Southwestern Caesar with Chipotle-Parmesan Dressing

I had a day of nearly-harrowing travel yesterday, in which I faced not one but two 3-hour delays and ended up purchasing an extra ticket in the nick of time (as in: second-to-last seat on the flight) that got me home at a blessedly reasonable hour. Also, in case you're lucky enough to live in a city where October has decided to behave, let me tell you about the temper tantrum it's throwing back east: the rain is coming down, and it hasn't stopped for a second these past few days. Here's the lemonade from the lemons: it's just gross enough outside that I feel not a shred of guilt about spending this weekend inside.

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Fortunately, the ingredients for my new favorite salad are here and ready to go, as they tend to be quite often these days. I keep a jar of the dressing on the top shelf of the fridge and regularly replenish it when it runs low. Romaine is pretty much always in the house, and at least for the next few weeks, I still have a regular supply of corn. To say this Southwestern Caesar has become a staple? Understatement of the week. At least.

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I should have mentioned this earlier, but this here is a CWA, a Caesar Without Anchovies, which to some of us is a potentially horrifying concept but to others will be a thrill. (How many non-anchovy-eating readers do I have? Raise your hands, y'all, and prepare to be assaulted with anchovy odes until I change your mind.) The chipotle in adobo (a canned good available in any super market) and copious amounts of parmesan cheese add the umami that anchovies otherwise bring. And perhaps most of all, this salad celebrates the power of good croutons. They're the step that takes the longest, but the payoff is big, thick croutons with crunchy fried exteriors and a satisfying chew within. Don't skimp on the time it takes to make them good.

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I get that salad isn't the most intuitive food for a cold, rainy day. But before you know it, I'll be extolling the many virtues of minestrone soup and braised short ribs. Let's squeeze in a few more of those cold vegetables dishes while we can.

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Southwestern Caesar with Chipotle-Parmesan DressingAdapted from Gourmet

Since I never understood the urge to take something as inherently perfect as avocado and grill it, I left mine raw. I also finished the salad with some extra parmesan, because that's what you do with regular Caesar and when it comes to parm, it's never enough. Otherwise, this salad is pretty perfect. Hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

For the dressing: 1/4 cup finely grated parmesan 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1/4 cup fresh lime juice 1 teaspoon minced garlic 1 canned chipotle in adobo, finely chopped

For the salad: 1 head romaine lettuce, quartered lengthwise and chopped into 1-inch strips 2 ears of corn, shucked 2 ripe avocados 3 tablespoons olive oil 3 slices sourdough or other good bread, torn into small pieces 1/4 cup grated parmesan

Make the dressing: Put parmesan in a medium bowl and add olive oil in a slow stream, whisking. Whisk in lime juice, garlic, chipotles, and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper.Prepare the salad: Set corn over a grill or open flame. Cook, turning occasionally, until golden-brown on all sides, 3 to 4 minutes.

Meanwhile, pour olive oil into a shallow pan and set over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add croutons. Fry for 2-3 minutes on the first side, until golden. Then turn and cook on the other side for an additional 2-3 minutes. It's worth taking the time to brown the croutons on all sides - they give the salad that essential chew and crunch.

Peel avocados and cut into chunks. Cut corn kernels from cobs.

Pile all the ingredients in a big salad bowl. Add dressing and toss gently to combine. Top with extra parmesan and serve.

Tunisian Salmon with Spicy Green Sauce

Inexplicably, I woke up Friday morning with a serious craving for spicy green sauce. Of what variety? No clue. What would go in this sauce? Again, couldn't tell you. But I wanted a sauce, thick and green, spicy and fresh, to eat with salmon. And since there's only one cook in this house (D being capable of excellent cleaning and eating but really no cooking whatsoever, seriously), my craving was my command.

I typed "spicy green sauce" into Google, and, you know, 16 MILLION results came back. So this spicy green sauce that I totally made up? It's a real thing. 16 million real things, to be precise.

And then, because I'm terribly indecisive, I made three spicy green sauces. Hey - a craving is a craving, non?

9 chilies and two bunches of cilantro later, I found two versions that I really like. One I'll save for another time; the other is a perfect accompaniment to this simply roasted salmon.

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All the recipes I found varied on a basic theme: green chilies, cilantro and occasionally some parsley, garlic and/or onion, lemons or limes, and plenty of olive oil. If you were feeling creative, you could probably riff on the formula and create a sauce of your own.

The one I made for the salmon was inspired by a Tunisian sauce called chermoula. The recipe came from David Tanis, who wrote one of the loveliest cookbooks on my shelf: A Platter of Figs. Its secret ingredient is preserved lemon, which imparts a floral note and plenty of brininess. We loved it on the salmon.

By the way, about that salmon: After many years of relying on wet, soggy marinades to do my flavoring, I've recently come around to the benefits -- and there are so many! -- of dry rub. First, who wants wet when you're dealing with raw chicken or a big slab of fish? It sounds like it'll get everywhere, and it does. Plus, even if you manage to keep the marinade contained, you're still left with a few cups of good liquid that you probably will just pour down the drain. Second, my sense is that marinades don't get much further than skin deep unless you leave them to do their work for several days, and by then -- at least according to Harold McGee -- you've actually altered the structure of the protein, which sounds scary and also not delicious.

I'm not just a marinade naysayer, friends. I actually love dry rubs and I've been using them in all sorts of recipes lately. They're easy to make and remarkably economical. And since you apply the spices directly to the protein, you get a big hit of flavor from a relatively small volume of seasoning. If you play your cards correctly, as with this salmon, you get a nice, crunchy crust of seasoning on the outside of the fish, which really pushes things over the top. I used Tanis' mixture of coriander, cumin, caraway, and cayenne; the caraway is so unexpected and wonderful that I made a second batch of the spice rub (leaving the spices whole to preserve their flavor), and tucked it away for later use.

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The small bit of extra spice rub leftover from the salmon found its way onto eggplant, which I sliced, brushed with olive oil, and roasted in a 400-degree oven for 35 minutes until tender.  The next day, I shmeared two slices of my sourdough bread with some of the leftover chermoula, piled on the spice-rubbed eggplant and some roasted cauliflower, and topped the vegetables with some feta cheese. A few minutes on the cast iron pan weighed down with the tea kettle (so MacGyver, right?), and we had ourselves a killer panino. If I'd had any leftover salmon, I'd have added it to the sandwich in lieu of feta. The chermoula and spice rub are versatile components that I can see using in so many different ways. Both will definitely become part of the regular lunch rotation.

NDP Turns Six! Another year has passed, and now Not Derby Pie is six. Starting first grade - that's so old! Some of you have been around since the wee beginning: thank you. To newer friends, welcome. Thanks for reading, commenting, and sharing tips. I love hearing about what's in your kitchen, and I hope you'll continue to share all that's delicious. In honor of the birthday, I'm going to start posting links to recipes I made on or near the day of each post in each of the five previous years of NDP. The bottom line? Hopefully we'll all come away from each post with even more ideas for food to get us through the week. Cheers, and happy cooking. xo -R

One year ago:Fresh Salmon Cakes with Ginger and LimeTwo years ago:Easy Eggplant CurryThree years ago:All Sorts of PicklesFour years ago:Crostini with Radish and FavasFive years ago:Cherry Almond Tea CakesSix years ago:Île flottante, still among the most elegant desserts I've ever made

Tunisian Salmon with Spicy Green SauceRub and Sauce adapted from David Tanis'  recipe in the New York TimesServes 4-6

Use pre-ground spices if needed; you'll wind up with slightly more spice rub, but no biggie.

For the salmon: 2-lb. side of wild salmon 1/2 teaspoon coriander seed 1/2 teaspoon cumin seed 1/2 teaspoon caraway seed 1/4 teaspoon cayenne 1 teaspoon salt 1 tablespoon olive oil

For the sauce:1 preserved lemon (available at Middle Eastern groceries) or the grated zest of 1 lemon Salt to taste 1 garlic clove, smashed 2 serrano or jalapeño chiles, de-seeded (use less for a milder sauce) 1 cup cilantro leaves and tender stems3 scallions, chopped 1/3 cup olive oil, more to taste

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

In a spice grinder or a mortar, grind the coriander, cumin, caraway, and cayenne to make a mostly-fine spice rub. Don't fret if little bits of whole spices remain.

Place the salmon skin-side down on a large baking sheet and sprinkle all over with salt. Then sprinkle the spice rub over the top of the fish, and use your finger tips to distribute the rub all over the fish. Don't be shy.

Drizzle the fish with the olive oil, and place in the oven for 10-12 minutes. (If your salmon is particularly thick, which mine was not, you may need to leave the fish in a bit longer. Err on the side of undercooking rather than overcooking.)

While the fish cooks, make the sauce: combine all ingredients except olive oil in a blender. With the motor running, drizzle in the olive oil until everything emulsifies into a mostly-smooth sauce. Salt to taste. Transfer to a container and store in the fridge until ready to use.

Either serve the salmon immediately, or refrigerate until thoroughly chilled (about 2 hours) and serve cold.

Zuni Pepper Relish

This past Sunday, thousands of DC residents who work for government frantically checked email to see whether they'd be considered essential staff in the event of a government shutdown. Politicians continued to refine the art of ignorant obstructionism. This town became even more this town-ish.

...and the rest of us? Well, we went outside.

Government shutdown notwithstanding September 2013 should go down in the history books as a glorious time in this town. The weather has been incredible: clear skies, cool breeze, not too much rain. It's practically screaming at you to stop being an idiot, get up off your butt, and get stuff done. The pols may not listen, but I will.

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We spent the morning at the National Arboretum, an outdoor oasis owned by the Department of Agriculture (government! Ahh!) right in the middle of Northeast. It's got big, green pastures, hundreds of varietals of plants, trees, and herbs, and even a separate garden with twenty kinds of chile peppers. The first time we went was for a birthday party that actually happened elsewhere -- oops! -- but we were so taken with the expanses of green in the middle of the city, we decided to go back.

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We roamed the grounds for an hour, and then -- because what's a hike without a picnic?  -- we chose a speckled sunny spot in the middle of one of the gardens, put down a big blanket, and laid out a majorly awesome spread of food. We covered the blanket with fresh harissa, hummus, three kinds of bread, zaatar-roasted eggplant, cucs, sprouts, avocados, and plenty of feta cheese.

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Oh, and of course, some of this pepper spread.

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Put thoughts of saccharine, mushy relish out of your mind. Would the Zuni Cafe ever commit such a crime? Of course not. It's more of a salad, this pepper relish. It's meaty and rich, the perfect balance of tangy and sweet. At Zuni, they pair it with lamb, quail, and sea bass. I've yet to try any of these combinations, as I've been too busy spooning heaps of it onto sourdough toast.

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For our Sunday outing, I added about 1/2 a cup of the relish to a big bowl of simply cooked white kidney beans, and tossed the mixture with whole peppercorns and plenty of olive oil. The resulting bean-pepper salad was great on its own, but especially tasty piled on baguette with avocado and feta. One of these days, I'll get around to using it for its intended purpose. But between you and me, there's no rush.

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Zuni Pepper RelishAdapted from the Zuni Cafe Cookbook makes about 1 1/3 cups (I doubled it)

2 medium bell peppers (I like red or yellow) 1 1/2 tablespoons dried currants 2 teaspoons sherry or red wine vinegar 1/2 teaspoon warm water 3 tablespoons pine nuts 1 tablespoon freshly chopped basil 2 small garlic cloves, pounded into a paste 3 tablespoons good olive oil 1 to 2 tablespoons sweet sherry or marsala (or substitute 1 teaspoon sherry/wine vinegar and a pinch of sugar) salt

Combine the currants, vinegar, and warm water. Set aside to plump up while you roast the peppers.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Lay peppers on a shallow roasting pan and place on the top rack of the oven. Turn the peppers as their skins start to brown, and roast them for 25-30 minutes, until they are blistered all over and have nearly collapsed.

On a separate, smaller, roasting pan, roast the pine nuts just to warm through, about 4 minutes. Remove and set aside.

Transfer the roasted peppers to a bowl and cover tightly with plastic wrap. Once the peppers are cool enough to handle (about 15 minutes), slip the skins off of the peppers. It's okay if bits of skin remain on the peppers; try to avoid running them under water, since you'll lose much of their flavor that way. Instead, peel the skins over a bowl to catch the juices; if the skins stubbornly stick to your hands, run your hands under water.

Remove the stems, membrane, and seeds from the peppers. Dice the peppers and combine in a bowl with their juices, holding back any seeds that may have fallen in with the pepper liquid.

Combine the peppers, pine nuts, currants, basil, garlic, oil, and sherry/marsala. Taste, and season as desired. Serve at room temperature.

Serving suggestions:

• alongside lamb, quail, or chicken
• as bruschetta on toast
• stirred into a big bowl of cooked white beans for a great fall salad
• on pizza, topped with smoked mozzarella
• as a sauce for grilled white fish (tilapia, rockfish, snapper, etc)

Mexican Meatball Soup with Limes

On a beautiful Sunday in March of 2006, I left my apartment in Jerusalem and drove due north for about 200 km, until I arrived at Moshav Shtula, which sits on the border between Israel and Lebanon. (On the border, as in: on my morning run, I got about 10 minutes before hitting the UN blue line and turning around.) I went to spend a week with Sara Hatan, a Kurdish immigrant who had raised her family (14 children!) on Shtula and established a reputation as an excellent cook. My friend Neil, who sent me to Sara, told me that people came to visit her restaurant from across the tiny country. They said her kubbeh was the best they'd ever had. And friends, as excited as I was to spend the week washing Sara's dishes and waiting on Shtula's guests, what led me there in the first place was kubbeh.

Kubbeh are meat-filled bulgur and semolina dumplings that are either fried and served as an appetizer, or boiled and plunked into soup. I was after boiled kubbeh, specifically those that find their way into kubbeh hamusta, a sour, sorrel-based soup that I love.

Sara taught me to make kubbeh hamusta. By "taught," I mean that she poured water into a big pot until the water rose halfway up her arm, then said -- in Kurdish-inflected Hebrew -- "See how much water to use? Good." She shaped five kubbeh in record time, without even looking down, and then had me do one.  I started to curl the semolina dough around the meat, when before I knew it, she'd snatched the thing right out of my hand, managing to salvage it in the nick of time. Over five days cooking with Sara, I five pounds fuller and (maybe?) five pennies wiser. She was hilarious and accomplished, but she had no interest in teaching me. Fortunately, the internet exists. I've since taught myself to make a not-all-together terrible kubbeh hamusta.

I recently learned that kubbeh hamusta is just one in a large family of sour meat-based soups. According to my brother, soups like this exist in Turkey and elsewhere across the Middle East. Needless to say, I want to try them all. For now, I'm settling for two. The second? Agrio.

Agrio comes from Henry's mom, who is Syrian-Mexican. Henry's wife Rachel -- possibly more obsessed with Agrio than I -- shared this recipe, and for a while, all we did when we saw each other was gush about how delicious it is.

The basic idea is this: make little meatballs, the float them and little baby potatoes in a broth full of celery, parsley, and spearmint. Just before serving, squeeze a whole bag of limes into the soup. You wind up with something not unlike kubbeh hamusta: salty, meaty, and surprisingly, pleasingly, sour.

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I was going to say that this was by far the best thing I served over the high holidays, but then I remembered that insane lamb shoulder and possibly my best batch of challot, ever. So it's a close contest. But this was a huge hit, and I'm thrilled to have yet another sour, meaty soup in my arsenal.

Agrioadapted from Rachel's mother-in-law's recipe Serves 4-6

Like all good family recipes -- like kubbeh hamusta, come to think of it -- the original formula for Agrio contains the occasional measurement, but mostly refers to quantities like "a bunch" or offers no quantities at all. ("Some beef broth" is one item in the recipe.) The quantities offered here, therefore, are very flexible. Feel free to alter them if you prefer a different balance, or if you only have 3 limes but still want to make the soup. But don't skimp on the parsley; you really do need all of it.

2 lbs. ground beef 2 tablespoons olive oil One whole head of celery, stalks and leaves, chopped 3 cloves garlic, minced 1 medium onion, diced 3-4 cups baby potatoes, halved fingerlings, or diced yukon golds 4 cups beef or vegetable broth 1 large bunch parsley (at least 3 cups packed) 1 cup lime juice (I needed about 8-10 limes) 1 bunch spearmint, leaves only Form the beef into meatballs the size of quarters.

Add the oil to a large soup pot and set over medium-high heat. Add meatballs in batches, making sure not to crowd the pan. Cook meatballs for 2-3 minutes, until the bottom side is brown, then flip and cook an additional 2 minutes on the second side. Remove finished meatballs to a plate.

When all meatballs have been cooked and set aside, you should have a nice layer of olive oil mixed with beef drippings -- perfect for your mirepoix. Add celery, garlic, and onion to the pot, turn the heat to medium, and sweat the vegetables until they start to soften but have not browned.

Add the broth and potatoes to the pot along with all but a handful of the parsley and 4 cups of water. Turn the heat to high, and bring the soup to a boil. Then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes, until potatoes are fully cooked. 10 minutes into cooking, add meatballs back into the soup.

When soup is finished cooking, turn off the heat, and add the line juice. Stir to incorporate. Add the remaining parsley and all of the spearmint and give a couple more stirs. Serve hot.