. Eat.

*If you don't have any sweet rice flour, you can use white or brown rice flour but your sauce won't be quite as smooth.

spiced red lentil stew with greens and lemon

One of the things that drives me bonkers about women's magazines is when they advertise recipes for "dinner in 20 minutes flat!"

They're everywhere and they're generally completely unrealistic. I mean, do these magazines think we have a sous-chef who's right beside us in the kitchen, chopping vegetables faster than the speed of light and measuring spices into little prep bowls?

In my experience, a good meal takes between one and two hours to make. (The only way around this I've found is the humble sausage. Frying sausage, boiling potatoes and few veggies can be done in about 40 minutes. But I cannot eat sausage every night.)

When I say "good meal," I mean one that feeds at least two people and leaves lots of leftovers for lunch the next day and tastes good. It also usually includes all of the food groups.

So I get pretty excited when I find a recipe I can make in just under an hour that meets all those requirements. These recipes are not usually very sexy.

Case in point: when I was looking through the lovely Laura Calder's newest cookbook, I was about to flip right by her recipe for spiced red lentil stew with spinach and lemon.

Yes, I do eat a lot of lentils, but I wasn't exactly looking for lentil inspiration in a French cook book. However! Laura knows me well and the headnote to the recipe began, "Please do not overlook this recipe . . . " and proceeded to list why I should make it.

Merci, Laura. I made this recipe soon after and it has become one of the best recipes we've discovered in the last while. In fact, I do believe we've made it at least five times in the last five months.

It is a brilliant recipe and I can make it all in under an hour. (Imagine how much faster I'd be with a sous-chef!) The lentils cook down in their spicy broth and remind me of dahl. I am not really a spinach or greens lover, but even they just work piled on top of the lentils. Then the bits of lemon juice squeezed on top wake it all up and make each bite different. I like to put this all on a bed of short-grain brown rice – you know the kind that almost pops in your mouth?

It's all divine. If I had my own magazine, I'd advertise, "dinner in just under an hour!" and I'd know you really could do it by yourself – and enjoy it.

How many copies I'd sell would be another story.

one year ago: cheddar corn chowder and lemon gumdrops
two years ago: grand forks borscht and up island
three years ago: canadian boterkoek and sophisticated marshmallow squares
lentil-love: dahl for dinner, dahling and parsley lentil pasta and salmon with sugar-salt rub and Mark Bittman's lentils

spiced red lentil stew with greens and lemon
slightly adapted from Laura Calder's Dinner Chez Moi

brown rice (I like this short-grain brown rice best)
2 tbsp. (30 ml) olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 jalapeño pepper, minced (or peperoncino, crushed, if you can get it)
2 tsp. (10 ml) ground cumin
1 tsp. (5 ml) ground coriander
1 tsp. (5 ml) curry powder
pinch of turmeric
1 c. (200 g.) red lentils
398 ml (14 oz.) best-quality canned tomatoes
3 – 3.5 c. (about 700 ml) chicken stock*
salt and pepper
100 – 200 g. (4 – 8 oz.) Swiss chard, spinach or other greens, stems trimmed
lemon wedges for serving

Get your rice going, so it can cook while you prepare the lentils and greens.

Put a Dutch oven or large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the oil. Stir in the garlic, jalapeño, cumin, coriander and curry. After about a minute, the garlic should be light brown. Pour in the lentils, tomatoes, stock and turmeric. Cover and bring to a simmer, stirring every so often, until the lentils have broken down and become a purée, about 20 – 30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

Next, prepare the greens. Wash them and put them into a big pot with water droplets still on the leaves. Cover the pot and turn the heat to medium-high. Steam them for 3 – 5 minutes, tossing them with tongs a couple times to make sure they don't stick to the bottom of the pot. Once they are just wilted, turn off the heat.

Ladle lentils over rice in wide shallow bowls. Top with a tangle of greens. Serve with lemon wedges on the side to squeeze over.

*If you add 4 cups of stock, you will have a stewy soup and you don't need to serve it with rice. But I like the rice!

black-eyed peas with kale and bacon

I am a reformed vegetarian.

Between the ages of 12 and 28, I followed various denominations of vegetarian: full, pescetarian, chicken-atarian . . .

Then I lived in a house full of people from Oxford, England and Atlanta, Georgia. Suddenly, bacon was frying in a heavy black cast-iron skillet all the time.

And the smell – well, the smell was irresistible.

Needless to say, bacon was my gateway meat.

Now, I am a proud omnivore and no denomination of vegetarian will describe me at all. Of course, we still do eat a lot of vegetarian meals . . . old habits die hard.

Which is why I'd like to offer you this almost-vegetarian dish – a dish whose genius lies in its use of bacon.

You see, you start with just a few slices of bacon and fry them up, until they're crispy and you can't resist doing a few taste-tests while they're draining on the paper towel. But – and here's the genius – you leave the little bit of bacon fat that has seeped out in the pan.

Yes, exactly! And then you cook your onion and carrot and celery and garlic in that bacon goodness. The veggies soak up that bacon goodness like a sponge and become glistening and full of flavour – all ready to hang out with their good friend, the black-eyed pea.

Do you know the black-eyed pea?

It's my favourite bean, possibly because it's my favourite card in my favourite card game – Bohnanza – but also because it's so tender and beautiful at the same time.

The black-eyed pea is yet another bean that is so much better bought dried, and then soaked and cooked. You know that strangely slimy, gushy texture canned beans have? Well, dried beans don't get that (unless, I suppose, you cooked them forever and ever). Instead, a dried bean plumps up and maintains its shape even while it gets tender on the inside. To say that I like dried beans would be an understatement (see, the vegetarian in me lives on).

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking you don't have time to deal with dried beans. That's what I thought, too – I'm never on top of life enough to soak dried beans over night. But it turns out you can cut that time right down to an hour with the same results as soaking: just bring them to a boil, turn them off and let them sit for 1 hour.

Anyway, back to this black-eyed pea dish. I call it a dish because I like to leave just a little liquid to dip my bread in, but otherwise I like it thick and substantial. Magical things happen here: with that bacon and the cumin and these beans and even the kale.

This is, unapologetically, a deep-winter dish that you might find yourself waiting for all year round – vegetarian or not.

one year ago: lemon syllabub
two years ago: rosemary gruyère baked eggs
three years ago: shortbread in january

black-eyed peas with kale and bacon
adapted from eating for england and for the love of cooking

feeds 4

2 c. dried black-eyed peas
5 – 7 slices bacon, chopped (easiest to do frozen)
1 small onion, diced
3 carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
15 oz. canned whole tomatoes, best quality you can get
salt and freshly-ground black pepper
1 tsp. cumin
pinch of crushed red pepper (or Korean red pepper)
3 1/2 – 4 c. chicken broth
2 – 3 c. kale, chopped finely

First, prepare the black-eyed peas. You have two options.

Option 1: Put the black-eyed peas in a big pot with lots of water. Soak them for at least 8 hours.

Option 2: Put the black-eyed peas in a big pot with lots of water. Bring them to a boil. Turn off the heat, cover and wait 1 hour.

Drain your prepared black-eyed peas and rinse them well.* Set aside.

Put a big heavy-bottomed pot (like a Dutch oven) over medium heat. Cook the bacon until it's just cooked and a bit crispy. While it's cooking, prepare a small plate with a paper towel on top. When the bacon's done, use a slotted spoon to take it out and put it on the prepared plate.

Add the onion, carrot and celery to the bacon fat left in the pot. Fry for 2 – 3 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook for 1 more minute. Add the tomato, salt, pepper, cumin and crushed red pepper and cook for 2 – 3 minutes. Break up the tomatoes with your spoon a bit while everything's cooking.

Pour in the chicken broth and prepared black-eyed peas. Bring to a simmer and cover. Let it simmer for about 30 minutes, until the black-eyed peas and veggies are tender, but not too soft.

Stir in the kale and bacon and simmer for 5 more minutes. Serve – we like this with crusty bread or homemade cheesy garlic toast and a glass of red wine.

*Apparently, if you rinse beans, they are less likely to cause gas.

salmon with warm tomato basil oil

Last week, I mentioned my love affair with Ricardo videos. (Luckily, Scott also loves the videos, so it's all above board.)

This week, I'd like to tell you about the other chef I let pop into my world on a regular basis: Laura Calder.

There are many reasons I love Laura. Let me count them for you.

1. She always wears dresses.
2. When she says "just a little bit of butter," she puts a huge bit of butter into the pan.
3. She has a somewhat similar background to me: languages, journalism, public relations, appreciation of bacon . . .

Laura has also worked on food in France, as a cookbook writer and helping to run a cooking school. She is a genius with meat and has taught me how to sear and brown and braise.

(My mother is also very good at cooking meat, but I completely threw away my chance to learn from her, since I was a vegetarian during my teenage years at home. Alas. She teaches me things now when I visit.)

Anyway, I bet you're wondering about this fish and these tomatoes and that basil?

Turns out, tomatoes and basil aren't just for pasta! Or bread!

Nope, they're also for salmon. Just take a bit of olive oil, warm it gently, throw in the tomatoes and basil and you have a lovely treat for your salmon, which has been baking in the oven for a few minutes.

We also tried this with a very light salmon that was almost a trout and it was a very happy fish indeed with its slick of tomatoes and basil. (Trout: so close to salmon and yet so different. How does that work? Are they related?)

What to serve it with? I'd suggest new potatoes and a simple green salad with loganberry vinaigrette. Your plate may look like it came from the cafeteria at IKEA, but it will taste a lot fresher. (Don't new boiled potatoes rolling around your plate and bumping into a piece of salmon make you think of IKEA?)

One year ago: Kristina's nuss kuchen (cherry hazelnut cake)
Two years ago: honey orange cream

salmon with warm tomato basil oil
slightly adapted from Laura Calder
serves 4 – 6

a filet of salmon or trout to serve 4 – 6 people (about 600 – 800 g.)
salt and pepper
1/3 – 1/2 c. virgin olive oil
2 tomatoes, seeded* and finely diced
1 handful basil leaves, cut in fine strips

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit (160 degrees Celcius).

Rub a good amount of salt and pepper into the salmon. Bake until it's just cooked through. It should take about 15 minutes; start checking on it after 12.

In the meantime, set a small pot with a heavy bottom over medium-low heat. Pour in the olive oil and warm it. This will happen quickly, possibly in 1 – 2 minutes. Whatever you do, err on the side of not overheating the oil. Remove it from the heat.

Check that you haven't heated the oil too hot. Standing as far away as you can, drop a piece of tomato into it and step back. If it fizzes and suddenly deep-fries, the oil is too hot. Give it a few minutes to cool down. If the tomato just sits happily in the oil, you may carry on.

Stir the tomato and basil into the oil. Taste and season with salt and pepper, keeping in mind that you've already put salt and pepper on the salmon.

Once the fish is done and out of the oven, move it to a serving platter. Spoon the warm tomato and basil oil over. Serve.


*Here's an easy way to seed a tomato. Cut it into wedges. Use a sharp paring knife to scrape out the seeds. Done.