Sardine and Fava Bean Bruschetta

I can't remember if I've ever written a love song to favas on this blog. I mean, I've written about them, but I probably haven't sung their praises as much as they deserve. Starting in late May, I bother the farmers at my local market every Sunday, trying to subtly nudge them to pick their favas as soon as they're ready so I can dig in. The first few weeks, I'm met with transparently frustrated replies of "they're not ready, lady!" but around the second week in June, out they come. From them on, you'll find me and my tote bags by the fava bin. That's right.

Favas come double-wrapped, so to speak; they're tucked in a waxy coating that's nestled inside a pod. To eat favas, you pop open the pods, scoop out and blanch the beans, and then remove the outer shell. Work intensive? Yea, but you won't find me complainin'. Favas are sweet and green and, with a little salt and not much else, the delicious essence of early summer.

While I usually just toss my favas in a salad or mix them with some pasta and other vegetables, I also really like fava bean spread. Mine is smooth enough to spread but still quite chunky, and laced with a whole lot of garlic and a squeeze of lemon. If I don't finish it all before using it, I'll spread it on a baguette and eat it just so. Or, if I'm really feelin' it, I'll top my bruschetta with some vinegar-and-oil-cured sardine fillets. The idea came to me from an Epicurious recipe for cannellini and sardine bruschetta. I love cannellini, but I don't stock my pantry with dry or canned beans when fresh ones are so readily available during the summer, so I subbed in favas for the cannellini the recipe called for. The combination worked perfectly: the headiness of the garlicy fava spread stood up well to the sardines, which added just the right amount of richness and tang. Toasted baguette, more than a vehicle, was crunchy and light, a fine contrast for the favas and sardines perched atop it. I finished off the bruschetta simply, with a bit of olive oil and a grind of the pepper mill. It didn't need much else.

The fact that I've managed to get this far without begging ya'll not to hate sardines is a testament only to how silly I think sardine-squeamishness really is. Sardines are awesome; their flavor is strong and pungent, they're a bit oily and somewhat tangy, they're packed with omega-3s, and really, they're delicious. If you hate'em, be that way. If not, welcome to my club. Enjoy your stay. Want some sardine and fava bean bruschetta?

Sardine and Fava Bean Bruschetta inspired by a recipe from Gourmet

1/4 lb. sardines, oil-packed or salt-packed are fine (if salt packed, be sure to rinse thoroughly) (1 tin sardines will be plenty) 4 lbs. fava beans, shelled, blanched, and peeled (see here for instructions) 2 cloves garlic 2 Tbsp. lemon juice salt and pepper 1 baguette olive oil

Slice baguette on sharp bias into 1 3/4-inch slices and set aside. On a cutting board, chop garlic into small pieces. Add a sprinkle of salt; using a very sharp knife, drag the blade toward you across the garlic, mashing it and the salt with the side of your knife. Keep dragging and regathering the garlic until it resembles a pretty smooth paste. Add favas. Continue this motion until favas have been pretty mashed with the garlic, and the whole thing looks smooth enough to spread but still fairly chunky. Scoop up and put into a medium sized bowl. Add salt and lemon juice and mash up with a fork to incorporate. Add salt to taste.

Toast baguettes until golden. Cool five minutes on a rack, then plate and spread with some of the fava spread. Top with 2 fillets of sardines, a glug of olive oil, and a grind of the pepper mill. Serve just so.

Wisdom: How to Build a Cheeseplate

When summer rolls around, the heat in Washington DC can be rather prohibitive. Almost nothing is worth touching that oven dial, especially in our loft apartment that gets a whole lot of hot air and nary a breeze. Dinner most frequently comprises an easy salad like this broccoli slaw or this Mediterranean orzo salad, or maybe even a cold soup like this quick-and-easy zucchini number I made last summer. Tie that all together with some crusty bread and I've got an easy supper.

Salads and cold soups are definitely an antidote to the heat and humidity, but when the weather is so debilitating that I want to just crash when I get home, a cheeseplate is really the way to go. Cheeseplates are easy to assemble but elegant enough for company, and while people seem to think they go best with red wine, I've found (and had more authoritative sources corroborate) that a chilled (but not too chilled) glass of white wine makes even better company.

Recently, I was reading a great post from Mr. Amateur Gourmet, Adam Roberts, about his trip to the famed Murray's Cheese in Greenwich Village and his quest for the perfect cheese plate. He asked the man behind the counter for help selecting his cheeses, and the man gave him a mild but interesting goat cheese, a sharper cow-and-sheep cheese, and a stinky washed rind cheese. Lost yet? Don't despair. You can do as Adam did -- and as I often do -- and ask the advice of the person behind the counter. My favorite cheese spots here in DC are the wonderful Cowgirl Creamery, where cheese nerds come to play, and Calvert Woodley, which has a great selection and some really helpful folks behind the counter. That said, even the folks at Whole Foods can help steer you in the right direction. Meanwhile, whether you're enlisting a team of advisers or going at this alone, there are a few basic things that are helpful to know before embarking on your cheeseplate expedition. This post will shed some light on how to build a cheese plate, how to cut and serve each of the cheeses, and what sorts of breads and spreads make the best vehicles and complements for enjoying the cheese.

CHOOSING YOUR CHEESE When building a cheese plate, one good guiding principle is that the plate should reflect a range of funk, hardness and origins. There's nothing wrong with a plate composed entirely of cow's milk cheese, but having a variety is a good place to start.

I usually like to have at least one goat cheese on the plate. Sometimes I pick something spreadable, perhaps with herbs. Other times, I choose a harder, semi-aged goat cheese, like Bucheron, or one of my all-time favorite goat milk cheeses, Humboldt Fog. Humboldt Fog is made by Cypress Grove Chevre, and it's got a beautiful layer of ash running through the middle of the cheese. It's also got three distinct layers: the cakey interior, the creamier outer layer, and the rind. It's a wonderful cheese.

I'm not a big sheep milk cheese person, but I really enjoy Manchego and Idiazabal, both Spanish sheeps' milk cheese. Manchego is salty and robust; Idiazabal is grassier, but really complex. Both are good options, and both will be harder than most goats' milk cheeses.

Other types of Cheese:

Blue Cheese, which is cheese laced with (delicious) bluish mold. Blue cheeses are pungent, sometimes even a bit spicy, and strong. Some are quite salty, others on the sweeter side. A couple of my favorites are Fourme D'Ambert, which is creamy and rich, and Rogue Creamery Rogue River Blue, which is wrapped in grape leaves and is uber smoky and delicious.

Bloomy cheeses, which are covered in a white, slightly damp rind. Bloomy rinded cheese tends to be soft, and ranges from the chalky goat-cheese consistency to the unbeatable richness of triple cream cheese.

Washed rinds, which are, as the name suggest, washed in any number of liquids including but not limited to water. Washed rind cheese can be quite funky. One of my favorite washed rind cheeses is Epoisses, which is salty and pretty runny, but also has a sort of funky sweet-smokiness to it. I find it absolutely addictive.

One last shout-out to one of my other favorite cheeses, Cowgirl Creamery Mt. Tam. It's a triple cream cheese that's got a thick, creamy texture and an endless array of wonderful aromas. It's won lots of awards, and it's truly a phenomenal cheese.

If even after trying them you're hesitant to invest in a big hunk, try the "cheese treasures" section. They tend to have sections like it at Whole Foods as well as major cheese stores (and I know that the Calvery Woodley here in DC has one, too). Usually buried somewhere in the corner of the display case (as all treasures should be), there'll be a pile of cheese nubs, usually the bits of whatever cheese was killed that day. It's a great place to experiment, and at only a couple of bucks per piece, it's hard to go too far astray.

PLATING AND SERVING YOUR CHEESE

Plate your cheese in order from mildest to most stinky. Theoretically, you should eat the cheeses in this order as well, though after trying an initial round of bites in the correct succession, I tend to take bites of this or that in no particular order, using a glass of wine as a palate cleanser.

For hard cheeses, use a slicer that'll take off shavings of the cheese. If you have a big hunk of hard cheese, you won't enjoy it nearly as much as when your slice of baguette cushions several paper-thin slices.

Serve softer cheeses with cheese knives -- those blunt-bladed stubby ones that can spread just about anything. Also put out some spoons for any accompanying chutneys, jams, or pastes.

TO ACCOMPANY YOUR CHEESE

Most people seem to serve cheese plates with crackers, since they're easy to serve, easy to eat one-handed, and come in a variety of flavors. However, most cheese experts say that a classic baguette is actually the way to go; its flavor, while pronounced, is more neutral than crackers, and thus serves as a prime vehicle for tasting the true flavor of the cheese. I eat cheese most often on baguette, but every once in a while, I enjoy a crispy cracker (especially those rainforest crisps from Whole Foods -- they're like biscotti, with bits of dried figs or cranberries and some nuts too). Best solution? Serve both. See for yourself which goes first.

In terms of condiments, everyone's got their favorites, and I'm no exception. For Manchego or Idiazabal, I like a nice hunk of Membrillo, the delightfully sweet-tart and thicker-than-jam quince paste. Mitica is my favorite brand: it's homemade and fresh-tasting. It might look like a lot for just a cheese plate, but buy yourself some and I guarantee you'll find ways to use it. Plus, it lasts in the fridge for months.

For creamy, runny, nosey cheeses, I like a jam or compote that can stand up. Fig jam is my standby, but I'll settle for something else in a pinch. Nothing too fruity though -- strawberry jam will kill the cheese with its overpowering sweetness.

Goat cheese goes well with any number of things, from sweet to savory. Tomatoes, capers, olives, and pesto are all good savory choices; for something sweet, try a tomato or pepper jam, a chutney, or even a drizzle of date honey.

I hope this list is a good beginner's guide, but please don't let it be restrictive. The last time I was at Cowgirl, one of the women behind the counter was helping me out, slicing tastes of this or that as I poked around. Suddenly, she had some sort of lightbulb moment and ran to the back of the shop. She came back carrying a massive (think a yard wide) half-wheel of what she described as the best cheese she's ever had. It was a Basque cheese, handmade by a husband-and-wife team, and wrapped in all sorts of fresh and dried herbs, including bay leaves and various peppercorns. The cheese was firm, pale whitish yellow, and looked pretty ordinary inside -- but the flavors, WOW, the flavors! It felt creamy and rich, but then it started to open up, and I got herbs, wood, some barnyard-y aromas, then sweetness, a punch of salt, and who even knows what else. I asked for two or three more tries and took home a big hunk with me. The cheese didn't even have a name, so I can't recommend it, but it was really earth-shattering. I'm willing to bet your local cheese shop has something in stock that one of the folks behind the counter is really excited to share. Be sure to take them up on it.

Pickled Cauliflower

I absolutely love sour things. I've been known to suck on a lemon slice once in a while, just for kicks (though my dentist scolded me for doing it, so I reluctantly put the habit to rest). When it comes to pickles, I'm a full-sour kinda gal. None of that dill or bread-n-butter stuff; I like'em super super sour. I'm into cucumber pickles, but I can't say that they're my favorite -- not by a long shot. No, my absolute favorite pickle is a pickled green tomato, especially if it's from Guss' Pickles on the Lower East Side. My first time at Guss' was on an 8th grade class trip, when we stopped there very briefly on our way back from grabbing knishes, bialys, deli, and other LES specialties. I remember watching friends get themselves just one pickle, or two. When I looked deep into the plastic tub in front of me and saw green tomato quarters, bobbing up and down in the brine, I knew that's what I had to have. Sadly, Guss didn't sell the tomatoes by the single back then -- only by the pound. Obviously, I bought myself a pound of pickled green tomatoes. Reluctant to waste, I ate them all. Boy were they good.

Not to dismiss cukes, but compared to the tomatoes and other exotic pickled things, they're kind of ordinary. I can promise you that this cauliflower recipe is anything but. I originally published this recipe in an article I did for My Jewish Learning on Israeli Independence Day, but these sour, cardamom-spiked florets are great year-round.

Before I send you off with this recipe, I want to just make note of a couple housekeeping items: first, I finally figured out how to set up comment threads, so now we can all respond to each other's comments, which is very exciting for me, since I've been wondering how to do it for almost two years.

Second, the link to my current coveted cookbook, Bittersweet, was apparently taking everyone to my last coveted cookbook, A Platter of Figs. That's a great cookbook -- but so is Bittersweet, so now the link works.

Lastly, can you hang in there for a weekend? I'm away for a couple days, but I'll be back Sunday with more delicious things to make and eat...

Pickled Cauliflower

update: thanks to reader Rachel who pointed out that the recipe should read 3 TEASPOONS salt and not 3 Tablespoons. Egad! Sorry, Rachel! 3 tsp. coriander seeds 1 tsp. turmeric ½ tsp. white mustard seeds ½ tsp. cumin seeds ½ tsp. celery seeds, optional 3 bay leaves Pinch cayenne pepper, optional 1 head cauliflower, washed and separated into florets 1 large carrot, sliced into thick chunks ½ a small yellow onion, sliced into half-moons 1 ½ cups white wine or plain white vinegar 3 tbsp. sugar 3 tsp. kosher salt

Bring a 2-quart saucepan of salted water to a boil. Boil the cauliflower and carrots for 3 minutes; drain and transfer to a large bowl. Add the onion and stir to combine. In a large sealable container (canning jars will work, but are not required if you plan to eat the salad soon and store in the fridge), add half the total amount of each spice (not including the sugar and salt). If dividing the salad among several jars, divide half the total amount of each spice among the jars, saving the other half to top the vegetables. Add the vegetables into the container(s), leaving about ¾ " of space at the top of each container. In a 4-quart saucepan, bring 2 cups water and all the sugar and salt to a boil over high heat, stirring occasionally until fully dissolved. Add vinegar and stir to combine.

Pour the vinegar solution into the container(s), leaving ½” of space below each rim. Close or seal container(s) and transfer to the refrigerator. Allow to marinate at least 24 hours before serving; the longer you wait, the better.

Oven-Roasted Olives

In recent years, a slew of upscale pizza places have sprouted up to sate the ever-growing yuppie appetite for $13 (or $15, or $20) pies. Just look at Manhattan and Brooklyn: they're bursting with fancy pizza points, from the old-school Lombardi's and my favorite Grimaldi's to the newer Roberta's and Co., dreamt up by the breadmaster Jim Lahey. Washington is following suit, in its own more muted way, and by now we've actually got a few great spots for the ultimate Neapolitan treat.

One such spot, Two Amys, is a standby in this house. We pop over there at least once a month, and by now we're buddy-buddy with a waitress, we know our favorite wine on the menu, and we've even found a bus that takes us, literally, from door to door.

We go to Two Amys for pizza, but two other things on the menu are just as much of a draw: the suppli -- fried balls of risotto laced with tomato sauce, with some piping hot mozzarella in the center -- and the oven-roasted olives. Granted, D has no interest in the olives (in olives of any kind, for that matter -- but I'll say, they're one of the cheapest appetizers in town. For $4.95, you get a large bowl of olives roasted with really good olive oil, spices, and maybe some garlic. The little jewels simply burst in your mouth. They even come with a couple slices of crusty bread to soak up all that olive oil deliciousness (if you've got room, between the soupli and the pizza).

After two years of snacking on these olives, I finally came to my senses and realized that, with minimal effort, I could whip some up at home. I browsed my usual cache of websites for some inspiration, but it turns out that recipes were altogether unnecessary. I simply took out a rimmed sheet pan, drizzled it with some olive oil, and into the olive oil I scattered a mix of olives -- picholine, manzanilla, and kalamata, in my case, but any will do. Overtop go any mix of fresh and dried herbs that suits your fancy. I used several sprigs of fresh thyme, some dried basil and oregano, and lots of freshly-cracked black pepper. I threw in a couple slices of lemon as well, for some much-needed acidity.

...Um, did you expect more steps? Sorry to disappoint you. Pop the whole thing in a 350-degree (or other temperature if you're cooking something else) oven for about 15ish minutes until olives are soft and bursting. Serve warm with crusty bread.