Peas with Leeks and Tarragon

This isn't the recipe I planned to share with you today. There's a recipe for a cookie that I absolutely adore, that I was sure I posted last July. Thing is, I've been searching and searching for it on this site, but it seems either to have gone missing or to have never been posted. I'm still totally confused about where it's gone, but I'm getting to the bottom of this and will post the recipe later this week...so stay tuned.

In the meantime, peas, anyone?

Fresh peas a staple of springtime, on the menus of every restaurant in the city, and when they're really fresh, they're amazing. But I mean really fresh. Like, 1 day old or less. Sometimes, you get a lucky batch of pods, and the peas inside are small and young enough that they never take on that starchy texture or lose their sweet, clean flavor. But generally, fresh peas are hit-or-miss if you buy 'em more than a couple days out. That's why this recipe calls for frozen peas (*collective sigh of relief*).

Traditional partners for peas include mint, which I adore, and tarragon, which is a relatively new friend of mine. Tarragon is incredibly intense. It smells of a cross between fennel, anise, and basil. And it ain't messin' around -- so use it sparingly. For 2 pounds of peas, I used between 1/2 and 1 teaspoon of chopped tarragon. Start small, and only add if you really can't taste it. Trust me...you'll know if it's there.

Also, a word about leek confit, which you'll make as the basis of this dish: it's a gift to mankind. It makes everything taste good, from rice to chicken to hell, some plain ricotta. Think of it as next-generation caramelized onions. And then go play around.

Peas with Leeks and Tarragon serves 6

2 large leeks 3 tablespoons butter 1 tablespoon olive oil 1-2 pounds frozen peas 1/2-1 teaspoon tarragon salt and pepper

Slice leeks lengthwise into quarters, then slice crosswise into small pieces. Transfer leeks to a strainer and rinse carefully, making sure all the dirt comes out. Leeks are often covered in dirt, and cleaning them already chopped is definitely the easiest way.

Shake leeks dry. In a large saute pan over medium heat, melt butter with olive oil. Add leeks, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they start to soften and get pale. Turn heat down to medium-low and continue to cook until leeks have really softened and some have turned golden, about 20 minutes. Add a pinch or two of salt.

When leeks are very soft, add peas, still frozen is fine. Cook until peas are warmed through, stirring regularly to make sure heat gets evenly distributed. If too much liquid collects in the bottom of the pan, turn heat back up to medium to boil it off. When peas are warm and liquid has been mostly reduced, add tarragon and stir through. Taste, then adjust for tarragon and salt levels. Finish with a couple grinds of black pepper, and serve immediately.

If you want to serve these as an appetizer, toast some slices of baguette; smear them with some good ricotta; and smash some of the peas overtop.

Bursting Hot Tomatoes with Cheesy Breadcrumbs

There's a little game I play as fall wanes into winter. It's about tomatoes. In summer, when tomatoes are at their peak, I want nothing but to eat them -- lots of them, all the time -- in preparations as simple as can be. Don't make me pasta with tomato sauce when bursting, juicy, raw tomatoes can be had in abundance; slice up a couple, drizzle a little olive oil on top, share a pinch of salt, and I'll be on my way, thank you.

The fall tomatoes in these parts aren't half-bad, either. Some farmers -- Toigo, notably -- do a great job with the late-season fruit. But December and January (and beyond) are murky tomato territory, where the red ones are all found beneath the fluorescent lighting of your nearest grocery store, and the farmers market tomatoes tend to be green, for frying or pickling only.

Now before you let anyone tell you that supermarket tomatoes are good for nothing, I've got to chime in. I'll agree wholeheartedly that January beefsteak tomatoes are about as mealy and flavorless as they come. However, the grocery store's cherry tomatoes are passable when you really, really need them. Furthermore, there are ways to enhance supermarket tomatoes to the point that they're not just edible, they're actually kinda tasty. This is one of those ways.

That quality that we all love about good raw tomatoes -- that so-juicy-it'll-burst thing -- can be mimicked by heating subpar tomatoes. This concentrates intensifies their flavor, and also stretches the tomato skin taut, so that when you bite into one, the innards burst in your mouth. Top said heated cherry tomatoes with a thick blanket of feta and parmesan-spiked homemade breadcrumbs, and you're on your way to heaven. Given that the tomatoes aren't the best, you should compensate by using high-quality ingredients for the rest of the dish. I use homemade breadcrumbs, really good butter, and parmigiano reggiano cheese.

I can imagine this going wonderfully with a steak dinner; alternatively, pair it with a salad, a frittata, or roasted vegetables for a light supper.

Bursting Hot Tomatoes with Cheesy Breadcrumbs

serves 2

1 pint cherry tomatoes, best you can find but supermarket will do 1 cup homemade breadcrumbs 1 tablespoon butter 1/8 cup crumbled feta cheese 1/8 cup grated parmesan cheese black pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Spread the tomatoes in a single layer in an ovenproof casserole.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt butter. Add breadcrumbs; toss to coat evenly, then continue to cook until golden, about 5 minutes.

Transfer breadcrumbs to a small bowl; mix in feta, parmesan, and several grinds of black pepper. Spread evenly over tomatoes. Bake until breadcrumbs are well browned, about 15 minutes. Serve immediately.

Down and Dirty Pasta e Cecci

Anything that has the words "down and dirty" in the title is something I will, sooner or later, make. "Down and dirty" suggests a rough-and-tumble version of the refined original, something you're more likely to eat on your front stoop than in a dining room. When I hear down and dirty, I see myself in cutoff jean shorts and one of those ribbed white tank tops, sitting outside on a balmy summer day. There are mosquitos in the air, bangs in my face. I'm eating from a clay bowl I threw in the pottery studio down the street. When lunchtime rolls around, I notice some chickpeas in the cabinet, so I decide to throw them in with some chili, anchovies, and pasta, and call it lunch. Down and dirty lunch, that is.

Surely you can understand how, when I saw a recipe for "down and dirty pasta e cecci" on Food52's website (via Jennifer Steinhauser of NYT, via her friend fisheri -- that's his username, not his real name -- oh, the confusion!), I simply had to make it. Mind you, I didn't even know what "cecci" were. I don't speak Italian. But down and dirty pasta is something that best be coming out of my kitchen, like, pronto.

I read the recipe around 8am. Turns out cecci are chickpeas. Great! I love chickpeas. At 8:03, I was in the kitchen, a pot of water boiling on the stove, rummaging through my cabinets for a (suddenly precious) can of chickpeas. With good anchovies in the fridge and a can of tomatoes by my side, I was moments away from having a tupperware of down and dirty pasta and cecci for lunch. Chickpeas were found, I got down and dirty in the kitchen, the rest is down and dirty history.

As Jennifer rightly points out, this is the kind of recipe that lends itself to adjustments -- both intentional and entirely accidental ones. Fisheri calls for fresh tomatoes, but I assure you if he'd written the recipe during an East Coast winter, he'd have called for canned. I actually cheated and used half canned tomatoes, half sundried tomatoes that I reconstituted in a bit of boiling water. Come summer, I'll try this with fresh ones, but not these days. I have a unconquerable weakness for spice, so I've added chili flakes both times I've made this recipe, and highly recommend them. Fisheri called for farfalle or another small pasta, but I broke all the rules and used spaghetti. Know what? It was still delicious. In terms of the liquid used, I've tried it with chicken broth and water; both are fine, broth is is better. If you use water, be sure to really load up that bowl with cheese. As for the rosemary: it's delicious, but so was a sprig of thyme that I accidentally used instead. Any which way you make it, dinner (or lunch) just doesn't get much easier.

Also, now that I have your attention, apologies for the shameless self-promotion, but if I can't do it here, where can I? I'm super excited to announce that I'm featured in this week's Washingtonian Blogger Beat! Check it out!

Down and Dirty Pasta e Cecci From Food52, via Jennifer Steinhauser, via her friend Fisheri

2 cloves garlic 4 filets anchovies 3 sprigs rosemary 3 tablespoons olive oil chili flakes to taste 1 can chickpeas, drained 4 ripe plum tomatoes (or 4 canned tomatoes, strained if desired; or a mix of canned and sundried, reconstituted; you get the drift: anything goes.) 1/2 pound small pasta like farfalle (I used spaghetti) 4 cups chicken broth or water heaps of grated parmesan salt and pepper

Dice garlic, roughly chop anchovies, and cut up tomatoes.

If using water instead of broth, bring water to a boil in small pot.

In a large pot over medium heat, saute the garlic, anchovies, and two sprigs of rosemary in olive oil until anchovies melt into the oil. Add chili flakes, if using.

Add chopped tomatoes. Saute 10-15 minutes, until tomatoes are cooked through. Taste, and salt if needed.

Turn heat to medium-high and add chickpeas, along with a few cups of boiling water or chicken broth. Ad last sprig of rosemary and bring the whole thing to a gentle boil.

Add pasta. If liquid doesn't cover pasta, add enough that it's just covered. Reduce heat to simmer and cook for one minute less than the pasta package recommends. You want the pasta to be cooking in what will become its sauce, so add liquid only if necessary; you don't want the sauce to be too thin.

When the pasta is done, spoon it into bowls, grind in some pepper, and top with as much parmesan cheese as your heart desires. Add a glug of olive oil, if you like. Dig in.

Moroccan Salmon with Curried Yogurt

Though it doesn't appear very often on this site, fish -- salmon in particular -- is a staple in the NDP kitchen. I like it because it's a substantial cornerstone of a meal without being as heavy as meat often is. I frequently host lunch on Saturdays, and I almost always cook for these lunches in advance; salmon can be served cold with a dipping sauce, obviating the need to carefully par-bake it before reheating the next day to serve. Also, it's delicious.

Last year, I frequently cooked fish "en papillote," each filet wrapped with care in its own little parcel of parchment paper. It's a very healthful way of cooking fish, in its own juices and little else. Sometimes I'd add slivers of thai bird chillies or slices of peach, but the method was always the same. This year, I'm planning to broil my fish more often. That little spot at the bottom of my oven doesn't get enough airtime, and considering its ability to make sugar into caramel and turn anything that beautiful shade of brown, it really should.

The method here couldn't be simpler. Clean the salmon and slice into individual servings (or don't, if you prefer the drama of bring a long side of salmon to the table). Season generously with salt and just about anything else. My favorite of late is Ras El Hanout, a Moroccan spice blend of nutmeg, mace, cloves, black pepper, saffron, and more (recipe below), that's mellow but still intensely flavorful. Salmon has plenty of natural fat, so drizzling oil over the fillets is optional. Either way, tuck it under the broiler for about 15 minutes, until it's just cooked through.

When it comes to serving the salmon, serve warm or chilled, and offer plenty of lemon slices. I also served a super-easy curried yogurt that comes together in a jiffy. I used a spice blend called Hawaij, a Yemenite blend of cumin, tumeric, cloves, black pepper, and more. I've included the recipe below, but you could also use a curry powder or a different spice blend.

Moroccan Salmon with Curried Yogurt serves 4

For the Ras El Hanout:

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon ground ginger 3/4 teaspoon ground black pepper 1/2 teaspoon ground mace 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/4 teaspoon crushed saffron threads

Blend in spice blender. Best if used within a week.

For the Salmon:

Preheat the broiler. Slice salmon into individual portions, if desired, and transfer to broiler-safe baking sheet or 9x13 pan. Season generously with salt and about 5 tablespoons of a dry spice mixture. Drizzle lightly with olive oil or dot with butter, if desired. Place salmon underneath broiler about 7 minutes, until top is browned. Transfer to oven and lower heat to 400; bake another 7-9 minutes, until salmon is fully cooked.

For the Hawaij:

6 1/2 tablespoons black peppercorns 1/4 cup cumin seed 2 1/2 tablespoons coriander seeds 1 1/2 tablespoons green cardamom pods 1 1/2 teaspoons whole cloves 3 1/2 tablespoons ground turmeric

Blend. Add two tablespoons to 1 cup yogurt and stir to combine.