Brussels Sprouts with Sriracha, Honey, and Lime

When the New Yorker lands in my mailbox each Tuesday, the first thing I read is the weekly restaurant write-up, Tables for Two. It's short and sweet, and usually contains a brief description of one or two stand-out dishes. Every once in a while, I hear one of the descriptions and think, that sounds like something I should try to make. Even more rarely than that, I actually get off my derriere and try to make one of the recipes. This is one of those times.

The idea came from The Vanderbilt, a restaurant in Prospect Heights. According to the New Yorker, "the best dish might be the roasted Brussels sprouts, dressed with sriracha, lime, and honey, each bite a perfect combination of sweet, spicy, and tart." They really did sound perfect, and given a) how simple the ingredient list sounded and b) the fact that I happened to have all four aformentioned ingredients in my house, I decided to give it a go. What better use of a snow day than turning dish descriptions into great food?

For my first (and thusfar only) try at this recipe, I used just the listed ingredients, oil, and salt. I imagine the restaurant may have thrown in some stock for balance, or any number of other things not mentioned in the name, but brussels sprouts with sriracha, lime, and honey sound just great. I was making only one serving, so I pulled out a little bowl and squeezed in a tablespoon of honey. I added a teaspoon of sriracha to that and stirred it to combine. Then I added the juice of half a lime and mixed it together. Upon tasting it, I decided it needed more tartness, so I added the juice from the other half of the lime: perfect. I poured it into a bigger bowl and added the trimmed sprouts. I mixed it all together, tossed the sprouts onto a baking sheet, drizzled them with olive, and put them in the oven at 375. 27 minutes later, I pulled out a tray of the crispiest, most perfect little sprouts. Transferring them to a plate and snapping a couple of pictures was all I could do to avoid eating them all immediately.

Brussels Sprouts with Sriracha, Lime, and Honey inspired by The Vanderbilt in Prospect Heights

serves about 6 as a side dish

4 pounds brussels sprouts, root ends trimmed, halved if large 4 tablespoons honey 4 teaspoons sriracha (you might want to start with less if you're sensitive to spice) juice of 4 limes salt about 4 tablespoons grapeseed or other flavorless oil

Preheat the oven to 375. In a small bowl, combine honey and sriracha. Taste and adjust for spice level. Add lime juice and stir to combine. When the sauce has the perfect balance of spice, sweetness, and tartness, transfer it to a larger bowl and add sprouts. Toss to combine. Transfer sprouts to a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer, and drizzle remaining sauce overtop. Sprinkle with salt (a couple big pinches will be plenty), and drizzle the oil overtop. Bake for 25-30 minutes, depending on your oven, until sprouts are fully crisped outside, and soft but not mushy within. Serve immediately.

Brussels Sprouts with "Bacon" and Pears

Yet another installment of my Weekday Lunch series, where I share recipes suited for home or the office.

Last Wednesday night, a colleague of mine had a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving party. The idea is brilliant. Since most of us spend Tday with anyone from parents and siblings to in-laws and cousins twice removed, might as well take the night before to be with friends and surrogate family members, and to toast the holiday in style. And that's just what we did. We ate butter chicken (spicy!) and Brussels sprouts with apples and the most trashy-chic tater tot casserole; we pigged out on pecan bars (from yours truly) and bread pudding and phenomenal ricotta cheesecake; and we washed it all down with lots and lots of bourbon. There truly is no better way to usher in Thanksgiving.

The next day, having landed in Detroit to spend the weekend with D's family, those Brussels sprouts were still on my mind. They were perfectly caramelized, much softer in the middle than I usually make them, and speckled with little chunks of roasted apple, which provided the perfect sweet, tangy contrast to the smoky and just-barely-bitter sprouts.

Last night, I was determined to make something similar. I knew I had some good-looking sprouts from the previous week's farmers market, and I had some vegetarian bacon in the freezer, which I've used to add smokiness in other recipes to good results. I happened to have used up my last apples on Monday to make a crisp, but I did have two seckel pears -- small, crunchy pears with a relatively tart flavor -- that I thought would do the trick. I halved the big sprouts and left the little ones whole, chopped the fake bacon crosswise into short strips (feel free to use the real stuff), and roughly chopped the pears. I tossed all three together on a baking sheet, drizzled a couple tablespoons of olive oil, and used my fingers to coat the mixture. Just before popping the tray in the oven, I sprinkled a healthy pinch of salt and ground some black pepper on top. I baked them at 400 degrees for about 25 minutes, mixing it all around at two different points during baking, until the brussels sprouts were fully soft and brown on the outside, the pears had caramelized, and the bacon bits were crispy. When it came out of the oven, I took a nibble to test for doneness, and ended up eating half of today's lunch while hovered over the stove. That should speak for itself.

Brussels Sprouts with "Bacon" and Pears serves 6

1 1/2 lbs brussels sprouts 3 tablespoons olive oil salt and pepper 2 pears, chopped into a medium dice 4 strips bacon or veggie bacon, diced into small pieces

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut the brown tips off the brussels sprouts and slice each sprout lengthwise in half. If sprouts are very large, slice into quarters; if very small, leave whole. In a large bowl, toss brussels sprouts, pears, and bacon with olive oil and plenty of salt and pepper. Spread out on a large baking sheet in a single layer and roast, tossing occasionally, until very browned on the outside and soft inside, about 40 minutes. Taste and adjust for saltiness, then serve immediately.

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'.