Moroccan Chicken with Apricots

This is a story about the time when I finally learned to cook for my in-laws.

It shouldn't be so hard, really. I love to cook. I do it pretty much every day. I have a food blog, for heaven's sake. But in the past, cooking for the in-laws has proven more than I could handle. Don't believe me? Just ask my father-in-law. Ask him about the time I bought frozen peas - the man loves peas - and then forgot them in the freezer. Ask him about the time I toiled over an apple pie (his favorite) only to realize that I'd ruined it with too much orange zest. Just don't mention all those times I've made chicken. A different kind, every time, and never worth making again.

This weekend, I nearly repeated my past mistakes. Thursday evening, I had maple parsnip cake in the oven, and smoky chiles in a blender along with all the ingredients for mole poblano. I blended it smooth, dunked my finger in for a taste, and....shit! That stuff was spicy. Of course, I loved it. It burned, a long, slow burn that lingers on your tongue and builds with each bite. But people, it was seriously hot. That's when I had the honest moment: between you, me, and the blender of mole, my father-in-law doesn't do spice.

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I started on that mole recipe, but there I was, 2 hours later, with lots of mole that I really couldn't serve for Friday night dinner. Instead of plugging forth stubbornly (yea, I just admitted to being stubborn; first step, right?), I piled that mole into a jar, tucked it in the fridge, promised myself top-notch enchiladas later in the week, and went back to square one. Square one, in this case, was an innocent-seeming recipe for chicken with apricots.

I've always had a soft spot for tagines. Though this chicken dish is made in a regular pot, it has the flavors and textures of a good chicken tagine. The chicken and apricots were meltingly tender, yielding to the slightest prod of a fork. The liquid - little more than water, spices, and honey - had transformed into a deeply flavorful sauce, which we happily poured over golden-crusted rice (a Persian dish called tahdig, and a story for another time).

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When I tweeted a picture of this chicken using instagram, several of you got excited and asked for the recipe. Your wish, my command. Enjoy.

A note about the site: some of you emailed and tweeted me this past week with concerns about the blog. You were searching for granola with tahini, or hamentaschen for Purim, but you got sent to a page that....well, let's just say it wasn't promoting food. I've got some great folks working hard to make the s-p-a-m go away once and for all. Site's clean for now - here's hoping it stays that way. Thanks to all of you for your patience. Now let's go eat some chicken.

Moroccan Chicken with Apricotsadapted from, sigh, an old Gourmet recipe

Makes 4 servings

The original recipe is called Chicken Tagine with Apricots and Almonds. But it isn't really a tagine, since you don't cook it in a tagine. Also: I omitted the (1/3-cup) blanched almonds. Not a big fan of nuts in saucy things. Chicken in saucy things, on the other hand, is delicious. And the apricots - amazing.

1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom 1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger 1 teaspoon turmeric 1/2 teaspoon black pepper 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 1/4 cup olive oil 1 (3-lb) chicken, cut into 6 pieces, wings and backbone reserved for another use 1 medium red onion, halved, then sliced 1/4 inch thick 4 garlic cloves, finely chopped 5 sprigs fresh cilantro, chopped 5 sprigs fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped 1 1/2 cups water 2 tablespoons mild honey 1 (3-inch) cinnamon stick 1/2 cup dried Turkish or regular apricots

Stir together ground cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, turmeric, pepper, 1 teaspoon salt, and 3 tablespoons oil in a large bowl. Add chicken and turn to coat well.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot, over moderate heat until hot but not smoking. Brown half of chicken, skin sides down, about 8 minutes. Flip, cook about 3 minutes more, then transfer to a plate. Brown remaining chicken in the same manner, adding any spice mixture left in the bowl.

Add onion and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and cook uncovered, stirring frequently, until soft, about 8 minutes. Add garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, 3 minutes. Add cilantro and parsley to the pot, reserving a handful for serving. Then add water, honey, cinnamon, apricots, chicken, and any juices accumulated on plate. Reduce heat slightly and simmer, covered, 30 minutes.

If you're serving this for a dinner party and need to start it in advance, feel free to cook it low and slow instead. I've cooked it in a 275-degree oven for 1.5 hours. Like I said, meltingly tender.

Serve the chicken over either rice or couscous, topped with parsley and cilantro.

Gingered Broccoli Puree

There's no good way to say this, and I'm sure that when I do, most of you will dismiss me as a loon. I don't care much for mashed things. Sure, I make sweet potato puree at Thanksgiving. I do very much like applesauce, so I suppose that's an exception right there. And if you puree butternut squash with plenty of cream, stuff it into pasta, and pan fry it in sage butter, well, I just as well might take back that little declaration altogether. But mashed parsnips, potatoes, celeriac - those things aren't my bag. If I cooked steak more often, I might enjoy making them to accompany the meat. But as things are, I'll usually pass.

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Which is why this ginger-laced broccoli puree jumped out at me from the pages of the New York Times Essential Cookbook. I realize I just said I don't like mashed things, but reading this broccoli recipe, I thought better. It's just root vegetables I prefer solid. Mash up those avocados as much as you like. I love guacamole. And mangos - you can mash those into a great lassi. And you know what? Mashed broccoli. Who knew? It's sublime.

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Those of you with kids are probably way ahead of me here. Now that my friends have little guys and girls in tow, they're pureeing practically everything in site, so the thought of pureed broccoli probably isn't so crazy. But here, the ginger is juicy and tart and spicy. This is pureed broccoli all grown up.

Here's something I'll happily come right out and say: I ate nearly all of my latest batch still hot, right out of the bowl. It, alone, was dinner. If you're looking to be more civilized about the whole eating thing, you might serve this with halibut or salmon, prepared simply. For halibut, perhaps something like this. For salmon, this soy-glazed one would be great. ...Think I just figured out what we'll be eating for dinner one night this week.

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Gingered Broccoli Pureeadapted from the New York Times Essential Cookbook, originally from Cooking with Daniel Boulud

So here's the truth. Boulud has you grate the ginger into a thin tea towel, wring the juice into a bowl, use about 1/4 teaspoon of that juice, and toss the rest - along with the ginger solids - away. I tried it this way, but a) I hated wasting all that ginger, and b) I wanted more spice in the final dish. So I'm sharing my less fussy and less precise version of his original recipe. I grate the ginger straight into a bowl, and I use almost all of it, starting slowly and adding to taste. I also chop up the piece of ginger that goes into the cream, and I don't fish out the pieces afterward - I just blitz them along with everything else. If you're fancy-pants, go forth with Boulud's instructions. Otherwise, c'mon down the unfussy road with me.

1 2-inch piece ginger, peeled 1 1/2 teaspoons olive oil 1 cup thinly sliced onions 1 large clove garlic, finely chopped 1/2 cup heavy cream or milk 2 pounds broccoli, trimmed into florets with 1 inch of the stem Pinch salt, plus more to taste Pinch cayenne pepper, plus more to taste

Cut off a 1/4-inch-thick slice of ginger and chop coarsely. Grate the remainder into a small bowl, and set aside.

Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the chopped ginger, onions and garlic, cover and sweat until the onions are soft but not browned, 5 to 8 minutes. Add the cream (or milk), bring to a boil and simmer until slightly thickened, about 4 minutes. Discard the ginger slice and keep the cream warm.

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add the broccoli and cook until very tender, 8 to 10 minutes. Drain in a colander and press against the sides with a wooden spoon to extract excess water.

Put the broccoli in a food processor, add 1/2 the cream mixture, a pinch of salt and a pinch of cayenne. Process until smooth. Add the remaining cream mixture and the 1 teaspoon ginger; blend well. Taste, and add more ginger, if desired. Adjust the other seasonings and serve warm.

Mushroom Pea Curry

It's a week after New Years, and I'm talking about vegetables. Could  I be more predictable?

Yes, it's that time of year when everyone you know has committed to hit the gym 3 days a week, quit cursing, and eat less meat. Personal experience tells me that while everyone clamors to steal my spot at spin class for a few weeks after the holidays, by mid-February, I've got my bike back (even if I have to call before 6 to reserve it - and yes, it's that worth the early wake-up: Dave is my overenthusiastic spinning instructor who hasn't bought a record since "Walking on Sunshine," and I love him for it.)

I've made resolutions before. A couple Augusts ago, I spent an inspiring day with my friend Cathy (known to the interwebs as Mrs. Wheelbarrow), and felt so fired up by all the things we'd made that I spontaneously made a list of Kitchen Resolutions. You know what? I've done all but two - I'm pretty proud of that.

Still, when it comes to traditional New Years resolutions, I'm more of a tweaker, preferring incremental changes to whole-hog lifestyle makeovers. While eating minimal meat was how I was raised, it's also a lifestyle choice I've consciously adopted. I try to avoid meat and poultry from animals not raised sustainably, which means most of the meat served at large functions and in typical restaurants is off-limits. I also keep a kosher home, and there's no way around the fact that kosher sustainable meat is incredibly expensive; I buy it only a few times each year. As such, I'm always on the lookout for interesting vegetarian dishes. This time of year, with all those Meatless Monday resolution-makers, I've got plenty of company.

A few weeks back, before climbing onboard for two family vacations (more about those later), a slew of holiday parties, and really more cookies than I feel comfortable counting, we made Indian food for dinner. I steamed basmati rice with saffron. I grilled up some impossibly smooth, silky avocado chapatis. We made Jen'sCurryflouwer Surprise. And then there was this: mushroom and pea curry from the queen of Indian cooking, Madhur Jaffrey. It's the best curry I've made to date.

I like that this curry has a thick, substantial texture even without potato. You could make it even more substantial by adding paneer, but I like it just as is, over rice, with some raita on the side. The sauce is rich from tomato and diced onion and Jaffrey isn't shy with the spices. One last plus: while some mushroom dishes get mushy after some time, this curry will keep for days. Call me crazy, but I think it may even improve as it sits.

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I've made this twice for us, and brought a big container to friends who just had a baby. We all think it's a winner. So don't kick those "vegan 'till 6" resolutions to the curb just yet. There's plenty of flavor in this curry, no meat needed.

When your Indian leftovers run out, here are some other meatless recipes I've made and loved, from around the web:

• Black bean and espresso chili from The Kitchn
• Fideos from Deb at Smitten Kitchen (vegetable stock worked well here)
• Double broccoli quinoa from Heidi at 101 Cookbooks (I made it with cavatappi)
• Silken comfort tofu from Food52 (use a tablespoon of soy in place of the fish sauce)
• Eggplant involtini from Nigella Lawson

Mushroom and Pea CurryAdapted from Madhur Jaffrey Serves 4 as part of a larger meal (i.e. we made it with rice, raita, and another curry, and it was enough for two meals for each of us)

1 tablespoon ground coriander 1/2 tablespoon ground cumin 1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper 3 tablespoons ghee or canola oil 1/4 cup diced onions (about 1/2 a medium onion) 1-inch knob of ginger, peeled and finely grated 1 1/2 cups diced tomato (fresh or canned) 1 1/4 teaspoons salt 1 lb. cremini or button mushrooms, halved lengthwise (quartered if very large) 1 10-oz. bag frozen peas, defrosted (if not, no biggie)

Combine dry spices with 1 1/2 tablespoons water in a small bowl, and mix to form a paste.

Put ghee or oil in medium saucepan over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add onions. Stir to coat with oil, and saute for 3-4 minutes, until onions are browned at the edges. Add ginger and spices, stir to coat, and cook for about 1 minute. Add tomato. Stir and cook, scraping the bottom of the pan, for about 4 minutes, until tomato has softened. If tomato sticks to pan excessively, add a splash of water.

When tomato has softened, add 2 cups of water and the salt. Stir and bring to a boil; then reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Add mushrooms, bring back to a boil, then reduce heat again and cook 10 minutes. Add peas, stir to combine, and cook 5 minutes more over medium-low heat, until warmed through. At this point, check and adjust salt level.

Serve with basmati rice and raita (this one from Elise at Simply Recipes is really lovely).

Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seeds

Ohh, brussels sprouts. The unsung hero of the Thanksgiving table. Have your turkey, eat as many sweet potatoes as you'd like; when the maple syrup is dripping down your chin, the marshmallows bursting from your jowls, and the cranberry sauce shmeared bright red across your plate, you will have a moment - everyone has a moment - when the sweetness of it all, the sheer quantity of sugar, exhausts you. At that moment, you'll reach for the bowl of brussels sprouts, grateful that something on the table that's purely savory. Thank goodness for brussels sprouts.

here's the thing about sprouts recipes, though. Lots involve that very maple syrup that coats your yams. Or apples. Or pears (guilty as charged). Those are delicious - I'm not criticizing! - but if you take your turkey in a sweet direction (here's one recipe I'm particularly excited about that looks pretty sweet), you'll want a foil for all that sugar. So if I were making Tday dinner this year, I'd go as simple as it gets. Just some olive oil, salt and pepper - and the secret star ingredient: caraway seeds.

Let's talk caraway for a moment. It's deeply savory, and a welcome break from the sweet stuff. It's distinctive on its own: when paired with caraway, brussels sprouts need little embellishment (let's face it: you're saving your juice for the perfect turkey and a slew of pies). And they provide a little crunch to those sprouts, always welcome on a day when mashed potatoes and candied yams reign.

Also - and the importance of the following is not to be underestimated - they're easy to make. Let's be honest: brussles sprounts are the fifth child of turkey day dinner. Toss 'em in the oven. Forget about 'em. If it's a good recipe, the sprouts will turn out just fine on their own, while you're fussing over your pie and basting that bird. And by the way? Cook's secret: these sprouts are shockingly delicious right out of the fridge the morning after the big day. The caraway will have permeated the vegetable completely; sneaky leftover nibblers, I aim to please you.

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Also, incidentally: these sprouts are good all year, not just on Tday. If you're making a smaller batch, you might try making them on the stove top, as I did the second time I made them. They certainly get more blistered and brown over in a hot pan, and while they cook a bit less evenly, I found it quite exciting to watch those caraway seeds crackle and pop over the flames, crazy chick that I am.

Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seedsadapted from a recipe in Gourmet

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seeds 1 1/2 pounds Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved lengthwise 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1 teaspoon caraway seeds salt and pepper freshly ground nutmeg (optional - if you only have the pre-grated stuff, skip it)

Preheat oven to 450°F and place a rack in middle of the oven.

Toss Brussels sprouts with oil, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper, and a very light dusting of nutmeg (if using) in a bowl until well coated. Transfer to a large 4-sided sheet pan in 1 layer and roast 10 minutes. Sprinkle caraway seeds over Brussels sprouts and toss, then spread out in 1 layer and roast until Brussels sprouts are crisp-tender and well browned in spots, about 10 minutes more.