Pescado a la Veracruzana (Fish, Veracruz Style)

I grew up in a dairy household. This fact always elicits some "huh"s, lotsa "really?"s and even a few "ugh!"s but that's the way it was, and I actually didn't mind it, mostly. About two times a year, I'd really crave meat - but the only real option was takeout from Royal Dragon, the local kosher Chinese joint. It was always eaten on paper, always lukewarm. I taught myself pretty quickly to be satisfied without it.

At Friday night dinner, most of our crowd served chicken, meatballs, brisket. We usually had fish. Salmon teriyaki, tuna with mango salsa, flounder with lemon herb vinaigrette. (Gosh, can you tell I grew up in the nineties?)

If these fish dishes made occasional appearances on our Shabbat table, there was one that was so regular in its appearances, and so beloved, it was practically a part of the family. That dish is Huachinango a la Veracruzana. My mom's version originated in an unassuming little cookbook called "Latin American Cooking." It's a scrawny little volume, doesn't look like much. The recipes in it are simple and straightforward, and in my totally-not-expert opinion, they seem authentic.

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The best of the lot is my beloved huachinango. To my readers with delicate palates: for the faint of heart, this recipe is not! The snapper is baked in a plenty-spicy tomato sauce laced with capers, green olives and raisins. And, um, olive brine is one of the ingredients - so I guess this is a fish dish for those who like their martinis very, very dirty. (That's me.) It's sweet and spicy, sour and salty. It's addictive. I actually make extra sauce just to eat over rice.

Feeling curious? Try it.

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Huachinango a la VeracruzanaThis recipe is traditionally made with huachinango, or whole red snapper. I've had success making it with various kinds of white fish fillets - from tilapia to flounder and beyond - and it's a simpler dish that way, so that's what I recommend here.

As far as cooking, the recipe I've included is the more traditional - and more fussy - way to cook this dish, first pan-frying the fillets to crisp the skin, then making the sauce, and then combining the two in a sauce pan. When I'm making this for company, as I did when I photographed this recipe, I usually use the oven instead. For that method, you make the sauce first. Don't cook it all the way, since it'll have plenty of time in the oven: once you've added the jalapenos, olives, etc, skip the additional 5 minutes of cooking time and remove the sauce from the heat. Then, drain the raw fillets of their marinade, drizzle with some olive oil, spoon the sauce over the fish, and bake at 350 until a knife inserted into the middle of the fillet meets no resistance. My fillets took about 18 minutes; estimate around 8-10 minutes per inch of thickness, and check when the fillets should be close to done to ensure you don't overcook them.

3 cloves garlic, chopped 1 unsprayed lemon, juiced, peel reserved 1 unsprayed lime, juiced 3 tablespoons water 1 teaspoon cloves salt and pepper to taste 3 tablespoons vegetable oil 6 skin-on fillets red snapper, scaled and cleaned well 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 cup vegetable stock 1 onion, halved and sliced 1 pinch dried oregano 1 bay leaf 1/2 cup raisins 1/2 cup tomato puree (fresh is best) 1 cup diced tomatoes, fresh if available about 5 pickled jalapenos, sliced (adjust to taste) 1 cup green olives, with pimento if available 1/4 cup olive brine 2 tablespoons capers 2 tablespoons fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped

In large nonreactive bowl, combine garlic, lemon juice, lime juice, water, and cloves and mix to combine. Reserve the lemon rind -- you'll add that back in at the end. Add snapper fillets, coat each fillet with marinade, and leave to marinate in the fridge about 10 minutes.

In deep saute pan or shallow braising pan, preferably non-stick, over medium heat, add 3 tablespoons vegetable oil. When oil is hot but not smoking, add fillets skin side down, in a single layer, and cook until skin has crisped and released from pan, about 5 minutes. If necessary, do this step in batches -- you really don't want to crowd the pan.

When skin has crisped, transfer fillets to large plate and set aside.

Pour off any fat that has accumulated at bottom of pan above 1 tablespoon. Add onions, and saute until softened, 2 minutes. Add stock, bay, oregano, raisins, tomatoes, and tomato puree, and reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer about 10 minutes, until tomatoes have softened and flavors begin to come together. Add pickled jalapenos, olive brine, capers, reserved lemon rind, and half the olives. Cover and continue to simmer 5 minutes more.

Carefully add fillets back into pan in single layer, skin side up. Cook, uncovered, about 10 minutes, until fish is cooked all the way through but still tender and flaky. Add in reserved olives about 2 minutes before finishing; they should be warm, but retain that fresh flavor.

To serve, two options: Either bring the braising pan to the table and present the dish family-style, or spoon a scoop of sauce onto each plate and top with a skin side up fillet. Either way, sprinkle the chopped parsley or cilantro overtop and serve immediately.

Gujarati Mango Soup

Initially posted on The Jew and the Carrot: www.jcarrot.org.

Walk into any Jewish household on a Friday night, and you'll have an instant window into that family's food legacy. The Syrian table is piled high with ka'aks, zucchinis and eggplants stuffed with lamb and beef, beautiful molded rice with blanched almonds, and my favorite, lahmacun, those wonderful flatbreads topped with tamarind-and-tomato drenched ground meat. The Eastern Europeans have lokshen and cabbage, noodle kugel, gefilte fish, and of course, cholent. But come over to my house, and you might be confused: we'll start with, say, a Moroccan soup called harira. The pièce de résistance, if I'm lucky, is huachinango a la Veracruzana, my favorite preparation of red snapper in a Mexican tomato sauce with onions, olives, currants, hot peppers, and cinnamon. A side of the Indian eggplant curry baingan bartha might round out the meal, and for dessert, my mother's homemade chocolate croissants. If you're following along, that makes one American Jew, born and raised in Washington, DC, with relatives from across Eastern Europe, who, along with her mother, is building a cooking legacy on Indian curry, Mexican fish, Moroccan soup, and French pastry.

I don't come from a strong cooking tradition. It's possible my great grandmothers slaved over some top-notch borscht, or -- in the case of the piece of my family that's been in the US for seven generations -- some excellent apple pie. But I wouldn't know. My grandmother, who grew up in Chicago, didn't cook much at all. My Bubby, who grew up in New York and has spent most of her life in Richmond, VA, used to make an excellent Thanksgiving dinner, but her cooking didn't have a particular perspective or core list of key ingredients.

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Color me jealous: I've always wanted to come from one of those families with a strong culinary tradition. I've longed for native staples - the sorts of ingredients you always have on hand in multiple forms and in massive quantities, that find their way into everything: the Italians' olive oil and tomatoes; the Indians' garlic, ginger, and chilies; and so on.

So we weren't bequeathed a strong culinary heritage by our relatives or our culture; that hasn't stopped us from building our own. My mother has spent years accruing knowledge of different cultures' cuisines, acquiring a taste for spice, learning to achieve that balance of spicy, sour, salty, and sweet that makes food -- of any origin -- great. And ever since I learned to cook, I've been trying to follow in her footsteps. Yes, we're creating our own culinary legacy. Our legacy uses lemon in copious quantities; it doesn't skimp on the chile; it favors things with pools of zesty tomato-based sauces to be sopped up with good bread; and it always includes something sweet to finish things off.

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But there's more. We love olives, capers, and anchovies, individually or all together in a tapenade that'd make a cook in Provence swoon. And we love Indian flavors; we've spent many a meal tasting curries two, three, four times in a row, to decipher their ingredients one by one. As I served an Indian-spiced chilled mango soup to my guests on Friday night -- its pale orange surface flecked with black mustard seeds and buoying a dollop of spicy green chutney -- I felt connected to a cooking heritage. The people may not be my own people, but the legacy of Indian cooking -- the boldness with flavors, the embrace of real, sweat-inducing spice, the mixing of hot and cold together in the same dish -- is one I have come to love, and to take as my own. Not being born into a strong cooking tradition may be a blessing in disguise, after all.

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Gujarati Mango Soup with Green Chutney Adapted from a recipe in Amanda Hesser's The New York Times Essential Cookbook

After initially making this soup, I was concerned it would be cloying, even in small doses. I'd added some lime juice, but it still tasted quite sweet. On a whim, I made this green chutney (below), and its fresh, green heat complements the soup perfectly.

2 tablespoons chickpea flour 1/8 teaspoon ground turmeric 3/4 teaspoon ground cumin 3/4 teaspoon ground coriander 1/2 cup plain whole milk yogurt (Greek is best) 3 cups canned mango pulp or mashed fresh mango pulp (1 mango yields between 3/4 and 1 cup of pulp) 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 1/2 teaspoon sugar (may need more if using fresh mangos) 1 jalapeno pepper, chopped (I used all the seeds. If you prefer less spice, omit seeds and membrane) 2 tablespoons peanut or corn oil Generous pinch ground asafoetida 1/2 teaspoon whole brown mustard seeds 1/2 teaspoon whole cumin seeds 2 whole hot dried red chilies 1/8 teaspoon whole fenugreek seeds 10 fresh curry leaves (optional) Juice of 1 lime

Put the chickpea flour, turmeric, and ground cumin in a bowl. Fill a measuring cup with 1/2 cup of water, and add a couple tablespoons to the flour mixture, stirring carefully until the flour is a smooth paste with no clumps.

Add more water very slowly, ensuring an even consistency as you stir.

Once enough water has been added that the chickpea flour has been fully incorporated into the liquid with no lumps, add the rest of the water and stir to combine. Whisk in yogurt, mango, and 2 more cups water. Add salt, sugar, and fresh chilies. Mix well.

Put oil in a heavy-bottomed medium pot over medium heat. When oil is very hot, add the asafoetida, and then — in quick succession — the mustard seeds, cumin seeds, dried chilies, fenugreek seeds, and curry leaves (if using). Have a splatter screen on hand: the mustard seeds will pop almost immediately after being added.

As soon as you have added the above ingredients, remove from heat and add mango mixture. Stir to combine, return to medium heat, and simmer for 5 minutes, stirring. Then remove from heat, cover, and allow to steep for 30 minutes.

At this point, you can either reheat the soup to serve warm, or do as I did, and refrigerate it to be served cold. Either way, strain the soup through a coarse sieve, then spoon some of the smaller seeds from the strainer back into the soup. Immediately before serving, stir the lime juice into the soup.

Serve soup in small bowls, with a spoonful of the chutney in each.

Spicy Green ChutneyAdapted from a recipe by Madhur Jaffrey

2 tablespoons lemon or lime juice (lime is preferable) 1 small tomato, diced 3/4 teaspoon salt 3 fresh hot green chilies, such as bird’s eye or jalapeno (can start with 2 and add to taste) 2/3 cup fresh chopped cilantro 1/3 cup fresh chopped mint 1/2 cup grated coconut, fresh or frozen and defrosted

This chutney can be made rustic in a mortar and pestle, or smooth in a blender.

Combine 3 tablespoons water, lime juice, tomatoes, salt, and chilies. Mash or blend until combined or smooth.

Add cilantro and mint; mash together or blend until smooth.

Finally, add coconut and blend or mix more, until chutney is fully mixed or completely smooth. Serve cold.

Chutney will keep in the refrigerator for a few days, but will keep for months in the freezer.

Many of the ingredients in each of these recipes are available online at Kalustyans.com.

Bulgur with Asparagus and Preserved Lemon Dressing

This is the latest my Weekday Lunch series, where I share recipes suited to home or office.

[Sheepishly:] Remember me?

Sorry it's been so long since I've posted something fresh. I've been too busy at work to cook, and unless y'all wanted to read about the take-out pad thai I ate for dinner all of last week, I didn't have much to share.

But now work has calmed down, and my new-found freedom coincides nicely with some of the most awesomely beautiful days DC's had in a while. Sun-plus-breeze is something DC gets only about 4 days a year, and I'm determined to be outside for all of them.

Last Sunday got me to my first farmers' market in a long while. I picked up some beautiful asparagus - bunches and bunches; people, I can't control myself - as well as some ramps, green garlic, and heavy cream, which my favorite dairy stand just started carrying. It'd be a great food week even if you didn't compare to the last couple, but in light of those dim days full of takeout, I'm high on fresh produce.

My love of asparagus being no secret, I'm sharing yet another recipe for those beautiful 'gus. The ones we're getting right now aren't the least bit woody - in fact, they're nice and slender. If yours feel too rough, simply peel the bottoms of the bigger ones; their interiors should be plenty soft.

The recipe I'm sharing today is a slight riff on one from Amanda Hesser's New York Times Essential Cookbook which, to my delight, just won a James Beard award. Three cheers for Amanda! This recipe, like so many others in that book, is just beautiful. For those of you with ambivalent feelings about bulgur, this will change your mind. Also, as Amanda points out, it'll make you wish you had preserved lemons in your fridge at all times. I do, and I've never been happier at being able to just grab one from the jar and whiz it into this bright, tangy, complex dressing.

Friends, it's nice to be back in this space. I'm looking forward to trying and sharing many more Spring recipes with all of you.

Bulgur with Asparagus and Preserved Lemon Dressingadapted from The New York Times Essential Cookbook, by Amanda Hesser

I changed a few things about this recipe to make it a convenient workday lunch. First, it originally was a prepared salad, but I just chopped up the asparagus and folded them into the bulgur. Second, I subbed out pine nuts (mine had spoiled) for toasted walnuts, and I liked the combination of the somewhat bitter nuts with the bright asparagus and the saltiness of the dressing. Third, I like my bulgur a bit wet, so I used some extra water in cooking it to give a more porridge-y texture. Since no one else seems to like it this way, I included her original instructions here.

For the dressing: 1 preserved lemon 7 tablespoons olive oil 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 1/4 teaspoon ground cumin (freshly ground if possible) 1/4 teaspoon freshly grated black pepper

For the asparagus and bulgur: 1 pound asparagus, cut into 2-inch lengths 2 tablespoons olive oil 1/2 red onion, chopped 1 cup bulgur 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 1/4 cup chopped toasted walnuts (I toasted mine for 10 minutes in a 350-degree oven, but listen to your nose; when they smell fragrant, they're done)

To make the dressing, cut the preserved lemon in half. Chop one half and place all of it in a blender. Use a spoon to remove the pulp from the remaining half and add only the pulp to the blender. Save the rind for another use. Add the remaining dressing ingredients to the blender and process until smooth. Set aside.

To make the asparagus and bulgur, bring a large pot 2/3 full of salted water to a boil and add the asparagus. Cook just until tender, about 4 minutes. Drain and immediately plunge the asparagus into cold water. If not shocking asparagus, cook just 3 minutes, since they will continue to cook off the heat. Cool, drain, and set aside.

Place a large skillet over medium-high heat and add the 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Add the onion and cook for 1 minute. Add the bulgur and cook, stirring, until lightly toasted, 4 to 5 minutes. Add 2 cups of water and the salt and bring to a boil. Cover the skillet, reduce heat to a simmer and cook until the water has evaporated and the bulgur is tender, 12 to 15 minutes. Fluff with a fork, and bring to room temperature.

Place the cooled bulgur in a large serving bowl. Toss with asparagus and walnuts, and drizzle dressing overtop. Fold to coat salad with dressing. Serve at room temperature.

Salad will keep in the refrigerator for several days.

Simplest Asparagus with Fresh Peas

From the archives, just in time for my favorite vegetable to hit the market. Enjoy!

The markets are back open, the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and I can almost forgive the swarms of tourists and the row of port-o-potties that totally block the view along the tidal basin, because spring has sprung! Thrills.

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After a long winter of stews and soups, rice dishes and noodle bowls, I crave the fresh simplicity of spring produce. When a Sunday at the market sends me home with asparagus, fresh shelling peas, rhubarb, and (cross your fingers!) ramps, I try to prepare meals in a no-frills manner, letting the vegetables speak for themselves. Why kill fresh peas with a gloppy sauce? Why bury asparagus in soup or risotto? Leave those more involved, less spare recipes for another time. These first spring vegetables should be celebrated, I tell you.

At first glance, this recipe looks mighty simple; its success lies in the precise cooking of the vegetables until just tender and golden, and in the careful balance of the peas' sweetness and the asparagus' bitter earthiness with salt, pepper, and citrus. It's also paramount that you serve this dish immediately after cooking. If you plan to let it sit a while before eating it, know that you'll have something just fine, but not particularly remarkable. This should hop off the stove and go right into your mouth.

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If you've got access to really good asparagus, shelling peas, and fresh basil or tarragon, I can't think of a better way to use them. What are your favorite spring dishes?

Simplest Asparagus with Fresh Peasserves 4

1 pound asparagus 1 cup fresh shelling peas, from about 40 pods 3 tablespoons unsalted butter good flaky salt freshly cracked pepper 1/4 cup torn basil leaves zest 1 lemon, preferably unsprayed 1-2 tablespoon lemon juice

Wash and dry asparagus spears. Trim 1-1.5 inches off the ends, and cut on the bias into three or four pieces each.

In a large, shallow frying pan, heat butter on medium until it foams and then subsides. Add asparagus, and shake pan to get pieces into a single layer. Add a sprinkling of salt. Continue cooking, shaking pan frequently, until asparagus are cooked through but still very firm, about 2 minutes. Turn heat to low. Add peas. Shake pan to distribute, and cook 1 minute longer, just until peas are very plump (they may start to pop and/or jump out of the pan; if that happens, you're done -- turn off the heat).

Remove pan from heat; add lemon zest, basil, and a few grinds of pepper. Shake pan again to distribute evenly. Transfer to serving bowls or platter and sprinkle with another pinch or two of salt, to taste. Squeeze abut 1-2 tablespoons of lemon juice over the vegetables -- just enough to offset the salt, you don't want the lemon to overpower the vegetables -- and serve immediately.