Galley Girl's Peach Tart

I met my friend Robbie (hi, Rob!) when we spent the year in Israel together on a fellowship. I was 22 at the time, young and impressionable; he was 25, but he seemed so much older and wiser. He'd had jobs, lived in the big city, tasted life. He'd learned the challenges of living independently, the wonders of Greek food in Astoria, the secrets of dried fruit and nuts from Sahadi's. I knew about Barnard, the Upper West Side, and college graduation speakers; Robbie knew everything else.

In Israel, Robbie and I bonded over amazing raw honey at the shuk, which we ate out of the jar by the spoonful without an ounce of shame. We became bonafide experts in hummus, learning the nuances of the different packaged brands and the mind-blowing freshness and flavor of the homemade stuff. We ran through the back streets of Jerusalem, passed long, summer days on the beaches of Tel Aviv and Ashkelon, and became residents of the wonderful neighborhood of Talpiot. It was a good year. It was a special, formative year.

That's the year I realized I was serious about food. After our friend Naomi brought homemade granola on a trip, I started to obsess about what might have been in it, working methodically on my own recipe until it was just perfect. Robbie was good company to explore my new-found hobby. He had endless patience and curiosity for my home cooking. He was basically a vegetarian, primed to appreciate my mostly meatless diet. But perhaps most importantly, Robbie introduced me to Chowhound.

In 2005, Chowhound wasn't the comprehensive food site it is today. It was basically just a food forum, organized geographically, for the eating-obsessed. Robbie couldn't believe I'd never heard of it, and after sinking slowly into its stranglehold, I couldn't, either. Chowhound was amazing. Posters were perpetually fixated on one food item or another, waxing poetic and getting aggressive about where to find the best burger/madeleines/ancho-flavored chocolate/loose-leaf yerba mate/etc. I quickly got hooked.

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Chowhound didn't have a recipe section, but occasionally, individual posters would be inspired to share their favorites. One such poster, Galley Girl, posted a basic recipe for a pear tart she got from her friend Laurie. The tart is more like a cake, really. It's so simple, it looks like 100 cakes you've made before. And, at the same time: it's totally, utterly, unforgettable.

On the boards of Chowhound, this tart is known as "Galley Girl's Pear Tart." Among Hounds, it's famous. Like I said, it's more of a cake than a tart. It's a dead-simple butter batter, and it absolutely MUST be topped with the ripest fruit you can get your hands on. The cake is nothing if the fruit isn't ripe.

It was a pear tart, and indeed, the buttery cake recipe has no better pairing. But in summer, when pears are scarce but peaches are at their prime, you can make it this way with lovely results. Since, as you may recall, I hate peach fuzz, I used nectarines.

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It's been a while since Robbie and I lived in Israel. I've gotten married; he has, too, and he has an adorable baby boy whom I'm determined to meet one of these days. (R&K -- I'm coming to visitl!)  Chowhound also has grown up: it has a shiny new site, all sorts of new features, and many, many more posters. But I'll always be indebted to Galley Girl, to the old school Hounds, and to Robbie, my dear friend, who indulged my obsessive side and helped me realize how much I love food. If I'd known then how good Galley Girl's tart is, I'd have made it for Robbie to thank him.

Galley Girl's Peach TartAdapted from Galley Girl's Pear Tart, originally on Chowhound

This tart is best when baked in an 8" springform. I don't have a pan that size, but following another poster's instructions, I've made 1 1/2 times the recipe in a 9" springform and an 8" square pan. Regardless of which pan and proportions you use, you must watch the thing carefully and make sure not to overbake it.

Ingredients: 3 very ripe, very juicy peaches or nectarines (in winter, use the pears she calls for in the original recipe), peeled (if peaches or pears) and cut into eighths 1 stick butter 3/4 cup sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla 2 eggs 1 cup flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt

Cream butter, sugar, and vanilla until fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing until fully combined. In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to the wet ingredients and mix on low speed or by hand just until combined. Do not overmix.

Grease an 8" springform pan generously with butter. If you only have a 9" springform or an 8" square pan, you need to make 1 1/2 times this recipe so the cake comes out properly.

Spread the cake batter into the pan, smooth with a knife to level the surface, and press sliced fruit into the cake. Press in as many as you can fit; don't be shy. Sprinkle a bit more sugar overtop.

Bake at 350 degrees until a skewer comes out clean. This can take as long as 1 hour, but start checking at 40 minutes; as Galley Girl says, this cake is a whole other thing if you overbake it...and not in a good way.

This cake is delicious the day of, but it's also great the next day. It's a snacking cake, if snacking cakes are your thing. I like to serve it for dessert after big meals. It's a humble, simple cake, but in my opinion, it really can't be beat.  I had a piece right out of the oven, and while it practically burned a hole in my napkin, it was worth every tongue-scorching bite.

Green Beans Vinaigrette with Feta and Cherries

Until last year, I didn't know green beans' season. I didn't even know they had a season. I saw them in the grocery store pretty much year round, so I assumed they were one of those magical vegetables that could grow through the frost.

Not so: green beans have a season, and that season is right now. Take a closer look at the green beans at your local market, and you'll quickly notice the difference between them and the ones your grocery store displays during other times of the year. Summer beans are a light, bright green. their pods are smooth and taught, and when you bend one, it only goes so far before that satisfying *snap.* Looking at the pod, you shouldn't be able to tell where the beans are within. If the beans protrude enought that they betray their shape through the pod, that green bean is either out of season, or very old.

I usually think of green beans as a side dish. I cook them szechuan-style to serve in rice bowls, blanch them and serve with pesto alongside a belly of salmon, and add them to green salads to lend some heft. But with a few flourishes, green beans can be the star of the show. Now that they're hitting their stride, I've taken to blanching a few pounds at once, keeping them in the fridge, and using them in different weekday lunch options throughout the week. This dish is a recent favorite.

Yes, cherries--again!--because, well, I can't get enough. These ones are dried, and if you can't find dried cherries, you certainly can substitute raisins, currants, or cranberries. As for feta, please use the full-fat stuff. and good-quality If you live in the Mid-Atlantic, I really love Keswick Creamer's Feta de Provence and Feta with Dill and Chives. If not, look for a rich, creamy feta whose flavor you enjoy alone.

You could easily double the vinaigrette recipe and store it in a jar on the counter (or, if you're particularly nervous about food safety, the fridge). With pre-blanched green beans and ready-to-go vinaigrette, this is weekday lunch at the ready.

Green Beans with Feta and Cherries Vinaigrette

8 oz. green beans 2 tablespoons minced shallot 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 1 teaspoon honey 1 teaspoon grainy mustard 1/4 cup dried cherries reconstituted in 1/2 cup boiling water for 30 minutes 1/4 cup creamy feta cheese salt and pepper to taste

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Fill a large bowl with ice cubes and water and set aside.

Add green beans to boiling water, cover, and cook 2-3 minutes, until green beans are crisp-tender. Check a green bean at 2 minutes and 2:30 to check for doneness - don't let these beans go limp.

As soon as beans are perfectly crisp tender - and not a minute later - strain beans into the bowl of ice water to "shock" them: this stops the cooking immediately and preserves the beans' bright green color.

Strain beans out of ice water and blot dry with a towel. Dump ice water. Transfer back into the bowl that contained the ice water.

In a small bowl, combine all ingredients except feta and cherries. Whisk with a fork to combine, then pour over beans and toss until all beans are coated with the vinaigrette.

Fold in cherries and feta cheese, taking care to keep some chunks of feta along with all the smaller bits. Serve.

The salad will keep well for several hours, so you can prepare it in the morning and eat it for lunch. If making more than a few hours in advance, pack vinaigrette separately from other ingredients, and mix in just before eating.

Molasses Roasted Salmon

Now that it's full-on summer, we've been hosting Friday night dinner parties on our deck pretty often. We usually start before the sun sets, but it grows dark pretty quickly; fortunately, I picked up a couple vintage votive holders at the Lucketts Fair that provide just the right amount of light. (If you live in the DC/VA area and haven't been to Lucketts, go. It's an antiques fair with hundreds of vendors, set on fair grounds out in VA. Beautiful furniture and plenty of carnival food. A great way to spend the day.)

Dinner parties are so much easier in summer, when it doesn't get dark until late and I've got plenty of time to prep between work and dinner. There's a formula for these parties, at least this year. Before work on Friday morning, I whip up a cold soup. Cold pea soup is my new favorite: 1 package thawed frozen peas, 1 serrano pepper, 2 tomatillos, 1/2 cup cilantro, salt: all in a blender, and really: that's it. It takes no more than 10 minutes. I pour the soup into jars, stick them in the fridge, and head off. After work, I pick up fish from Cannon's and head home. I prep the fish, toss together a salad, and quite often make my easiest cake ever as well. Schedule permitting, I may also saute some mushrooms or roast some tomatoes. These days, the produce is so fresh and flavorful, it's best to keep things simple.

For an embarrassingly large number of these dinner parties, the main course has been molasses roasted salmon. What can I say? It's fast, it's easy, and it's delicious. And it's not as though our guests know that I'm a total one-trick pony. (Until now.)

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Not for nothing, the finished dish is also really beautiful. The salmon is a mix of bright orange and deep dark brown, and glossy from the heat. Bringing the salmon to the table whole makes for a dramatic presentation.

You can make this salmon in the oven year-round, and I do. But when the weather's nice, I'll fire up the grill and make it there. Molasses and wood smoke are quite the pair.

Molasses Roasted Salmon Serves 4-6

When buying salmon, aim for one long piece instead of a few smaller pieces. Look for fish with firm, bright flesh and well-marbled fat. Depending on where you buy your fish, it may have color added; don't be deceived by neon-orange flesh; just look for fish with color that looks authentic but not dull, and you'll be fine.

2 lbs. good quality salmon, in one long piece if possible 2 teaspoons smoked paprika 1 teaspoon cardamom 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon cayenne or ground chipotle pepper 2 teaspoons kosher salt 1/8 cup molasses 1 tablespoon olive oil

Preheat oven to 450 degrees and set a rack in the bottom third of the oven

Pat the salmon dry and set skin-side down on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Sprinkle evenly with the salt.

In a small bowl, mix spices together. Add molasses and stir with a fork until combined.

Use a pastry or silicone brush to brush molasses mixture evenly over the salmon. Make sure you get the ends, too.

Drizzle olive oil over the fish, and put baking sheet into the oven and cook for 15-20 minutes, depending on the salmon's thickness, until the thickest part is just cooked and no longer translucent within. Cool for 5-10 minutes, and either serve, or refrigerate for at least 2 hours and serve chilled.

Sometimes, I whip up a quick yogurt sauce to go with the salmon. Recipe below.

1 cup greek yogurt juice 1 lemon 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons chopped fresh dill a few grinds of pepper

Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl and mix thoroughly. Serve chilled.

Summer Squash Quesadillas

Summer squash season is in full swing. As anyone with enough sunlight to grow the stuff will tell you, it grows like a weed. One plant is more than enough to feed two people for the whole summer. Folks with more zucs than they can eat often tell these not-quite-sad stories about struggling to use up their summer squash quickly enough. It's hard to feel bad for them when one little basket of zucchini costs $4 at the market, but I count my blessings - among them, a beautiful herb garden that's got enough chives for omelets all summer long, and three different kinds of mint, all growing at record pace.

Last week at the market, I bought a basket of baby summer squash with the blossoms still attached. Generally, I'd snip off the blossoms, coat them in batter, and fry'em up, but I'd gone to boot camp - people, this boot camp is serious - and I was feeling virtuous. So instead, I chopped them, tossed them with some mexican cheese and slices of the zucchini, and stuffed them into quesadillas.

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The recipe is simple, and open to endless riffs and interpretations. We're talking two flour tortillas, whatever fillings you want, and heat. That's it. I've added mushrooms, fresh corn, roasted poblano peppers, cherry tomatoes, you name it.

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As I write this, I'm in Austin for work. I'm quite sure the city famous for its migas would frown upon my very yuppified version of a quesadilla, but if I'm going to eat what essentially amounts to two pieces of bread and a bunch of cheese for dinner, I'd like to supplement it with some green. So there you have it.

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I was serious about the countless riffs. I've eliminated the mexican cheese entirely, in favor of fresh chevre. It's a totally different thing, but good in its own right. Another option - especially if you're eating this for breakfast, which I would heartily encourage - is to fry an egg into your quesadilla. Here's how it works: scramble an egg. when the pan is hot, pour the egg in, let it spread, and promptly place a flour tortilla over the egg, covering its surface entirely. Pile your toppings onto the tortilla, and depending on how hungry you are, either leave it open-face or put another tortilla overtop. Eggy deliciousness. Or, if you want the eggs inside the quesadilla, scramble them separately and pile them on before adding the second tortilla.

I told you, lots of riffs. I'll stop now - but you shouldn't. These are meant to be a vehicle for whatever is in your fridge. Go crazy.

Summer Squash Quesadillasserves 2, easily doubled

4 flour tortillas 2 small or 1 large summer squash, sliced into coins 1 tablespoon butter or oil a handful of squash blossoms, roughly chopped (if you don't have these, simply add some extra squash) 2 scallions, sliced 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika 1/2 cup shredded Mexican or pepperjack cheese (or substitute fresh chevre)

salsa or salsa verde, for serving

Set an 8-inch pan over medium heat and add butter or oil. When butter has melted or oil starts to shimmer, add summer squash in a single layer. Add smoked paprika and cook squash coins until lightly browned on one side. Flip or turn coins, add scallions, and cook about 2 more minutes, until the other side is brown. Transfer squash to a plate and set aside.

Put one tortilla down in the pan (no need to add more fat - they shouldn't stick). Add your toppings - first the cheese, then the still-warm squash - and top with a second tortilla. Cook about 3 minutes, until the bottom tortillas is well-browned. Press down on the top tortilla to make sure everything is sticking together, then flip the whole thing so the top tortilla is now on the bottom. Cook 3 more minutes, then transfer to a plate, cut into quarters, and repeat to make the second quesadilla.

Serve with salsa or salsa verde.