Chile Relleno Casserole

During our week on Hilton Head Island, my brother-in-law and I spent an afternoon bouncing around recipe ideas and exchanging high fives over recent cooking successes. I told him about my dosas and a particularly good peach slab pie, he told me about the ethereal cake doughnuts he'd recreated from an old family recipe. Then he told me about some slam-dunk chiles rellenos he made, and I started to get jealous. Or maybe just really hungry. I wanted those chiles rellenos, stat.

Stephen's version sounded pretty authentic. The chiles were deep-fried, and the sauce was a split-egg concoction that had to be timed perfectly. He nailed it and reaped the rewards. But I'm settling into a slightly lower-key mode of cooking, one that involves lots of casseroles and things I can make in advance. I also vaguely remembered an episode of a bobby flay show from back before I swore off the terrible food network, where a California restaurant called La Casita Mexicana made its famous chile relleno in the oven, instead of in the fryer. Between my faint memory and my very not faint appetite, I figured something could be done.

Chiles rellenos casserole recipes abound, but they're almost all egg-based - like a massive frittata enveloping stuffed chiles. I wanted the chiles to stand out more, and  - shocker - I wanted the casserole to be saucy. So I riffed on the method for manicotti, basically swapping peppers in for noodles and Mexican stuff for all that ricotta.

Here's where the road forks. I loved this dish. Next time, I'd make two pans full and freeze one unbaked - it's the perfect thing to have tucked away in the depths of the freezer for a lazy dinner at home. But D found the whole thing way too spicy, and she ended up taking out the leftover corn filling and making it into a quesadilla. Winners, losers. I think she just got a particularly hot pepper - mine was pretty mild. See below for some thoughts on avoiding the last-minute scramble and/or sad face due to heat.

Notes on the fuss: Even though this is a casserole, it isn't the "dump everything in a pan and bake" kind of casserole. It's a bit on the fussy side. If you're feeling hesitant about the fuss, you can skip the tomatillos+tomatoes step and just use a large jar of whatever salsa you like. You can also probably skip blending the beans, and just toss them in with the corn; the result will be different, but no less tasty. Lastly, if you do bother to make the recipe, you might make a double batch. This is the sort of thing that freezes beautifully, and that way, it's twice the food for the effort.

Notes on the heat: One last note: poblanos are notoriously inconsistent in spice level. Some are as mild as bell peppers, and others are really quite hot. If you're nervous about the casserole being too spicy, you might consider substituting Anaheim chiles or even banana or bell peppers. Another nice option, though not widely available, are Jimmy Nardellos, which are shaped long and lean, but are not at all spicy.

Can I make this vegan? Definitely. Skip the cheese (or replace with soy cheese) and you're good to go.

Chile Relleno Casserole Serves 4 with leftovers

7 or 8 poblano chiles
3 tomatillos, husked and rinsed
12 oz. canned crushed tomatoes
1 canned chipotle in adobo (you may not need all of it)
1 can kidney beans
1 teaspoon epazote or dried oregano, divided
1 tablespoon olive oil or butter
kernels from 2 ears corn (about 2 cups)
2 scallions, sliced
salt
1/2 cup grated cotija cheese
1 cup grated cheddar or pepper jack cheese, or a mixture

Roast the peppers: Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Set the poblanos and tomatillos on a baking sheet lined with foil, and roast until blistered and soft all over, about 30 minutes total, turning peppers once halfway through roasting. Transfer peppers to a heatsafe bowl, cover with a piece of plastic wrap, and let the peppers steam while you prepare the sauce. Lower the oven to 350 degrees.

Prepare the sauce: Transfer tomatillos in the jar of a blender or a food processor (I like a miniprep). Add the tomatoes and half the chipotle, and blend until smooth. Taste, and add any salt and, if desired, more chipotle, as needed. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.

Prepare the fillings: Drain the beans, and add to the same blender or food processor container along with half the epazote or oregano. Blend until mostly smooth, adding water by the tablespoon if the beans won't blend. When beans are mostly smooth, set aside.

Heat the olive oil or butter in a saute pan over medium heat. When hot, add scallions, corn, and remaining epazote or oregano. Cook 5-7 minutes, until some of the corn has turned golden. Transfer to a bowl, add cotija cheese, and stir to combine.

Assemble and bake casserole: By now, the peppers should have steamed enough that their skins slip right off. It's okay if little bits of skin remain, but try to remove as much as possible. Slit each pepper lengthwise down one side of the pepper, and scoop out the core and seeds from the pepper. Lay the slit pepper on a cutting board or work surface. Repeat with remaining peppers.

Pour 1/2 cup of the sauce into a 9x13" baking pan. Smear a large spoonful of the bean puree onto the inside of each pepper. Top with a couple spoonfuls of the corn-cotija mixture. Wrap the clean side of the pepper over the filled side, and transfer the filled pepper into the baking pan. Repeat with remaining peppers, laying peppers in the pan in alternating directions. You probably will have some leftover corn mixture; reserve it for stuffing quesadillas, or just eat it as is.

Spoon the remaining sauce over the peppers, and top with the grated cheddar or pepper jack cheese. At this point, the casserole can be frozen (preferably without the cheese), to be baked at a later date. Alternatively, transfer to the oven and bake for 25 minutes, until cheese is bubbly and melted. Let cool for 5 minutes before serving.

Persian Stuffed Onions + Rosh Hashana Menus

This recipe isn't exactly my culinary Mount Everest. It's more like, say, pilates: the thing I know I'd like if I did it but can't quite get it up to try. Let's break it down: there's the separating of onions into layers, which looks at the outset like a royal pain. There's the filling, which involves meat and lots of spices and raw rice, which - would it really cook in the sauce? I couldn't be sure. And of course, there's that sauce, which calls for tamarind puree, which I don't always have just lying around the house. In sum, enough reasons to look longingly at a picture of the finished product, then turn the page -- again, and again, and again.

Perhaps we should chalk it up to the refreshed ambition that comes with the turn of a new year. Or perhaps, a more likely story, I'm looking down the road a couple months and seeing little other than nursing, and diaper changing, and maybe fingerscrossedplease some sleeping, but not a lot of cooking. Whatever the impetus, I had been convinced. If ever there were a time to see whether Persian stuffed onions are worth the fuss, it was now.

And you know what? They really are worth the fuss. First of all, they're not such a fuss. The onions, once boiled, are soft enough to separate easily. If you tear one of the layers (who me?), it doesn't matter in the least. The filling, which always looked like a pain, is actually quite the opposite: turns out, you don't need to cook it before stuffing the onions; it just cooks in the broth. (Lesson: snap judgment < actually reading the recipe.) And best of all, you can freeze the onions stuffed and uncooked, then bake them off at a later date. I'll be making a massive batch of these to stow away for the road ahead.

Rosh Hashana Menu Planning: I've always flirted with Persian flavors for Rosh Hashana. For a few years running, I've served a main course of brisket with tamarind, and I almost always have some sort of sweet-sour vegetable to serve alongside. But this year, instead of just nodding toward the East, I'm building the entire menu around it.

The sweet and sour flavors of Persian cooking have always drawn me in. That they're so friendly to pomegranates, squash, and other fall produce only makes my job easier. So a couple weeks back, I started digging through The Food of Life, my guide to Persian cuisine, in search of ideas. I've settled (at least for now) on the following menu for dinner:

• Deb's Fig and Olive Oil Challah
• Persian Sumac Soup with Chickpea Dumplings (see Joan Nathan write all about those chickpea dumplings here)
• Greens with Apples, Black Lentils, Celery Root, Walnuts, and Mustard Vinaigrette (a riff on this and this)
• Tamarind Brisket (this year with lots of wine in the broth, because why not?)
• Persian Stuffed Onions
• Green Beans and Beets with Orange Segments and Sumac Vinaigrette
• Apples and Honey Cake
• A sorbet (either apple-bourbon, maple-almond, or a riff on one of these)

What are you making? I'd love to see your favorite recipes and menu ideas below - let's get the juices flowing.

Meanwhile, happy cooking, and happy new year. I hope the coming months are full of new adventures for all of us.

Persian Sweet and Sour Stuffed Onions Inspired by recipes in The Food of Life and Aromas of Aleppo Serves 4 as a main, 6 as a side dish

I'll be making two versions of these for our Rosh Hashana dinner: one vegetarian, one with ground lamb. I've given instructions for both versions below. One important note: the ratios here are hard to nail precisely, because every onion is different, and I don't know how many layers your onions will have. You are very likely to find yourself with either extra onion layers or extra filling after making this recipe. Don't sweat it. If you've got extra onion layers, dice them and add them to the sauce. If you have extra rice, cook it in a bit of broth and eat as a chef's snack, or freeze it for another time. Lastly, because the quantities vary so much, you may want to double the recipe, just to be safe. Leftovers freeze very well uncooked, and can be baked off and eaten at a later date.

For the vegetarian version:
3 large or 4 medium yellow onions
1 1/2 cups long-grain rice
1/2 cup golden raisins, chopped
1 tablespoon dried dill
1 teaspoon dried mint
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoon pomegranate molasses
2 teaspoons tomato paste

For the meat filling: All of the above, but use only 1 cup of rice 1/2 pound ground lamb (or beef)

For the sauce:
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 cups tomato puree
2 cups vegetable or chicken broth
2 tablespoons tamarind puree or 2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 cup dried apricots, coarsely chopped
1/2 teaspoon salt

Prepare the onions: Bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat. Meanwhile, use a paring knife to trim the very tip off of the non-root ends of the onions, and to scrape away the dry outer layers from the onions. Any layer that is even partially dried should be removed. Take care not to stab the onions' flesh, and leave the root end of the onions intact.

Add the onions to the boiling water, and simmer for 20 minutes (25 minutes for larger onions) until flesh is very soft. Strain onions and set aside to cool. (To accelerate cooling process, transfer onions to an ice bath to cool.)

Prepare the filling: Soak rice in cold water for 30 minutes. Strain rice, then combine all ingredients - including raw ground meat, if using - in a large bowl. Use a fork or your fingers to ensure that everything is evenly distributed.

Stuff the onions: Fill a medium bowl halfway with water. I find it easiest to store the onion layers in water while working, so they don't dry out. Set up a plate, tray, or other container to hold your filled onions.

Take an onion in your hand, with the ends at top and bottom. Use the paring knife to slice a deep slit from end to end, cutting through about three layers of onion. The carefully remove the layers of onion, using your fingers to separate each layer. If a layer rips, don't sweat it - you can always patch over it once stuffed. Transfer onion layers to the bowl of water. If you can remove more sizable layers from the core of the onion, slice deeper with the knife and remove more layers. If not, set the core aside. Repeat with remaining onions.

Take an onion layer in your palm, fill it with a heaping tablespoon of filling, and wrap the layer around itself, loosely enclosing the filling. You want to leave room for the rice to expand, so don't wrap the layers too tightly. Transfer the filled onion layer to your plate or tray, and continue filling remaining layers of onions, lining them up on the tray as you go.

Freezing the onions: At this stage, you can wrap the filled onions tightly and freeze them for a few months. Thaw completely in the refrigerator before proceeding.

Cook the onions: Depending on the size of your pan, you may need to brown the onions in batches. If using a large roaster, all onions should fit in one batch. If using a sauce pan, brown the onions in 2-3 batches, using one tablespoon of the olive oil for each batch.

Pour olive oil into a large deep sauce pan or ovenproof roaster, and set over medium heat. When oil shimmers, carefully transfer as many stuffed onions as will fit in the bottom of the pan. Cook for 3-5 minutes, until golden, then turn and cook another 3-5 minutes on the other side. If using a sauce pan, transfer browned onions back onto your tray, and repeat with remaining onions until all onions have been browned.

Once all onions have been browned, make your sauce in the bottom of the same pan - no need to remove the onions; they'll be cooking in the sauce. Add all the sauce ingredients, shake the pan a bit to distribute the ingredients, give a little stir around the onions to help blend the sauce, and add any onions from the tray back into the pan. Cover with a lid or tin foil, and simmer over medium-low heat for 20 minutes, until broth has thickened and filling has fully cooked. Check at the halfway point: if your stove is very powerful, your liquid may evaporate more quickly, in which case you may need to add a few tablespoons of water to keep things moving. Feel free to add as much water as you need to keep the broth from sticking.

After 20 minutes of simmering, slice into an onion layer to ensure that everything looks fully cooked; if not, add another few tablespoons of water, shake to distribute, and cook another 5-10 minutes.

Serve hot, with sauce ladled over onions.

Mexican Street Corn Salad

Late summer is a predictable season around here. There are tomatoes on the counter, which we position strategically to keep fruit flies at bay. (I can't say we necessarily succeed - those fruit flies are such a nuisance.) There's a glut of second nectarines and peaches, perfectly ripe and 99 cents a pound from Toigo, which we consume somewhat recklessly and with pride. There are Italian plums, which find their way into this famed torte and this less famous but quite tasty cake. And then, of course, there is all the corn.

The corn is also from Toigo. It's the sweetest corn available - so sweet that Beth (wife of Jeremy, he of Andalusian gazpacho and fried squash blossoms) made a corn soup last week and fretted that it was too sweet, that it needed some lime to cut the sweetness. If you're into corn ice cream, you'll want to start with Toigo's corn.  But even if you're making something savory, as I typically do, sweet corn is a good place to start.

If you've ever ordered elote, the flavors of this dish will be familiar. Elote is Mexican street corn: a whole cob, coated in crema and chile, then dunked in cotija and finished with a squeeze of lime. It's addictive.

But sometimes you want the corn off the cob, ready to fork straight into your mouth. Enter elote salad, a chopped-and-ready version of the messier original.

Stateside versions often coat the corn in mayonnaise, which you know I despise. The salad renditions I found online also call for mayo, which makes an otherwise balanced dish look gloppy and gross. Why would you do that?  Here's my counter-proposal, cleaner and fresher and more suited to summer: sweet corn, a little butter, chile, cilantro, lime. Lots of cotija to finish. Enough forks for you and all your friends. Sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

And while you're bothering with 5 corn cobs at a time, save those stripped cobs. Simmer them in water for 30 minutes, and you have a killer corn stock - a perfect base for chowder and more.

Mexican Street Corn SaladServes 6 as a side dish, with leftovers

3 tablespoons butter 3 scallions, diced kernels from 5 ears yellow corn 2 teaspoons medium-mild chile flakes, or 1 teaspoon regular (hot) chile flakes (start small and add to taste) salt 1 large red tomato, diced juice of 1-2 limes (again, start with one and add if you need more acid; I used 1 1/2 limes) 4 oz. cotija cheese, grated 3 tablespoons chopped cilantro

Add butter to a large saute pan and set over medium heat. When butter sizzles, add scallions, toss to combine, and cook 5 minutes, until softened. Add corn, chile,  and 1 teaspoon of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, just until very fragrant and starting to soften, 3 minutes or so; you want the corn to retain some bite. This is a warm salad, not mush.

Taste corn, and add more chile and/or salt as needed. Then add tomato chunks, reserving the accumulated liquid for another use. Stir to combine, and cook about 3 minutes more, just until tomatoes are warmed through.

Add lime juice to taste. Spoon into a deep bowl, top with cilantro and cotija, and serve warm.

Fuchsia Dunlop's Pantry Noodles

There are days - you know the ones - when you must make a meal out of nothing. In winter, my go-to is Jen's Linguine with Sardines, Fennel, and Tomato (often with onion instead of fennel, since that's always around). In summer, it's slices of sourdough and perfect tomatoes and some sort of cheese. When it's not that, it's migas or chilaquiles. I really like tomatoes.

But still, it's nice to have other options. And last night, while planning Friday night dinner, I came across a Guardian article about making dinner from the pantry. Bookmarked, saved.

I had been gushing over yet another round of videos about Turkish cooking, trying to back my way into a decent recipe for Kanafe. Not so simple. Turned out it was much easier to figure out a dinner plan for the evening. I revisited that Guardian piece, saw Fuchsia Dunlop's recipe for spicy sesame noodles, and called it a day.

Good Chinese food is all about balancing the hot, sour, salty, and sweet. So why do sesame noodles always get a pass? We load them up with peanut butter until they're gluey and cloying. If we're being honest, here, I find it sort of gross. But thanks to Fuchsia, there is a better way. I'll never make sesame noodles the same again.

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Dunlop's sauce is a pantry sauce. It's based on peanut butter. But smartly, she has you add a bit of water to the mixture, giving an otherwise clumpy sauce the texture of light cream. The noodles get slicked and flavored, but never clump.

Also likely in your pantry: soy sauce, vinegar. Maybe some sesame oil. A cucumber, a scallion. Maybe some sesame seeds. That's it. If you don't have any of the above, don't sweat it. You need something acidic. Chianking vinegar is best, but red wine vinegar and lime juice both work. I bet lemon juice would work, too. As for the vegetables, Dunlop calls only for scallion, but adding a cucumber makes the experience feel less "crap, instant ramen" and more "wow, I'm a genius." If you have some kale or bok choy or cabbage or carrots red pepper or whatever else, feel free to throw that in, too. And remember, this is pantry dinner: don't worry so much about quantities.

We've got four pints of sungold cherry tomatoes on the counter, and I've been munching on them almost maniacally, waiting for regular tomatoes to get good and seconds to hit the markets. August is canning season around here, and while I already pressure-canned 6 pints of salsa (!), the fun is just beginning. Happy end of July, folks. See you in the dog days.

Fuchsia Dunlop's Pantry NoodlesAdapted from Fuchsia Dunlop, via this article in the Guardian Serves 4

This is a pantry dinner, but still - Fuchsia Dunlop's pantry might look a bit different than yours. I've listed her recommended ingredients first, followed by one or more totally acceptable substitutes. Remember, don't sweat it.

For the noodles:
4 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
2 tablespoons light soy sauce or scant 2 tablespoons regular soy sauce
1.5 teaspoons dark soy sauce or 1 teaspoon honey
1 tablespoon Chianking vinegar or scant 1 tablespoon of red wine vinegar or lime juice
3 teaspoons chili oil (to taste - Dunlop says 2-6), or use whatever chili paste/sauce you have (sriracha, sambal oelek, etc), adding to taste
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
500 grams dried udon noodles or any other noodle you like

To finish:
2 teaspoons sesame seeds
2 scallions, sliced thinly
2 Persian cucumbers, quartered lengthwise and sliced
Any other vegetables you have lying around (red pepper, carrot, cabbage, bok choy, kale, whatever), chopped into bite-sized pieces

Toast the sesame seeds in a small dry pan over medium heat until golden. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, use a fork to mash the peanut butter with the soy sauces (or soy sauce and honey) and vinegar until completely smooth. Stir in the chili and sesame oils and the garlic, and add enough water to make the mixture the consistency of whipping cream.

Cook the noodles according to the instructions on the package. If you're serving these noodles cold, as I did, set up an ice bath and use it to shock the noodles as soon as they finish cooking. Drain the noodles.

Separate the noodles into 4 bowls. Divide any vegetables you're using among the bowls, and ladle a spoonful of the sauce over each bowl. Top with scallions and sesame seeds. Tell your guests to mix everything well before eating.