Asparagus Toasts with Pistachios and Mint

I think I speak for all of us on the east coast when I say, FINALLY. Winter can see its sorry self out the door for another nine months or so. I'm preoccupied by my true loves, the asparagus that have arrived,* and I can't bring myself to talk about much of anything else.

*As I'm writing this, asparagus season hasn't really started here in Washington.** Usually I'm a stickler, waiting with embarrassing impatience for local farmers to harvest their crop. But this year, weeks after I ran out of creative uses for beets and kale, the asparagus still hadn't made their debut at my farmers' market, and yet there they were on display at the Whole Foods, skinny little bundles of asparagus from California. Are they as good as the ones grown nearby? Not even close. But I figure since all my citrus comes from the west coast anyway, I may as well start spring vegetable season a bit early, too.

This is a great recipe for those transitional weeks, when the produce isn't gleaming and perfect. The WF asparagus had a longer woody stem than I'm used to, so I removed those and sliced the rest of the spear on the bias into short coins. Over medium-high heat, I sauteed them rather unevenly in plenty of butter, so some just barely cooked through while others got nicely browned and crisp.

There's pretty much nothing you can do to mess up a good slice of bread slathered with ricotta. Adding browned, buttery asparagus: not an exception. To keep things bright, I ran to a flavor combination that I think I originally saw in the Zuni Cafe cookbook: pistachios, orange, mint.

If you time things right, you'll catch the tail end of citrus season: these toasts really benefit from the zest of a good orange (or blood orange) and the juice from a meyer lemon.

The weather's still bouncing back and forth here, one day as beautiful as it gets and the next cold and rainy. Spring isn't predictable, but there's one thing I can guarantee the coming weeks will bring: plenty more asparagus recipes.

** In the end, it took me almost a week to get this post live, and as of right this very instant, ASPARAGUS SEASON HAS STARTED!!

Asparagus Toasts with Pistachios and Mint
Makes 4 toasts

1 small bunch (about 8 spears) asparagus, rinsed and trimmed, sliced into 2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
salt and pepper
1/4 teaspoon chile flakes (I like Turkish chile)
zest of half an orange or one lemon
1/3 cup good ricotta
4 half-slices of very good crusty bread (I like sourdough)
leaves from one sprig of mint, rinsed and torn into small pieces
2 tablespoons salted (shelled) pistachios, coarsely chopped
small wedge of lemon

Heat butter in a small saute pan over medium heat. When butter foams, add asparagus and a pinch each of salt and pepper. Add turkish chile and citrus zest. Cook, tossing pan occasionally to prevent sticking, until asparagus are on the crunchy side of tender and golden brown in spots; I found that this took around 3-4 minutes for stalks on the thin side. Set pan aside and allow asparagus to cool slightly.

Toast bread in a toaster or hot oven to your liking. (I'm a golden girl.) Spread a thick layer of ricotta onto the toast slices, and divide the asparagus spears evenly among the toasts. Finish with a pinch of mint, a sprinkle of pistachios, and a squeeze of lemon. Serve immediately.

Dates Stuffed with Chevre, Pistachio, and Chive

Having been out of cooking commission for most of fall, I missed the season of fancy party snacks and holiday breakfasts. I spent December gazing at a certain very delicious little face, foregoing the mistletoe and the cocktail parties. Now it's January, and the cinnamon rolls and champagne flutes are fading in the rear view mirror on your way to the gym. 2015, you came quickly.

But I've been making up for lost time, now that the babe and I have hit our stride. We've had scones and omelettes for brunch, wintry mixed drinks at happy hour, and plenty of snacks. I'll spare you the over-the-top breakfasts and the bourbony indulgence -- for now -- but the snacks I've been making these past couple weeks are too good not to share. Think of it as some belated holiday cheer.

These dates snapped back into my repertoire after I received a version of them from a friend, shortly after Adi was born. Jana, an excellent cook (and now a maker of very fancy cakes), slipped some chevre into pitted dates, and topped each date with a slice of pistachio and a pinch of minced chives. I ate one, then shamelessly ate all the others before D could get any. And then, the very next day, I added a TJ's run to our itinerary to pick up dates and chives and chevre and do the whole thing again.

In my scrambled-up version, the chives and chopped pistachios are folded into the chevre, so I could assemble the dates whenever hunger struck. Lazy me snacks straight from the fridge, but if I'm serving them to other people, I bring the dates to room temperature before serving. When I'm feeling fancy, I heat them in a low oven. The heat softens the dates and caramelizes their edges, and of course, no one ever said no to hot, melty cheese.

Maybe you're the lucky type to be hosting or joining a January dinner party, in which case, go you. Bring these along. If not, there's not an ounce of shame in eating them for dinner.

Dates Stuffed with Chevre, Pistachios, and Chives
Makes about 20

1 lb. medjool dates (20-22 dates)
5 oz. chevre or other fresh goat cheese
1 1/2 tablespoons minced chives
3 tablespoons shelled salted pistachios, coarsely chopped
flaky salt and cracked pepper

Use a small paring knife to make a lengthwise slit in each date. Remove pits, and splay dates open.

In a small bowl, combine chevre, chives, and 2 tablespoons of pistachios. Use a fork to mash the cheese, softening it while combining it with the chives and pistachios.

Fill each date with a heaping teaspoon of filling. Sprinkle remaining pistachios over dates, and finish with a sprinkle of salt and a bit of cracked pepper.

Menemen - Turkish Eggs with Tomatoes and Peppers

It must have been 2005 when I first fell for shakshuka, the Israeli dish of eggs fry-poached in a spicy, oniony tomato sauce. For a few years, I obsessively sought it out at restaurants; eventually, I taught myself to make it at home. There are a few places - like the kitschily named but legit Dr. Shakshuka, in Tel Aviv - that make it consistently well: their whites are always set, their yolks perfectly runny, every time. Back when I lived in Jerusalem, there was a little cafe near my apartment that I loved, but that had a problem with runny whites in their shakshuka. It was either that or a hard yolk, and I wanted neither - so I learned to ask for my eggs "mikushkashot" - scrambled. They happily obliged, and I wound up with soft-scrambled eggs in that same punchy sauce. Don't tell anyone, but I've always liked my invented version better.

At the time, I thought shakshuka was something unique that you could only find in Israel. I should have known better: nearly every wonderful "Israeli" food, from falafel to shawarma to hummus to labneh, was cribbed from another Middle Eastern culture. Shakshuka is no exception; it's originally from North Africa, or so I understand from Google. And now, of course, it's on trendy menus all over the country. Shakshuka has hit the big time.

Israel isn't the only copycat. It seems every culture has its own name and nuanced method for cooking eggs in tomatoes. There's the classic Eggs in Purgatory (...is it a classic? I did a bit of poking for historical origins of the dish, and aside from finding several mentions of "Catholic" and "uovo in purgatorio," I came up short), and some folks have added more chile and renamed the dish Eggs in Hell. But the version I've come to love more recently is called Menemen, hailing from Turkey, which is basically the hacked-up version of shakshuka I've been ordering and making all along. Apparently, I didn't invent it after all. But all the good cooks steal ideas from each other, so the copycat badge is one I'm proud to wear.

Like shakshuka, menemen is a dish you'll like more if you make it your own. My brother and the internet have taught me that some like their menemen chunky - with defined pieces of egg, tomato, and pepper - and others like the dish reduced to almost a custard, where everything sort of blends together. I'm not quite at the point where I can control exactly how it comes out, but I tend to make it - and like it - somewhere between the two extremes.

According to my bro, the best menemen has a good mix of tomato and pepper, and plenty of egg - which, in Turkey, doesn't always happen; eggs are more expensive than vegetables. His favorite menemen also keeps the tomatoes on the slightly liquidy side, which I also enjoy (though it makes cooking the eggs a bit more challenging). And - shock! - he likes his menemen with beyaz peynir, which is like a mild feta, or tulum, a grassy Turkish goat's milk cheese. And plenty of pul biber, a Turkish condiment of chile and salt.

So that's the fully-loaded version. But I tend to keep things pretty simple: onion, tomato, pepper, some chile, eggs. A hunk of good bread to sop everything up. That's a happy morning in my book.

I broke the news to my brother that I'd be posting about menemen, and he said he'd try to get me a menemen set the next time he goes to Turkey. Who knew there were menemen sets? Turns out, because you're supposed to serve it in the same dish in which you cook it, there are beautiful stove-safe bowls - made of hand-formed metal - specifically for menemen. I'd love to get my hands on one of those eventually, but for now, a good old skillet and bowl do the trick.

What's your favorite way to eat eggs and tomatoes? You know you have one - now share it.

Menemen - Turkish Eggs in Tomatoes and Peppers Serves 2

Like all egg dishes, menemen is deeply personal. I like my peppers to retain some crunch; I prefer my tomatoes a little runny, even though it makes cooking the eggs harder; and I like my eggs less custardy, with some defined curds. With both personal preferences and stoves so idiosyncratic, it seemed silly to offer cooking times. I've done it anyway, but more important are the signs that my menemen is ready for the next step. Those trump cooking times here. If you want your peppers/tomatoes/eggs firmer or softer, then by all means. Make this dish your own.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 a small onion, diced
2 long green (non-spicy) peppers, seeded and chopped (or substitute a bell pepper)
2 large tomatoes, chopped
2 eggs
salt z
1/2 teaspoon of your best semi-spicy red pepper flakes - ideally Turkish or Aleppo pepper
cheese, olives, more pepper, parsley, or whatever else you'd like to incorporate (optional)
crusty bread (less optional)

Add the olive oil to a large frying pan (stainless steel, cast iron, and non-stick all work) and set over medium heat. Add the onion and peppers with a pinch of salt. Give a few tosses, and cook until onions take on light color and everything smells fragrant but peppers are still somewhat firm, about 3 minutes.

Add tomatoes, another pinch of salt, and the pepper. Give a good stir, and let them cook until much, but not all, of their liquid has evaporated and they look saucy, about 4 minutes more.

Lightly beat eggs with a pinch of salt in a small bowl. When tomato mixture is ready, add eggs all at once, and use a wooden or silicone spatula to gently fold them into the tomato mixture. Because I like curds in my menemen, I take care to fold them only occasionally; if you prefer a more uniform dish, you can stir it slowly but continuously. Either way, you're looking for the whites to almost cook through. They should be basically opaque when you plate the menemen, as they'll continue cooking for a few seconds off the heat, but not much. If you prefer very runny eggs (and the uncooked whites don't bother you), you can add the eggs, stir a few times to incorporate, and transfer the menemen to bowls almost immediately. Your choice.

Serve menemen with any of your preferred fix-ins, and crusty bread on the side.

Okra Curry

A long while back, I got into a major Indian food kick. I made dosas (but really, really good dosas), eggplant curry, sambar, mushroom muttar curry, and more. I bought and made chutneys and stocked way too much ghee and ate as much Indian food as I could get my hands on.

Summer seems to call for a hiatus from piping hot bowls of curry, but now that fall has arrived, I'm back on the bandwagon. It's still early for long-cooked food, but this okra comes together quickly and tastes fresh - the perfect transition into September.

I posted about this on Instagram when I made it on a whim a while back, but since then it's become enough of a regular that I felt it deserved a proper post. I still see okra at most of our markets (not to mention growing from the pot on our walkway - my neighbor is quite the gardener!), so there's still time to make this before okra is gone.

In case I lost you way back with scary thoughts of slime, rest assured: this curry is not slimy. Just look at the photo above - see mom? No slime! A few tips to avoid the goo:

• I've found slime more likely in large okra and in okra that isn't super fresh. The smaller and fresher the pieces, the better.
• When cutting your okra, keep a paper or cloth towel close at hand. Wipe the knife often - after every two or three pieces - and you'll minimize the goo.
• Lastly, and you'll see this in the recipe below, cook the okra all the way before adding the sauce. You want those pieces crisp and browned, maybe even a bit shriveled. By the time you add the sauce, there won't be any slime to speak of, and your okra will end up silky, but not gummy.

Off to the races, folks.

Okra Curry

As noted above, you want the okra to be fully cooked before it's added to the sauce. This will minimize slime in the curry. The only other thing I wanted to mention is that while a cast iron pan works great for cooking the okra, the sauce should really be made in a stainless steel pan, since acid can ruin the nonstick surface of good cast iron. -R

1 quart okra
3 tablespoons ghee or vegetable oil
1 medium onion, diced
1 thai chili (or use a serrano), seeded and diced
1 teaspoon black mustard seeds
1 1/2 cups tomato puree
2 tablespoons tamarind puree
1/2-inch knob fresh ginger, grated
salt

Trim stem ends of okra and slice lengthwise in half or quarters, depending on size. Keep a towel nearby as you slice; if you notice the knife getting slimy, wipe off your knife before continuing. This will help minimize slime in the final curry.

Heat 1 tablespoon of ghee or oil in a large saute pan (cast iron and stainless steel both work) over medium-high heat. Add enough okra to sit in a single layer in the pan; I found I needed to do this in two batches. Cook okra mostly undisturbed for about 3-5 minutes, letting it really brown on the first side before flipping it; you want to draw out the moisture (read: slime) and dry out the okra as much as possible.  If the pan smokes, turn down the heat a little bit, or just turn on your fan - try to keep that pan as hot as possible.

Flip the okra (this doesn't have to be an exact science; a few turns with a pair of tongs should get most of the okra turned) and cook on the second side for another 3-5 minutes or so. At this point, your okra should be very deep brown and mostly dry. Transfer to a heatsafe bowl, and repeat with another tablespoon of ghee/oil and the second batch of okra. Transfer second batch to the same bowl once it's been cooked. (I use two pans at once to minimize total cooking time.)

Add the third tablespoon of ghee/oil to a stainless steel saute pan and set over medium-high heat. Add diced chile (as much of it as you want - feel free to hold back and add more later), onion, and mustard seeds, and saute until onion has started to turn golden around the edges. Then add tomato, tamarind, and grated ginger, stir to combine, and reduce heat to medium. Cook until onions soften, 5-7 minutes.

Add okra to the sauce and use tongs to coat every piece of okra with sauce. Toss a few times over the heat, just to incorporate, then serve hot with rice, naan, dal, dosa, or whatever else you feel like serving. This curry also reheats well.