Two Bruschette for Spring

While I've usually thought of May as the true spring-to-summer transition month, these days, June seems to be taking on that role. One day the weather's as hot and sticky as boiling caramel, the next it's as cold and damp as the dish towel. But the erratic weather carries with it the promise of vegetable bounty. I may be mourning the end of asparagus season (how did I not realize until now that asparagus are the best vegetable on earth?) but I'm ramping up for my full-blown annual tomato courtship. And it's just tomatoes that roll around in June -- peas, snap and shelling varieties, have finally made their debut. Few things make me happier than bright green peas and tender, juicy tomatoes: there, I've exposed myself in all my nerdiness.

Over the past few years, I've settled into something of a routine when it comes to tomatoes and peas. I love tomatoes raw in salad, or simply sliced with a little flaky salt and olive oil. I get thrills from popping peas out of their pods and into blanching water, or tossing them with asparagus into pasta primavera. These bruschette are every bit a part of that routine. The tomato bruschetta occupies that middle ground between unadulterated raw tomato slices and a good, rich, labored tomato sauce, concentrating the flavor of the tomato without sacrificing its essential texture. Ditto the pea bruschetta, which celebrates the freshness of the peas' by adding complementary flavors, but retaining their plump firmness. I suppose by now it's pretty clear: I'm totally hooked on pea and tomato bruschette.

I've used a pretty simple method to make these bruschette. First, I saute some aromatics in butter (scallions with the peas, red onions with the tomato). I deglaze the pan a couple times with a bit of water, which reduces with the butter and onion to form a base for the vegetable. In goes either a handful of cherry tomatoes or a cup of peas, a bit of thyme, plus a pinch of salt and a grind of pepper. Five minutes of tossing and stirring later, I add just a bit of cheese (feta with the peas, sliced Pecorino Romano with the tomatoes) to tie it all together, and dump the whole panful on a piece of toasted sourdough (peas) or Italian (tomatoes) bread. Fin.

Naturally, you shouldn't feel tied to my specifications. Prefer a different bread? Happen to have yellow onions instead of green or red? Whatever. It'll still be delicious. And if you don't have pecorino on hand, which I usually don't, a thick grating of parmigiano reggiano would be great with the tomatoes.

If you're the type who likes a proper dinner -- one that requires a knife and fork and, oh, a table -- then, maybe, file this under "snack." But it makes a pretty darned good supper for the rest of us, and I've been known to whip these up for breakfast in the morning before heading off to work. Can you blame me?

Pea or Tomato Bruschette makes enough for 2 slices of bread; as you can see, I made 1 portion with peas and 1 with tomatoes, and the total was enough for dinner for 2.

2 tablespoons butter 2 scallions or half a red onion, chopped 1 cup of freshly-shelled peas, or 1/2 pint cherry tomatoes, halved 2 small sprigs thyme salt and pepper 1/3 cup feta or Pecorino Romano cheese a lemon wedge, for pea bruschette 2 slices bread olive oil for finishing, if you're feeling luxurious

Set a saute pan over medium heat, and add butter. when butter begins to bubble, add onion. Shake pan to distribute, and give a stir if you need to. When onion begins to turn golden at the edges, sprinkle a couple tablespoons water into the pan; it should pop and sizzle. Stir or shake pan to distribute water evenly, and continue cooking. As water evaporates, onions will begin to color some more. When that happens, add a couple more spoonfuls of water and stir. Repeat this step once more the next time onions color; by then, you should have a brownish onion mixture in the pan, that's more flavorful than you can imagine.

Add tomatoes or peas, leaves from the thyme sprigs, a pinch of salt, and a grind of the pepper mill. Shake the pan or give contents a stir to distribute tomatoes or peas among the onions. Leaving the heat at medium, cook for about 5 minutes, stirring regularly, to allow vegetables to soften.

When tomatoes are soft and juicy, or peas are bright green and perfectly bursting, turn off the heat and add the cheese. Stir the cheese into the vegetables. Meanwhile, pop the bread into the toaster. When bread is golden brown, set on a plate, top with bruschette, and finish with a swirl of olive oil. Eat. Now.

Smothered Cabbage Risotto

Among the oft-neglected cookbooks on my shelf is a big, light green volume called Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. It's by Marcella Hazan, the justly venerated Italian cookbook writer notorious for her particularity, her precision, and her deep understanding of proper Italian cuisine. While the recipes reflect that precision (you can practically hear her preemptively chiding you for matching pasta with the wrong sauce), some of them are really quite simple. Case in point: smothered cabbage. A whole head of cabbage is shredded thinly, then braised low and slow with olive oil, onion and garlic, salt and pepper, and a shake of red wine vinegar. To say it's simple is to understate it a bit.

If you have extra cabbage (though really, why would you? I made a double recipe so I wouldn't be forced to choose), Hazan offers a modest recipe for Rice and Smothered Cabbage Soup. It's basically chicken broth, rice, the cabbage, and a dusting of permigiano reggiano cheese. A one-pot wonder.

The night I made the cabbage was dark and rainy -- nothing like the beautiful spring weather that's suddenly appeared this week. My sweatshirt and I were in the mood for something substantive and comforting, but also a bit luxurious. No sweat: I used basically the same ingredients in Hazan's soup to riff a bit and make risotto. If you're one of those people who think risotto is mighty difficult, hark! It's just not. Watch as I spell out the instructions in less than 50 words:

Sweat onions in oil. Add rice and salt. When hot, add wine. Then add broth by the ladelful, stirring intermittently. replenish broth as rice absorbs it. Taste at 12 minutes. Adjust for salt. When cooked but still al dente, with thickness of polenta, remove from heat. Add cheese. Eat.

And that's almost exactly what I did -- except that instead of wine, I added a couple tablespoons red wine vinegar. And I added the cabbage at the end. People, would you please just make this already? It's a miraculously luxurious dish made from downright humble ingredients. I guarantee it won't disappoint.

Smothered Cabbage Risotto inspired by Marcella Hazan

For the cabbage:

* 2 pounds green or Savoy cabbage * 1/2 cup chopped onion * 1/4 cup olive oil * 1 tablespoon chopped garlic * salt * freshly ground pepper * 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

Clean cabbage and discard tough outer layers. Slice cabbage in half lengthwise, and shred as finely as possible using either a sharp knife or a mandoline. Be sure to remove the inner core of the cabbage -- it's too tough to cut.

Heat oil in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add onion and cook, stirring regularly, until golden, about 5 minutes. Add garlic. When garlic takes on some color, add cabbage. Using tongs, turn cabbage once or twice to incorporate it with the oil and onions, and cook until wilted.

Add vinegar, salt, and pepper. Turn heat to lowest possible setting, cover pot, and cook at least 1.5 hours, stirring occasionally, until soft, tender, and practically melted. If at any point the cabbage looks dry or it looks like the bottom may burn, add a tablespoon of water to moisten. When cabbage is fully cooked, taste and adjust for salt, pepper, and vinegar. You want the cabbage just a very little bit tangy -- mostly sweet and soft and buttery. When cabbage is ready, transfer to a bowl and wipe out pot.

For the Risotto:

* olive oil * 1.5 cups Arborio rice * 6 cups homemade chicken or vegetable stock, simmering on the stove * half a recipe or more of the Smothered Cabbage * 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar, divided * 2 tablespoons butter * 1/3 cup parmesan cheese

Swirl a couple tablespoons of olive oil in the same pot you used to make the cabbage. Heat over medium. Add rice and use a wooden spoon to stir and evenly coat the kernels with the olive oil. When rice is hot to the touch, add 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar and 1 ladle of stock. Lower heat to medium-low and cook, stirring continuously, until stock evaporates. Add more starch and continue stirring. As you continue adding stock and stirring, the rice will emit some of its starch, which will thicken the risotto and make it silky. Around 10 minutes into cooking, add two ladles of cabbage. Stir to incorporate and continue stirring and adding stock as before. At around 13 minutes, begin tasting the risotto; adjust seasoning and add more cabbage if desired. Continue cooking, adding stock as necessary, until rice is done but ever so slightly al dente. Add some or all of remaining tablespoon red wine vinegar to add slight tang. Off the heat, add butter and parmesan cheese. Stir to incorporate and serve immediately.

Beets with Fennel, Orange, and Walnuts

It'd be unfair if I didn't confess to you that as I try to write about beets and fennel and orange and walnuts, I'm watching Lydia Bastianich add home-cured mackerel to cannelini bean bruschetta and red onion salad, and all I can think about is how delicious that oily, vinegary cured fish must taste. Holy dear, I need to turn this off.

Where were we? Ah, yes. Beets.

By now you know it's winter here, I certainly don't need to tell you that. And surely you're also aware that I'm having a bit of a fennel moment. But stay with me for a second. Fennel is crunchy and bright, the perfect antidote to February (not that I have anything against my birthday month, but holy bejeezus, it's cold out there!). Fennel's also a lovely addition to roasted beets, helping them feel less like a mid-winter consolation prize and more like an antidote to that cold weather. Ditto oranges, one of the few fruits that not only is readily available all winter long, but actually hits its peak right around this time. (Granted, they're shipped in from Florida and elsewhere, but until you find me a job and an apartment squarely in California, I'm stuck with airplane citrus.) Put those flavors together on a plate, along with some toasted walnuts, and you've got yourself a nice looking winter salad.

Ok, so that won't win a prize for originality. But what if you upped the flavor contribution of each component of the salad by including it in two (or even three) different forms? Yes, clearly I have a weakness for nerdily contemplating the what-ifs of recipe development. But when I tasted my walnut oil vinaigrette, I stopped making fun of myself and kinda jumped for joy. So nutty! So earthy! A perfect match for beets. Toasted fennel seed, orange zest, minced shallots, and champagne vinegar rounded out the dressing, which I used to marinate the fennel and beets in advance and to drizzle overtop at the end. I topped the salad with some toasted walnuts and fennel fronds, strengthening the fennel and walnut undercurrents of the dish. The result, to be frank, was delicious. I'm still marveling at how a classic flavor combination became so much more than the sum of its parts simply by combining the elements in new forms, toasting the seeds and zesting the oranges and really wringing several dimensions of flavor out of each ingredient. Dishes like this one remind me why I insist on spending a bulk of my free time clanging pots and pans together in this little kitchen of ours: it's because I love to cook, and I love to eat, and most of all, I love that moment when everyone pops a bite of something innocent-looking in their mouths, and then grow wide-eyed as the flavors start opening up and the dish is revealed. It may not be an olympic sport, but cooking really can be riveting.

Beets with Fennel, Orange, and Walnuts

note: I recently submitted this recipe to the crowd-sourced recipe site, Food52. Have you checked it out? It's a website founded by Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs (of NYT fame), and the idea behind it is to create a cookbook composed entirely of crowd-sourced recipes. If you haven't seen it, it's really worth a look. There are some great recipes there, and every week, Amanda and Merrill offer up two contests for reader submissions ("your best beets" was what prompted me to submit this recipe). So check it out!

2 large beets 1 bulb fennel, stalks removed, fronds reserved 3 oranges, zested and supremed 3/4 cups freshly toasted walnut halves 2 teaspoons orange zest 1 teaspoon fennel seeds, dry toasted in a hot pan 1 shallot, minced 1/4 cup orange juice, squeezed from oranges after segments have been removed 1/4 cup champagne or white wine vinegar 1/2 cup walnut oil flaky salt and freshly cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 375. Wrap beets completely in aluminum foil and set on baking sheet. Bake 45 minutes to an hour, until a knife can be easily inserted into beets. Remove from oven, unwrap foil, and allow beets to cool. While beets cook, make dressing: combine orange zest, fennel seeds, shallot, orange juice, vinegar, and 3/4 teaspoon salt.. I like my dressing chunky, but if you prefer it smooth, puree these ingredients together. Slowly whisk in walnut oil.

When beets are cool enough to handle, cut off root end and tip, and use paper towel to slip skin off (should come off pretty easily once beets are fully cooked). Halve beets lengthwise, slice each half into 7 or 8 wedges, and transfer to bowl. Drizzle half the dressing over the beets and toss to incorporate using a large wooden spoon (metal may cut or break beet wedges). Transfer to refrigerator to chill.

Using a mandoline or a very sharp knife, slice fennel as thinly as possible. Transfer to a bowl drizzle with a few tablespoons of dressing, to taste. Do this as soon as possible to prevent fennel from oxidizing. Let marinate about 5 minutes.

When beets are sufficiently cool but not cold, plate salad: lay down a bed of fennel on each plate. Set beet wedges in spiral pattern overtop, and alternate orange wedges in between. Sprinkle toasted walnuts overtop. Finish with a little drizzle of remaining dressing, a sprinkle of flaky salt, and a grind of the pepper mill. Top with a few fronds of fennel. Serve immediately.

Ginger Fried Rice

It's a rare day that I get to make lunch for myself at home. When I do, I tend to steer clear of the fancy in favor of those simple things that simply don't work in my office toaster. Especially in winter, when I put a premium on warm, cozy meals and crusty, toasty bread, I feel especially lucky on those rare occasions that I can make a pot of something or other, pour it straight from the stove to my plate, and eat it piping hot.

Quite often, lunch at home amounts to a bowl of leftover soup, topped with some grated cheese and browned under the broiler, that I eat alternately with a big ole' spoon and thick slice of toasted bread for dunking. But it's not always soup that wins my vote when I'm home. Sometimes I prefer something I can really sink my teeth into, like a big bowl of long fusilli, my new favorite pasta. But other times, it's neither soup nor pasta that does it. It's something simpler, more elemental. It's rice.

I'm not one of those weird people who can actually cook rice properly on the stovetop. If you are, share your magic in the comments. For the rest of us mortals, the oven is just fine. Jasmine and basmati, your best bets for this dish, need twice their volume in water, and if they start out cold in a 400-degree oven, they'll take about an hour to cook and steam. Be sure to grab a spoonful when it's fresh; there are few better things than freshly cooked rice.

I'd been eyeing this recipe from via Mark Bittman for quite some time. It is the epitome of comfort food, the kind of thing you eat curled up on the couch beneath a heavy blanket. Also, true to Bittman's trademark, the recipe is relatively simple. The rice is leftover from the night before. The ginger and garlic are crisp and pleasantly bitter after just a short swim in oil. The leeks are softened, browned on the edges, and intensely flavorful. And if a deep bowl of steaming rice with leeks, garlic, and ginger isn't quite enough to have you climbing off the couch, there's a fried egg on top. Now go.

Ginger Fried Rice adapted from Mark Bittman serves 4

2 tablespoons minced garlic 2 tablespoons minced ginger Salt 2 cups thinly sliced leeks, white and light green parts only, rinsed and dried 4 cups day-old cooked rice, preferably jasmine or basmati, at room temperature 4 large eggs 2 teaspoons sesame oil 4 teaspoons soy sauce.

1. In a large skillet, heat 1/4 cup oil over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add garlic and ginger. Shake pan to evenly distribute, then cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp and brown. With a slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels and salt lightly.

2. Reduce heat to medium-low and add 2 tablespoons oil and leeks. Cook about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until very tender and just slightly browned. Season lightly with salt.

3. Raise heat to medium and add rice. Cook, stirring well, until heated through. Maybe leave it on a couple extra minutes without moving it around to crisp up some of those rice kernels. Season to taste with salt.

4. In a nonstick skillet, fry eggs in remaining oil, sunny-side-up, until edges are set but yolk is still runny.

5. Divide rice among four dishes. Top each with an egg and drizzle with 1/2 teaspoon sesame oil and 1 teaspoon soy sauce. Sprinkle crisped garlic and ginger over everything and serve.