Cauliflower with Brown Butter

Part of the fun of food blogging is that my kitchen rarely sees the exact same dish twice. Driven by the need for new content, I'm always in search of the next great recipe. I abide some serious duds along the way, but they're a necessary evil in this business, and well worth the pain when you consider that experimentation is the only way to unearth the new best recipe.

Folks, this is the new best recipe.

The minute I started to make it, I knew it'd be something special, and frankly, I'm a little shocked that in 26 years of eating mostly vegetarian food, 8 years of cooking for myself, 5 years of being really interested in food, and over 2 years of food blogging, I never came across this sublime combination. The minute the cauliflower hit the heat, I knew I'd struck the jackpot. Consider the nutty, sweet sides of cauliflower; you can imagine how brown butter might amplify that nuttiness. It plays the perfect foil to the sweetness as well, letting it come out without overwhelming you. A hit of lemon zest at the end of cooking brightens the flavors and cuts the richness, and a quick confetti of grated Parmigiano Reggiano adds that perfect amount of salt. Seriously, this is the best tasting thing I've had in so, so long. I made it twice in the two weeks before Thanksgiving, and I just bought more cauliflower to make it again. It's perfect. If you don't trust me, you can check out this NYT recipe and be just as weirded out as I am that Julia Moskin and I had the lightbulb moment at the same time. How bizarre.

I prepared the cauliflower two slightly different ways: the first time, after browning the butter, I reduced the heat to low and basically poached the cauliflower. The second time, I raised the heat a bit to get a sear on the florets, and much preferred it this way. Also: the first time I made it just as written here; the second time, I added a few green olives instead of the cheese. I much prefer the cheese. I also trust Moskin that this dish would be great with some sage salt; check out her recipe for that preparation. But seriously, put some butter in a pan, let it brown, and add the cauliflower. You won't be disappointed.

Cauliflower with Brown Butter

serves 3-4

1 head cauliflower, de-stemmed and cut into florets 3 tablespoons unsalted butter 1 teaspoon lemon zest 1/4 cup Parmigiano Reggiano cheese salt to taste (I used about 1 teaspoon)

Melt butter in a large saute pan over medium heat. Butter will melt, then foam, then start to brown. Stir it carefully, watching to make sure it doesn't burn. As soon as it starts to brown, add the cauliflower and a sprinkle of salt. Leave the heat at medium and try to resist the urge to stir; you want a bit of a crust to develop. Check undersides at around 5 or 6 minutes. If browned, flip and continue to cook. Leave the second side to cook a bit longer; you want to both brown the outside and ensure that the inside is cooked through, though I do like mine a bit al dente. Mine was done at around 15 minutes total, but depending on the level of your heat and the size of your florets, it could be more or less. Be patient, taste often. When your cauliflower is done, transfer it into a bowl, add the lemon zest and cheese, and stir through. Taste and adjust salt level. I prefer to serve immediately, but it's good at room temperature as well.

Broccoli with Capers and Olives, Two Ways

Finally, the next chapter of "Weekday Lunch," where I offer recipes for food that fits in tupperware and warms in the office microwave.

This dish happened completely by accident. D had decided to order a pizza for dinner, and I decided to do something else, seeing as it would have been my fourth pizza meal of the week. (Ugh.) I did a quick scan of the fridge and saw a bag of nice-looking young broccoli that I'd picked up at the weekend farmers' market. I also had the last of a tub of greek olives that I'd recently replaced with a new tub and wanted to use up, and the end of a jar of summer's tomato sauce. There was about 1/4 of a box of macaroni left in the cupboard, so I figured I'd throw the last little bits of each of these to make a nice pasta dinner.

I started by finely chopping a shallot and heating a tab of butter in a large, shallow pan over medium-low heat. When the shallot was translucent and fragrant but not brown, I added about 1/2 teaspoon of red chili flakes and 2 cups of broccoli. I knew I planned to cook the broccoli just until al dente, but I wanted to use the stems as well as the florets, so I sliced the stems pretty finely -- about 1/3-1/2-inch thick -- so that they'd cook pretty quickly. I added a hefty pinch of salt and tossed the pan a couple times to combine.

Soon after adding the broccoli, I tossed in what was left of the olives, probably about 1/2 cup worth. I also added about a tablespoon of capers. At this point, the broccoli was heating up and had turned a vibrant shade of green. I wanted to preserve this color, so I added a very little bit of water from the pasta, which had already started to cook. Non-pasta water would have been fine as well, but it helps to have the water be hot, so that it doesn't slow down the cooking.

After about five minutes, the broccoli was almost perfect; still that beautiful green shade, mostly cooked but still with a bite. I ended up adding several ladlefuls of my tomato sauce, and eventually some hot pasta, to make this dinner. But before tomatoes ever hit the pan, I looked down at the broccoli with its briny accompaniments and thought, gosh, this'd make a fantastic side. So there you have it; broccoli with capers and olives. I'd probably squeeze a bit of lemon if I were serving this alone; hitting it with some acidity would compliment the vegetal and salty flavors. I could see it served atop israeli couscous, or as an accompaniment to chicken. It was also pretty great mixed with tomato sauce and tossed with the end of the box of macaroni. Just sayin'.

Soup of Fresh Shelling Beans and Sorrel

Is it Monday? I’m pretty sure it’s Monday. The last two weeks have been a blur of sniffles, tissues, and gallons (I mean it) of chai. I came down with a cold just around the start of the month. Chalk it up to a late recovery from August’s crunch time at work. I took a couple of days on the couch to recover, and when it started to fade, I headed back to the office. But the cold wasn’t finished yet, and by trying to rush it, I only invited it to extend its stay. Sure enough, it hung around, bringing a sinus infection to the party, and before I knew it, two weeks passed. Well now I’m better, but in anticipation of the many unwelcome colds sure to pay visits this summer, I’ll share a godsend of a recipe with you. It’s for a soup so simple, yet so restorative, that I probably wouldn’t have made it through the past half-month without it.

One morning when I was feeling unusually chipper, I shelled some fresh cranberry beans and threw them in a pot. I added a couple teaspoons of olive oil, half an onion chopped, 2 whole cloves of garlic, water, and, about 20 minutes in, a big bunch of sorrel leaves (NOT the stems, which, I learned the hard way, separate into sharp spindles that are incredibly NOT fun to eat, especially when glands are swollen. Ouch.) I let the whole thing boil away for 25 minutes total; by then, the beans were pretty soft but not mushy, the sorrel was fully cooked, and the broth was incredibly fragrant and a bit tart from the sorrel.

My cold was of the particularly nasty variety that made swallowing a luxury just out of reach. My glands were the size of golf balls, and I literally struggled to get food down my craw. This soup was easy on the throat, really simple to make, and flavorful enough that even my stuffy nose could detect aromas. Highly recommended for winter, sick and healthy days alike.

About 1 lb. fresh shelling beans 1 bunch sorrel leaves, stems discarded Salt and pepper Olive oil Half an onion, chopped 2 cloves garlic

Sweat onion and garlic in a couple glugs of olive oil until translucent but not brown. Add shelling beans and several cups of water, and boil til almost soft enough. Add salt and pepper to taste. Add chopped sorrel leaves and boil 3 more minutes. Taste the broth, not the beans, for seasoning: add more salt, pepper, or a squeeze or lemon juice or white wine if necessary. Serve hot.

Crostini of All Sorts

During a recent stop at the bookstore on my street, Idle Time Books (which, btw, had a cameo in A Few Good Men), I was thumbing through cookbook author Deborah Madison's latest book, What We Eat When We Eat Alone, which she co-wrote with her artist-partner Patrick McFarlin. WWEWWEA (liberally abbreviating the long title here...) is a funny and shockingly intimate account of the ways in which, in the absence of others, food becomes our animated companion. It's a book that draws you in, and before I knew it, I had plopped down on the floor to dig in, and was reading about pouring sardine juice onto cottage cheese and eating it on one foot at the open refrigerator. I laughed out loud as I thought about similar moments I've had, grabbing a bite standing up while I peer into the fridge for my next little nibble.

In the spirit of celebrating this wonderful little book, I'll tell you about one thing I invariably eat lots of when it's just me in the house: crostini.

Here's how I do it: I buy a baguette about once a week. I always rip off a piece on the way home, while it's still super-fresh, but when I get home, I cut the baguette on a sharp bias into 1 or 1.5-inch slices. I put the slices into a ziplock bag. That way, they stay soft and don't get stale immediately. Granted, they're no good this way unless toasted, but I always toast the slices for crostini, so no matter.

Here's just a selection of the crostini I've had over the past month:

• Fresh ricotta, thinly-sliced radish, fleur de sel
• Fresh ricotta, late-summer fava beans, fleur de sel, a couple drops of fresh lemon juice
• Same ingredients, but favas mashed into ricotta for smoother texture
• Goat cheese, tomato confit (cherry tomatoes slow-roasted with olive oil and salt for 4 hours
• Tomme de Raclette (an earthy cheese wrapped in herbs and lots of paprika) and homemade apricot jam
• Herbed quark (tangy, reminiscent of goat cheese), smoked salmon, capers, red onion
• Warmed goat cheese-stuffed figs with rosemary, a hint of fleur de sel

Here's another little confession: sometimes, when I'm alone in the house, I get really particular about the look of the crostini, arranging my radishes just so or ensuring the favas cover every inch of ricotta. There's something so pleasurable about eating beautiful food. Then again, sometimes I hold a fava in one hand and a half-slice of baguette shmeared with as much ricotta as the knife could grab, then pop both in to my mouth at once. That's a whole different kind of beautiful, an equally tasty one.