Mujaddara with Yogurt Sauce

Happy New Year!

In anticipation of my first post in 2011, I looked back at my last posts in 2009 and my first in 2010, to jolt my memory about where I was and what I was doing the last time I rang in a new year. Turns out, I was in Israel. Lucky me. I'm stateside this year, which, if you factor in the 12 hours I won't spend on a flight to get there, ain't half bad. We brought in 2011 with cocktails (lychee martinis, bourbon gingerale, the fancy stuff!) and appetizers (all sorts of delicious: we're talking lahmajoun, deli sliders, chicken wontons, coconut corn fritters, the works). I'm chasing the debauchery and excess of December 31st with a healthy, wholesome 1/1/11. This here is a recipe even the most stern-faced New Years resolution-makers will be able to enjoy.

Appropriately enough, my journey to the perfect mujaddara started with my two years in Israel. While I lived in Jerusalem, one of my favorite restaurants was an unassuming cafe attached to a small museum near the Old City. A sort of precursor farm-to-table eating, it specialized in local and organic food, but quietly and unpretentiously so. Nowhere on its menu did it say the restaurant was organic, but if you asked, you'd find out that the milk was from a local farmer, the eggs sometimes laid the same day they were eaten, and so forth. I don't know what it's like these days, but back then, it was a charming restaurant.

The restaurant's menu put modern spins on traditional dishes. I most adored their mujaddara, a Middle Eastern dish of long-grain rice and lentils with loads of caramelized onions. Though not particularly traditional, the restaurant's version included a bit of chutney and this amazing cumin-spiked yogurt. Try as I might to diversify my orders, once I had tried the mujaddara, I found it difficult to order much else. With yogurt, the mujaddara headed the way of great Indian buffet food. A little of this, a little of that, some chutney and raita, all mixed together on the plate. Perfection.

While my yogurt is slightly different in flavor than theirs -- more cinnamon, more citrus, no saffron -- it's addictive in its own right. Mujaddara is a minimalist's dish: it has no added spices. The lentils and rice, when adequately salted, need little more than soft, caramelized onions. But I find this yogurt adds just the right amount of tang to contrast the sweetness of the onions and prevents mujaddara from seeming too heavy. Plus, yogurt plops this dish squarely in healthfood territory. It's the perfect nightcap to this delicious, delightful year.

Update: I just learned that my Mujaddara has been selected as a finalist for the Food52 "best lentils" contest -- huzzah! To view the entry and vote, click over to Food52: www.food52.com.

Mujaddara with Spiced Yogurt

For the Mujaddara:

2 tablespoons butter 3 tablespoons olive oil 6 cups onions (about 3 medium onions), halved and thinly sliced 1 cup jasmine rice 3/4 cups puy lentils (aka French lentils, the tiny dark brown ones) 1 teaspoon salt, divided

For the yogurt:

1/2 cup greek yogurt 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon cumin (freshly ground, if possible) 1/2 teaspoon coriander (freshly ground) 1/2 teaspoon spicy paprika or aleppo pepper 3 tablespoons chopped fresh mint juice and zest of on half a lemon 1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Put lentils, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 4 cups water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer lentils until soft but not mushy, about 20 minutes. Drain lentils and set aside. Rinse pot.

Add rice, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1 1/2 cups water to the pot, set over medium heat, and bring to a boil. When water begins to boil, cover pot, transfer to oven, and cook for 17 minutes (the tried-and-true Amanda Hesser method!) until perfectly cooked. Remove from oven, uncover, and fluff with a fork. Set aside.

While rice cooks, set a wide, deep saute pan over medium-low heat and add butter and 2 tablespoons olive oil. When butter has mostly melted, add onions and toss to incorporate with butter and oil.

After 5 minutes, onions will have softened slightly and started to release their liquid. Raise heat to medium and cook about 10-12 minutes more, until onions are very soft and browned. Add water by the tablespoon if pan gets too dry or if onions start to stick. When onions are well browned, add last tablespoon of olive oil and raise heat to high. Cook another 3-4 minutes, until bottom layer of onions has charred and crisped; try not to stir too much, or onions won't crisp up.

Combine rice, lentils, and most of the onions in large serving bowl and let sit for at least 15 minutes, to marry the flavors together. (Truth be told, this dish improves with age.) Taste, and add more onions if desired. Meanwhile, make the yogurt: mix all ingredients together in a small bowl. (Yes, it's really that simple.)

If mujaddara has cooled significantly, reheat in a low oven or even in the microwave for a couple minutes. To serve, plate a big scoop of mujaddara and top with a dollop of yogurt.

Curried Kohlrabi and Apple Slaw

Every year, sometime in late November, we turn on our heat, move the sweaters to the top drawer, dig up our tights and fleece-lined slippers, ...and stop eating salads.

It's silly, really. Once the cold sets in, and my cravings for fresh, red tomatoes are a faint mystery, all I can think about is stew and soup, tea and cider. Might a salad go perfectly with my black bean chili? Why yes, yes it would. Do I make one? No, no I don't. The chill kills my appetite for fresh leaves, replaces it with a deep-belly hunger for soy-marinated kale and spicy, savory pasta dishes like this one. But I'm right on cue. Around December, I suddenly remember winter vegetable slaw, and everything changes.

That's the beauty of slaws: they're a year-round staple. Bring'em to a barbeque in the summer, make one with the best of what produce you've got in winter. Use cabbage of any kind, but also broccoli, fennel, cucumbers, carrots, pretty much whatever you've got. Go Asian, Mexican, Singaporean, or fusion. The possibilities are limited only by your imagination.

Case in point: when two kohlrabis were included in this week's CSA along with a grab-bag of apples, the wheels started turning. I thought of the brand new jar of Madras curry powder, the unsulphered apple cider vinegar, and a wonderful slaw I'd devoured at an otherwise terrible restaurant (which I'd vowed to recreate, in part so I'd never have to dine there again. A fellow blogger describes the place as "what it'd look like if Epcot Center threw up Cuba." She's spot-on.) But I digress. The curry, the apple cider vinegar, the kohlrabi, the apples: they'd go really well together, it dawned on me.

And so they did. The curry powder turned the slaw an electric orange-yellow, which was pretty awesome. I've never gone Indian with slaw before, but after this successful experiment, I'll be doing it again for sure.

Curried Kohlrabi and Apple Slaw serves 4

1/4 cup peanut or canola oil 1 teaspoon high-quality curry powder 2 kohlrabis, peeled 1 crunchy, crispy apple (I used Cortlandt; Granny Smith, or any other crispy, not-too-sweet apple, would also be great), unpeeled 1/8 cup apple cider vinegar 2 teaspoons grainy mustard 3/4 teaspoon salt, to taste freshly cracked pepper

Heat oil in a small saucepan over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add curry powder. Heat for about 30-45 seconds, until curry starts to sizzle and faintly starts to darken in color. If it hasn't darkened after 45 seconds, don't wait: remove pan from heat, transfer flavored oil to a jar with a lid, and let cool to room temperature, about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, using the julienne slicer, slice peeled kohlrabi and apples (unpeeled, for color contrast) on 1/4-inch setting. Once kohlrabi and apple have been julienned, toss pieces to separate from each other (they have a tendency to stick together) and transfer to medium salad bowl.

Add mustard to oil, and shake vigorously to combine. Then add apple cider vinegar, half of salt, and pepper, and continue shaking until dressing is emulsified. Dip your finger into the dressing to taste, and add more salt if desired.

Dress slaw with half the dressing to start; depending on the size of your kohlrabi and apple, you may not need it all. Taste, and add more dressing as desired. Serve.

Coleslaw will keep for several days; the kohlrabi softens, but the texture of the softened slaw is appealing in a totally different way.

Green Beans with Horseradish-Mustard Vinaigrette

This is the first of a series of posts about great sides for Thanksgiving and year-round -- stay tuned for more as we approach the big day!

For my money, this is the quintessential side. Flavor-wise, it's totally in keeping with Thanksgiving tastes. The horseradish helps cut all that sweet, fatty Tday food, and the mustard reinforces for a one-two punch of spice. And at a meal where salad is the wallflower, green beans are more formidable company for that big turkey and the boat full of gravy occupying everyone's attention.

If that's not enough to lure you, other benefits include its ease and speed of preparation (it takes 10 minutes flat) and its willingness to hang out for a few days before serving. Really, what more can you ask for?

I make these green beans year round, but they're especially great on Tday. Go forth and eat.

Green Beans with Horseradish-Mustard Vinaigrette serves 4 as a side

1 pound green beans 1 tablespoon spicy whole-grain mustard 1 tablespoon prepared horseradish (I make mine by blending horseradish root with vinegar) 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1/3 cup olive oil salt and pepper 1/2 cup sliced almonds

Preheat oven to 350º. Spread almonds in a single layer and toast until golden, about 10 minutes. Watch them carefully so they don't burn.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Fill a large bowl with ice cubes and water. Working in batches, cook beans in boiling water just until cooked but still crisp, about 2 minutes per batch. Transfer cooked beans to bowl of ice water to "shock" them and stop them from cooking further. Continue cooking and shocking process with remaining batches of beans. Transfer beans to separate bowl and chill. You'll be serving the beans at room temperature, so chill only enough that they're no longer hot.

Meanwhile, prepare vinaigrette. Mix horseradish, mustard, red wine vinegar, and lemon juice. Add oil in steady stream while whisking, until all oil has been added and vinaigrette is emulsified.

Transfer green beans to a serving platter. Drizzle vinaigrette over beans, top with toasted almonds, and serve at room temperature.

Peach Tomato Gazpacho

Ok y'all, I'm a bit late posting this, and you’ll have to forgive me. But then – and I mean immediately; do not pass go, do not wait for September to drift into fall – you must get off the couch and make this soup.

Just last week, the dog days of summer seemed a permanent fixture. Now, as I’m walking to the farmers’ market, I find myself rubbing my hands together, picking up that pace a bit, and reaching for….a cardigan. Fall’s crept up on me again. Every year, I bemoan the end of tomatoes and nectarines, my shortsighted lack of urgency in eating as many of those beautiful beefsteaks and heirlooms as possible. Now I’m making a mad dash for those tomatoes, eating a peach after lunch every day and one in the evening as well, trying to cram as much of the rapidly depleting summer produce down my craw as time will allow.

My fridge is only so large; not, apparently, large enough; those 5 pounds of peaches that I bought last week have softened, ripened, and softened some more. Last night, I came home to some peaches practically begging to be eaten. Ditto the beautiful red tomatoes, which, seemingly suddenly, after a short stay on my counter (never store tomatoes in the fridge; it ruins them), were near-overripe.

I didn’t have quite enough tomatoes to make a sauce-making project worthwhile. As for the peaches, in the past week, I’d made two cakes and a crostada with them and some nectarines. I needed a change of pace.

Here’s the part where we rewind a few days, and I explain the real reason I made this soup. Yes, I wanted to make something savory with peaches and tomatoes. That’s all true. But here’s the rub: my friend B brought this over one Friday night, and I ate so much of it, so quickly, I’m not sure I left any for her to try. This soup is the best thing since sliced bread, and since I first had it, I’ve made it three times. “And only now I tell you?!?” Yes. I’m sorry. (‘Tis the season of forgiveness!) Now go and make it, while peaches and tomatoes are still around. There’s plenty of time for apples and kale, squash and potatoes. We’ll talk about those next week. For now, make this soup, and drink up those last drops of summer while you can. And if you’re as bummed as I am about the end of this season, you can make a big batch of this soup to freeze or can; I’ll be doing just that.

Peach Tomato Gazpacho Adapted from Gourmet

Note: this recipe has you puree part of the ingredients into soup, and combine what remains into a rustic salsa with which to serve the soup. I’ve done this once, and it’s quite delicious – but feel free to simply blend everything together and serve with the cubed avocado and a light drizzle of oil, as pictured. If doing this, don’t add all the salt immediately; taste the blended soup and only add as much as is needed.

1 1/2 lb tomatoes, chopped (4 cups) 1 lb peaches, pitted and chopped (2 cups) 2 tablespoons chopped shallot (1 medium) 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 1/2 tablespoons white-wine vinegar 1 tablespoon chopped chives 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon black pepper 1/4 to 1/2 cup water 1/2 avocado, chopped

Purée two thirds of tomatoes and half of peaches with shallot, 1 tablespoon oil, 1 tablespoon vinegar, 2 teaspoons chives, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper in a blender until very smooth, about 1 minute. Force through a medium-mesh sieve, discarding solids. Stir in water to desired consistency.

Toss together remaining tomatoes and peaches with remaining tablespoon oil, remaining 1/2 tablespoon vinegar, remaining teaspoon chives, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper in a bowl. Serve soup in bowls topped with tomato peach salsa.