My Favorite Gazpacho

I was poking around on Food52 the other day and came across a recipe for Mama's Summer Gazpacho, from one of my favorite early participants in the site. The headnote above the recipe was equal parts loving ode and adamant defense: "Purists may question this recipe's lack of bread, or the use of tomato juice, but I firmly believe..." and so on.

She was right to defend herself. Gazpacho is a deeply personal thing, and when people say they have their favorite recipe, what they probably mean is that they almost definitely like their own gazpacho better than yours. Some people are loyal to entirely smooth versions containing not much more than tomato. Others swear by those sweet-ish gazpachos containing watermelon. And while I've never heard someone hold white gazpacho above red as their favorite, those people must be out there, somewhere. Pretty much every time I serve or eat gazpacho, I look around the table and see that people have strong opinions about what's in the bowl. They grew up on a certain kind of gazpacho, and convincing them that yours is equally lovable may be out of reach.

There are exceptions to this rule. We recently swooned over gazpacho made by our friend Josh, which was based on (gasp!) canned tomatoes, and stood up well to the best fresh versions I've had. It wasn't my recipe, but you better believe I asked him to share it. It's a great one for the files, especially when you're craving cold soup and fresh tomatoes aren't quite ready for a spotlight. I'll share it on here one of these days.

But today, I'm here to share my favorite gazpacho with you. What you need to know:

• It uses fresh tomatoes.
• It contains two distinct textures: a smooth soup, and a diced salad toss-in.
• the smooth soup does not include bell peppers, because I'm pretty sure pureed green bell peppers ruin things.
• It contains two kinds of chile: fresh jalapeno, and chipotle in adobo.
• It does not contain tomato juice (though I, too, have a soft spot for recipes that call for it).
• It is wonderful.

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The most important thing about my gazpacho is #2 above, the two distinct textures. I prefer my gazpacho not entirely smooth, and I especially love the sensation of a smooth soup punctuated by perfect little chunks of all the vegetables. Dicing does take time, but I tend to zone out as I do it, and once I get into the rhythm, the process can be meditative. The other benefit of having two separate textures is that I really don't like green bell peppers in blended gazpacho, because I find that they make the soup turn much more quickly, sending off a gassy flavor after a day or so in the fridge. I don't mind green bell peppers as part of the chopped salad, though, since somehow this helps keep their potency at bay.

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So here it is: my favorite gazpacho. Maybe not your favorite, but perhaps you'll find some things to love about it nonetheless.

My Favorite GazpachoServes 8

6 Persian or 2 English cucumbers (if using English, halve the cucumbers lengthwise and seed them) 3 red bell peppers 1/2 a small green bell pepper 6 very good beefsteak (regular) or 8 plum tomatoes 1 large red onion 1 jalapeno pepper, cored and seeded (cut into big slices) 1/2 a canned chipotle in adobo sauce 3 large garlic cloves 2 1/2 tablespoons white wine vinegar (red, sherry, or champagne vinegar will also work) 1/4 cup good olive oil 1 tablespoon kosher salt (more to taste)

Set your cutting board on a work space, and put one medium bowl and one large bowl next to the cutting board. The medium bowl is where you'll collect your diced vegetables for the toss-in; the large bowl will hold all the big chunks that you'll eventually puree.

Cut the following vegetables into as small and even a dice as possible:

• 2 Persian cucumbers (or 1/2 an English)
• 1 red bell pepper
• Half green bell pepper
• 2 tomatoes (or 3 plum tomatoes)
• 1/4 of the red onion
• half the jalapeno

Toss them into the medium bowl as you go. My approach is to dice the parts that seem easiest, and toss the edges and other odd pieces into the large bowl for blending. When you're finished, you'll have a very pretty diced salad.

Add the remaining ingredients to a blender in two batches, trying to add about half of each ingredient in each batch so you can taste and adjust seasoning as you go. I often add an extra teaspoon or so of white wine vinegar after tasting a batch. Either way, once you've blended everything, combine in the large bowl or a pitcher, stir to combine the two batches, and taste again for any needed adjustments.

I really love this soup not-quite-cold, so you can serve it immediately after making it without chilling it first. If you do make it a day in advance, be sure to taste it after it spends a night in the fridge; the flavors often settle, and it may need a pinch more salt or another sprinkle of vinegar.

To serve, ladle the smooth soup into bowls and top with a big spoonful of the diced salad. Serve extra salad on the side for guests to mix in as they eat.

Red Cabbage Slaw with Golden Raisins and Mint

Whew! It's been a while, hasn't? I could make excuses -- work, Passover, a drab, terrible winter that dragged on and threatened never to leave -- but I'd rather just get down to business. I hope you've been well these last few weeks, cooking all sorts of delicious things and enjoying the change of seasons. We've been busy, and also under the weather, which hasn't resulted in much cooking. But I'm back, and I've got a slaw to share today. I want to share it, so you can go and make it. There's no time to waste.

In my recipe browsing, I saw a recipe for red cabbage salad and thought, now whatever happened to red cabbage? I haven't touched it since sometime last year. It seems I'd forgotten about it. And while red cabbage brings braised, creamy joy in winter, it makes a fine base for a spring salad, too.

As you know, I dislike mayo and really don't use it, ever. Yogurt offered itself as a perfect substitute to make this slaw creamy. The dressing is tangy-tangy, from yogurt and lemon. It's got a healthy amount of black pepper, because I like a bright salad to have some lingering bite. And it's got plump golden raisins (which I soaked with some red onions in rice vinegar, to soften and season them), as well as fresh mint. So there's not much to it, but I tell you, when we served it for Saturday brunch, it got gobbled right up. The little leftovers were a late-afternoon snack, and by Sunday, I was off to the races again, fixing a fresh batch.

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I'm so, so happy it's spring. We've waited for this forever. The coming weeks will contain many un-frigid trips to the farmers' market, the glorious return of my beloved asparagus, cultishly obsessed hordes snatching up ramps and morels and fiddleheads, and yes, plenty more cooking. See you there.

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Red Cabbage Slaw with Golden Raisins and Mint serves 4-6

Half a red onion, sliced into thin quarter-moons 1 cup golden raisins 1/4 cup rice wine vinegar Half a medium-large head of red cabbage, shredded 1 cup fresh mint leaves, coarsely chopped

For the dressing: 1/4 cup yogurt 1 tablespoon mustard (I like either grainy or smooth dijon) 2 teaspoons honey 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil juice of 1 lemon 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

In a small mixing bowl, combine onions, raisins, and rice vinegar. Stir to coat, and set aside 30 minutes. (This step is nice, but not essential; if pressed for time, cut the vinegar in half, toss the ingredients together, and let sit while you prepare the rest of the salad.)

Meanwhile, prepare the dressing: combine all ingredients in a jar with a tight lid. Shake for 10 seconds until fully emulsified.

In a large mixing bowl, combine cabbage, onions and raisins (with whatever little vinegar remains in the bowl), and 3/4 cup of the mint. Pour half the dressing and toss the salad. Taste, and add more dressing as needed.

Sprinkle remaining mint on top of salad and serve. Salad can be made and mixed up to 1 hour in advance.

Eggplant Pea Curry

Last week at work, I spent at least half of a 30-minute meeting peppering an Indian colleague about why my curries don't taste "authentic." I told her I was starting to think that my chosen guides to Indian cooking, Julie Sahni and Madhur Jaffrey, were just like the Jewish grandmothers of my youth, who mysteriously "forgot" one or two ingredients when sharing a family recipe. I wondered, were they adding an extra half-cup of ghee or cream to every recipe? Was there yet another important Indian spice -- not hing or kala namak, because I have both of those -- that they were quietly adding to every dish? Lately, it's started to seem that authentic Indian food, the stuff of Langley Park and Fairfax and my friends' mothers' kitchens, requires a secret handshake, a lifetime of understanding, or something else that I just don't have. My curries taste good, but sometimes they recall hippie sustenance more than Saravana Palace.

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But, until some merciful expert comes to my rescue, I'm going to keep chipping away. The good news is that, with a few dozen experiments under my belt, I'm starting to get the rhythm of curry: making the tarka, or spiced ghee; sautéing the aromatics and adding the tomatoes to build a gravy; cooking the legumes just right; adjusting the heat; and so on.

I wouldn't say I'm ready to take on curry without a recipe, but I'm definitely at the point where I can look at a few templates and find my way. This eggplant-pea curry came out of such an experiment. I love baingan bartha, but coaxing all that smoke out of the eggplant takes more time than I had. I also love a good aloo muttar (peas and potatoes), but I had a couple eggplants that needed immediate attention. That's how I settled on a curry of eggplants and peas, cooked in a style that melded baingan bartha and aloo muttar. I broiled the eggplant, which softens it quickly and infuses it with mild smoke; I used frozen peas, and I'd use them even at the height of spring (which is coming!!) because guys? Frozen peas are always better. Let the farmers come after me.

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The rest is pretty straightforward, and I'm really, really happy with how this one turned out. I'd say it's almost as easy as my very weeknight-friendly mushroom-pea curry from back when, and I'll admit that I like this one even more. Sorry, belatedly, if you're not a fan of Indian food. I'm clearly on a kick. For the rest of you? You're welcome. Let's have curry night together sometime.

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Eggplant Pea Curry Serves 4 as a component of a meal

1 large globe eggplant 2 tablespoons ghee or oil (preferably with a high smoke-point, like safflower or sunflower) 1 teaspoon cumin seeds 1 medium red onion, diced 2 cloves garlic, minced 2 serrano or red asian chiles, seeded and chopped 1-inch knob ginger, minced 1 teaspoon garam masala 1-1.5 cups diced or crushed tomatoes (either works) 2/3 cup water 1 teaspoon salt, to taste (less if tomatoes are salted) 8 oz. frozen peas 1/4 cup chopped cilantro, for garnish

Cook the eggplant: Preheat the broiler, or turn your oven to its hottest setting. If using a broiler, place a rack in the highest position in your oven.

Pierce the eggplant all over its surface with a fork, place on an ungreased baking sheet. Broil or roast for 25-30 minutes, rotating every 5-7 minutes, until eggplant is blackened in spots and very soft. (Eggplant likely won't blacken if not using the broiler, but no matter.)

Remove the eggplant from the oven and immediately transfer to a heatsafe bowl. Cover in plastic wrap, and set aside to steam while it cools, at least 15 minutes.

Prepare the curry: Heat the ghee or oil over medium-high heat in a deep sauté pan and add add cumin seeds. They will sizzle. When seeds smell fragrant, add the onion, garlic, chilies, and ginger. Stir a few times, then cook about 8 minutes, until very fragrant and starting to soften. Add garam masala, tomatoes, water, and some salt to taste. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 10 minutes, until gravy has come together and reduced slightly.

While the gravy cooks, remove plastic wrap from eggplant, slit the skin with a knife, and scrape the flesh out of the eggplant shell using a fork. You want to break it up a bit, but no need for it to be perfectly pureed. Some chunks are nice.

Uncover gravy and add eggplant. Stir carefully to incorporate, and cook 5 minutes more. Then add peas, stir to incorporate, and cook 2 minutes, just until warmed through. Taste and adjust salt content.

Serve over rice, with cilantro, yogurt or raita, and chutney if desired.

Yellow Lentils with Tamarind (Khatti Dal)

Long overdue, this is the latest in my Indian for Dinner series, where I attempt to spend less money on takeout from Masala Art.

I think I speak for all of us when I say that this weather tries all patients. Some days taunt with 70 degrees and sun, but looking outside, it seems to be snowing, yet again, and here we are, facing another day of lost productivity and frigid air.

The silver lining is that this unpredictable and frequently unpleasant weather has given me loads of time to work on my dal-making skills. I love lentils in all forms, but dal reins supreme.

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"Dal" is just the Indian term for legumes. The category of dishes called dal includes crunchy snacks, soupy stews, smooth purees, and mixtures with rice not unlike Mujaddara. My favorite is dal makhani, the smoky, tomatoey preparation of dark lentils. But a couple of recent articles about dal have convinced me to expand my horizons beyond the familiar. That's how I came upon Khatti Dal, a chunky stew of yellow lentils with heaps of curry leaves and plenty of tart tamarind. I've been eating it on and off for the past week, retroactively missing it on behalf of all those times I could have made it but didn't know to.

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The key to flavor in this and many other Indian dals is a tarka (or tadka), which is basically a spiced butter. To make the tarka, you heat ghee (or a combination of oil and butter), and add mustard seeds, curry leaves, and garlic. You let everything get super hot and fragrant. When the mustard seeds stop popping and the butter smells like something you need to eat immediately, you pour the whole mess into the pot of cooked, mushed lentils. Then, because reasonably speaking you can't wait any longer, you ladle a big bowl of the dal into a bowl that fits well in your hands. You wrap yourself in your coziest blanket. And then, you eat up.

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And when you're nice and full and warm, maybe you'll put in a tiny request with the weatherman to just call it quits on the snow already. What do you think?

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More Indian for Dinner:

• Potato and Eggplant Curry
• Chana Dal with Golden Raisins, a real winner
• Mushroom Pea Curry, a weeknight staple around here
• If you feel like something lighter, Gujarati Mango Soup is great
• Finally, Masala Dosas, my crowning achievement

Yellow Lentils with Tamarind (Khatti Dal)Adapted from Mark Bittman and Julie Sahni, via the New York Times

This makes enough to feed about 4, but I'd say while you're at it, make a double batch. It keeps very well in the fridge, and unlike those stray pieces of Saturday's cake, it's the sort of thing you'll want to have lying around.

Also, I understand why Bittman makes the curry leaves optional. Where I live, they're only available in Indian grocery stores, and the dal will taste great without them. That said, if you have any inclination to schlep, I'd pick some up. They're part of what makes this dal taste Indian.

1 cup yellow lentils (toor dal) 1 1/2 teaspoons turmeric 1/2 a green (I like serrano) chili, seeded and minced 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 1/4 cup tamarind concentrate or 1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lime juice 2 tablespoons ghee, or neutral oil like safflower 1 teaspoon mustard seeds 1 teaspoon minced garlic 12 curry leaves (optional) 3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro

Cook the dal: Put the dal, tumeric, chili, salt, and 4 cups of water into a pot. Cover and bring to a boil over high heat. When lentils come to a boil, uncover the pot, and cook at a rolling, bubbling boil for 25-35 minutes, until lentils are cooked through.

Add the tamarind concentrate and 1/2 cup additional water, and let bubble for another couple minutes. Turn off the heat. Then use a whisk to stir and break up the lentils; you're aiming for a smoothish puree that retains a bit of texture. Whisk and mash until the lentils achieve a consistency that you'll enjoy.

Make the tarka: Heat the ghee or oil in a small saucepan over high heat. When the ghee/oil is hot, add the mustard seeds and cover the pan; let the seeds pop and sizzle. When the popping begins to subside, add the garlic and cook until lightly browned, about 15 seconds. Add the curry leaves, if you’re using them. Cover the pan (to prevent spattering) and cook for about 10 seconds, allowing flavors to meld.

Pour the tarka into the dal, and swirl around to just barely incorporate. Taste, and add more salt if needed. Serve immediately with chopped cilantro.

Dal keeps in the fridge for at least a week. It will thicken when chilled, so reheat with a bit of water to loosen it up.