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.

Wheatberries with Melted Leeks and a Poached Egg

Leeks aren't exactly a spring vegetable - they've been at the market most of the winter - but spring brings those young, skinny leeks, seemingly born anew in the warm weather, and I positively love them.

It takes a while to soften the big, sturdy leeks of winter, but the spring ones submit almost effortlessly, melting into butter just like shallots would. After not long at all, the leeks are impossibly mild and sweet. They make everything better.

I tucked this first batch into a bowl of just-cooked wheatberries. I left the two to mingle for a few minutes, as the wheatberries went from steaming hot to just warm. Meanwhile, I snipped some fresh chives and poached an egg the control freak way. And then, I sat on our deck, broke my egg over the wheatberries, and ate lunch.

If this is all too pure for you, there are plenty of ways to doll it up. Add some flaked salmon or snapper; toss in some marinated tofu; or chop up some chard or spinach and fold it into the berries. If you're feeling crazy, pour the wheatberries, leeks, and greens into a gratin dish, top with a couple raw eggs, grate some hard cheese overtop, and tuck the dish under the broiler for a few minutes. <That's lunch for company.

Wheatberries with Melted Leeks and Poached Eggs

Serves 2, maybe with leftovers

1 cup wheatberries 3-4 baby leeks or 1-2 large leeks 2 tablespoons butter 4 chives, minced 2 eggs

Bring a pot of salted water (or part water, part broth) to a boil over high heat. Add wheatberries, and once the water has returned to a boil, lower heat, cover pot, and cook about 1 hour, adding extra water if needed, until wheatberries are tender.

Meanwhile, clean the leeks. Slice off the root end of the leeks and the dark green tops - you'll only be using the white and light green parts. Quarter the leeks lengthwhise, then slice them crosswise into small pieces. Clean very well: I do this by dumping the bits of leeks into a strainer set over a bowl, filling the bowl with water, swirling the leeks around to free the dirt, and then straining them by pulling the strainer out of the bowl. If your leeks are from the market, you'll probably need to do this several times to get the leeks thoroughly clean. It's worth it - gritty leeks suck.

Add the butter to a shallow saute pan set over medium heat. When butter has melted, add leeks and a healthy pinch of salt. Stir to combine, and when leeks start to hiss, add a couple tablespoons of water. The water is especially important with bigger leeks, which need some help softening. Now, cover the pan (if you don't have a cover, tin foil will work), turn the heat to medium-low, and let the leeks melt, stirring occasionally and adding more water if it looks like they're browning before they're soft. This should take about 20 minutes. When leeks are melted and soft, remove from the heat.

Drain cooked wheatberries and transfer them to a large bowl. Add leeks and fold together to combine.

Poach the eggs when you're just about ready to eat. There are many ways to do this; my favorite is to poach them in the shell, in just-barely-hot water. I get that isn't exactly unfussy, so you can also just simmer a shallow pot of water with a couple teaspoons of vinegar, swirl a fork around the pot a couple times to get the water moving, add a couple eggs, and poach them for about 2 minutes until the white is just

Spoon the wheatberries into bowls, set the poached eggs on top, and sprinkle the chopped chives over everything. Break the eggs, mix into the wheatberries, and enjoy.

Asparagus Risotto

It's hard enough to believe that four springs have come and gone since I started this blog. What's even harder to believe, though, is that I've never shared this recipe with you. Just ask D: I make it about once a week when asparagus are in season, toting it to work as often as I dish it out for dinner (though it really isn't nearly as good the day after). It's a meal in a pot; it takes about 30 minutes, start to finish; and it calls for asparagus, which by now you know is a virtue I hold above most others.

Asparagus risotto: pretty straightforward. You're probably seeing it on restaurant menus everywhere, as I have been. Being slightly particular about my spears, I really dislike when restaurants bury them beneath a heap of rice. Asparagus are wonderful because if you cook them properly, they get crunchy and slick on the outside, coated just so with butter or olive oil, dusted with salt and pepper, completely irresistible. If you add them to risotto too early, they lose their oomph. So I've taken to this slightly more finicky (but no more complicated) approach, which keeps the two components of the dish mostly separate until they hit the table, leaving it to the diner to fold rice and asparagus together per their preference.  It also makes for a more dramatic presentation, the pool of creamy rice accented with a burst of green on top, and of course, the requisite shower of grated Parmesan.

Here's the cooking plan: risotto gets made in a wide-bottomed high-sided skillet. When it's close to done, asparagus go in a little pan right alongside. The two should finish cooking at the same time. Into shallow bowls goes the risotto, then topped with several pieces of asparagus, and finally, a shower of cheese. Dig in.

asparagus risotto 2

If I'm not in the mood for rice, I'll use the same technique with polenta. Asparagus and cornmeal are quite the pair. And, if the mood strikes, I'll squeeze a wedge of lemon over the whole thing. I love the sour punch that offsets the creamy polenta.

Either way, It's a dish that celebrates spring, perfect for weeks like this one, when the weather is cold and rainy, but warm sun-filled days seem just around the bend.

Asparagus Risotto serves 3-4

2 tablespoons butter 1 cup arborio or carnaroli rice 1/2 cup white wine (whatever's open, though preferably nothing too sweet) 3-4 cups hot stock (I used homemade vegetable, but chicken would work well here, too)

1 lb. asparagus, rinsed, trimmed, and sliced on a bias into 3-inch segments 1 tablespoon butter 1 tablespoon olive oil salt and pepper

1/4 cup mascarpone cheese half a lemon 2/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Choose your risotto pan: I prefer a skillet with relatively high sides to a pot, but a pot or dutch oven work great, too.

Plop 2 tablespoons butter into the risotto pot, turn the heat to medium, and as the butter melts, add the rice. Stir to coat rice in butter. Your rice will start popping gently - that's a good sign. You want every kernel coated in the butter.

Once the rice has heated through and a couple of the kernels have toasted a bit, add the wine. Things will sizzle rapidly as the wine boils, and this is good: you want the wine to get a head start on reducing. Once the wine has settled down, add 1 cup of the stock. Stir vigorously to incorporate it with the rice, and to get those kernels moving around. The more they move, the greater trail of starch they leave in their path...and the creamier the risotto.

This is your essential process for the next 20 minutes or so. Add stock by the ladleful, stir to incorporate with the rice, and watch as the rice drinks up the stock. When things get dry in the pan, add another ladle of stock.

Important: taste your stock. Is it salty? If so, your risotto may need only pepper. If not, you want to salt the rice gently as it cooks. Feel free to also taste a kernel or two of rice along the way. They won't be fully cooked, but it'll give you a sense of how salty your risotto will be, and it'll let you adjust before the very end.

When your rice is still raw inside but nearly softened, set a small saute pan over medium heat and add the remaining tablespoon of butter and the olive oil. When the butter has melted, add the asparagus. They'll cook as you finish up the risotto, and they don't need much attention - just the occasional shake of the pan to have them turn over and move around. They'll take between 2-5 minutes, depending on the size of the pan you're using. Taste one to test for doneness. I like them still a bit crunchy, but you may prefer them softer. As you wish.

When your rice has cooked through, add enough stock that risotto will be pourable. Good risotto spreads when served, and firms up only once it's on the plate.

When ready to serve, add the mascarpone cheese and squeeze the lemon into the risotto. Stir to incorporate. Add the cheese, stir again, and pour into shallow bowls. Top with asparagus, maybe squeeze that lemon just once more onto each bowl, and serve immediately.