Bulgur with Black Eyed Peas, Spinach and Dates

Yet another installment of my weekday lunch series. You can never have enough work-lunch-friendly dishes, now can you?

I work on the ninth floor of my firm's office building. There are lots of conference rooms on our floor, and when a lunch meeting yields leftovers, they usually make their way into the ninth floor kitchen, which happens to be right across from my cubicle. When we hear the clomp-clomp of high heels in the kitchen and the rustling of plastic trays and wrap paper, we know it's going to be good. Within seconds, my entire pod will have descended on the kitchen, scavenging for the best wrap, the freshest-looking corner of the spinach salad, the last piece of baklava. After poking around for ourselves, we'll shoot out an email to our friends down the hall alerting them to the free food bonanza. We're that nice.

Yesterday, there were two big trays of spinach salad in the conference room. Spinach salad = dry baby spinach, quartered artichoke hearts, shavings of parmesan cheese and dressing on the side. After everyone had a go at the salad (and the baklava and brownies), I rinsed out my lunch tupperware and filled it to the rim with dry baby spinach. That stuff is good, and not cheap -- it'd be a shame to see it go to waste.

Around 11 last night, when I got to throwing lunch together, I remembered that spinach that I'd tucked in the fridge earlier in the evening. I decided to steam it for a few minutes and fold it into a bulgur salad, along with leftover mixed mushrooms and a couple of chopped, sauteed dates (one of my latest and greatest flavor-boosters). For some protein, I added half a can of black eyed peas; for background flavor, some caramelized onions. For zing, a dash of soy sauce, a hit of sherry vinegar, and some black pepper. That was really all it needed.

Much as I've enjoyed a week straight of Greek salad for lunch, I'm relieved that today's tupperware contains no feta, tomatoes, olives, or capers. I'm kind of excited for lunch!

Bulgur with Black Eyed Peas, Spinach, Dates, and Mushrooms makes 2 servings

1 cup bulgur, cooked and fluffed according to package directions (bulgur usually takes about 15 minutes in boiling water) 2 heaping cups raw baby spinach 2 Tbsp. olive oil 1 cup mixed mushrooms, chopped 4 dates, pitted and chopped 2 Tbsp. caramelized onions 1/2 can black eyed peas, or about 2/3 cup cooked black eyed peas (other beans, such as navy or cannellini, will do just fine) 1 tsp. soy sauce 1 Tbsp. sherry vinegar fresh cracked pepper Chopped fresh parsley or mint, optional

Cook bulgur according to package directions, and set aside.

In a large pot, heat enough water to come about 2 inches up the side of the pot. Rinse spinach and place in steamer. When water is boiling, place steamer inside pot and cover with lid. Steam spinach about 6 minutes, until tender but still bright green. Remove steamer from pot and transfer spinach to medium bowl. Set aside.

Heat olive oil in a small saucepan over medium high heat. Add mushrooms, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they have given off their liquid and are fragrant. Salt to taste. Add chopped dates to the pan and cook one more minute, until dates are soft and warm. Turn off heat and transfer mushroom mixture to the bowl with the spinach. Add caramelized onions, black eyed peas and bulgur, and toss to incorporate. Add soy sauce, vinegar, and pepper and stir to coat. Taste and adjust, adding more salt, pepper, and vinegar as desired. Serve cold or room temperature. Sprinkle with chopped herbs just before serving.

Rigatoni with Broccoli Rabe

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know by now that I'm a self proclaimed ingredient-adder. I've got issues leaving things simple: I find myself constantly tempted to tinker, to add just one more spice or sauce or vegetable or seed or something. I've been working on it, folks, really I have, but it ain't easy.

As much as I'm inclined to clean out my pantry into a recipe, there are certain recipes that are not to be futzed with. One of those recipes is Marcella Hazan's pasta with broccoli rabe. Hazan is a legendary Italian cook and cookbook author. Her directions are so very precise, her knowledge and expertise so colossal, I'd be crazy to fiddle with her ingredients or proportions.

You've probably seen broccoli rabe in the grocery store or farmers' market: it's usually a medium-sized head of greens with a couple very young broccoli florets poking out the top. It's leafy and bitter, and according to Adam, the Amateur Gourmet (who quotes Lydia Bastianich and Julia Child, who am I to disagree?), it gets more complex with every chew. Broccoli rabe -- also known as rapini -- is absolutely delicious on pasta paired with anchovies, crushed chili peppers, and parmesan cheese. I used whole wheat rigatoni (see the smoke coming out of Marcella Hazan's ears? yikes) but as she says, the "natural match" for this sauce is orecchiete, which are shaped like miniature flying saucers. She also recommends using salt-preserved anchovy fillets, preferably prepared at home. While the idea of using fresh, home-prepped anchovies makes my mouth water, their very short shelf life has always deterred me from actually doing it, and I tend to stick with the high-quality oil-packed ones. They're available at most high-end markets; these days, most every grocery store has them, usually in oil-packed jars and in squeezable tubes. (I recommend the jars, not the tubes -- anchovy toothpaste isn't the hottest idea.)

One final note about this recipe before you run out to grab that anchovy toothpaste. This one's for the anchovy-haters -- I know you're out there. If you're even still reading this, I'm impressed that you didn't see the word "anchovy" and run away. Point is, please don't hate on the anchovies. They're so, so delicious, and they really are mashed into a paste in many recipes, so you don't have to see them. And frankly, nothing can replace that unmistakable taste of anchovy. So take a big breath and give'em a try. If you hate'em, sorry, and I guess I owe you a few bucks. If you love'em, you can thank me for giving you the extra nudge.

Rigatoni with Broccoli Rabe from Marcella Hazan

1 pound dried orecchiette or other pasta 2 cups water 1 teaspoon salt 1 bunch rapini, about 1 pound, trimmed 5 tablespoons olive oil, divided 3 anchovy fillets, chopped 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes 1/2 cup grated pecorino Romano cheese

1. Cook pasta according to package instructions, in well-salted water; drain, reserving some of the pasta water, and set aside. Meanwhile, heat water and salt to a boil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add rapini; cook until crisp-tender, about 4 minutes. Drain in colander; cool under cold running water, drain, and set aside.

2. Heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Stir in anchovies, pressing lightly with a spatula to help break up the fillets. Cook 1 minute. Stir in rapini, garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring constantly, until garlic softens, about 5 minutes.

3. Toss pasta with rapini mixture in a large serving bowl. If extra liquid is necessary to unclump pasta or make rapini more easily integrated, add pasta water by the 1/4 cup. Drizzle with remaining 2 Tbsp of the olive oil and cheese; toss.

Miso Chicken with Braised Fennel

Boneless chicken breasts are one of those things I cope with for the sake of my relationship. If I had my way, you'd never see them in my fridge or freezer: I find them flavorless and boring (unless breaded and fried -- no complaints about homemade chicken fingers from this lady). But D loves those chicken breasts -- especially when coated in cornflakes and eaten with applesauce -- so once in a while, I throw some on the stove or in the oven and call it dinner. I try to make 'em interesting, though I should mention that in doing so, I've ruined several perfectly boring but fine chicken breasts with bad-tasting sauce. Tonight, however, was one of those nights when the boneless chicken breasts found themselves on both of our plates, topped with a sauce that was pretty darn delicious, and I thanked my lucky stars that I'd given D yet another chicken fix while making something that I also enjoyed eating.

My recipe is loosely based on a recipe I saw on epicurious, originally published in SELF Magazine, for a miso-marinated chicken. I made the marinade called for in the recipe but found it pretty flat, so I added some more things. The result was something I can recommend unequivocally; it was sweet but not overly so, salty in the wonderful way that miso and soy sauce are, tangy from rice wine vinegar, and zippy from fresh ginger and wasabi. The breasts were well-browned (I like'em with a hefty crust) and the sauce was properly reduced so as to be thick and drizzly. Also, I used homemade chicken stock, which really did make a bit of a difference. As for the braised fennel, I had the aforementioned chicken stock, as well as some drinkable white wine and ingredients for mirepoix (onions, carrots, celery -- the aromatics used as a base in many French and other dishes), so I decided to make a classic braise using all of the above to flavor browned, then softened, Fennel bulbs. D doesn't much like fennel, and you know what? Neither do I -- never was a fan of those licorice flavors. But the flavor of the fennel is so mellow in this braised dish as to be (almost) unassertive. It's like someone tazed the fennel or got it drunk or something. Get my drift? Braised fennel=good, =not as strong as licorice-y raw fennel. =Tasty, very tasty.

Along with some sushi-inspired, vinegar- and sugar-spiked white rice, the chicken and fennel made for a delectable meal. If you wanted to serve this set of dishes for company, I'd recommend starting with a seaweed salad, which D and I had at a lovely Friday night dinner, and by which I was totally blown away. Just ask my fridge: I've paying the leftover salad regular visits.

Miso Chicken adapted from SELF

1/2 cup white miso paste (found at health food stores) 1/4 cup sugar 1/4 cup chicken broth 1/8 cup rice vinegar 1 1/2 Tbsp soy sauce 1 Tbsp minced ginger 1/4 tsp wasabi paste, optional

Combine all ingredients except chicken; stir to combine. Don't worry if the miso clumps a bit. Add chicken, coat with marinade, and let sit in the fridge for at least 10 minutes.

Preheat skillet with 2 Tbsp oil over medium heat. Lift one chicken breast out of the marinade, letting excess drip off; transfer to skillet. Repeat, making sure not to overcrowd the pan. Cook about 8-9 minutes per side, until well-browned and cooked through. Alternatively, roast in a 375-degree oven for approximately 20 minutes, until cooked through. Transfer chicken to a plate to cool, about 5 minutes.

Transfer remaining marinade to skillet, raise the heat to med-high, and reduce about 6-7 minutes, until fully cooked and thick enough to coat a wooden spoon. Spoon over chicken and serve.

Braised Fennel serves 4

3 fennel bulbs, cored and quartered, fronds reserved 1 small onion, diced 3 individual stalks (not full heads) celery, diced 2 small carrots or 1 large carrot, diced olive oil 2/3 cup white wine 2/3 cup chicken broth juice of 1/2 a lemon salt and pepper

Halve fennel bulbs; remove core with two diagonal cuts in a V toward the center. Then quarter the bulbs. In a large skillet with a lid, heat 3-4 Tbsp olive oil. Add mirepoix (celery, onion, carrot) and cook 5-6 minutes over medium heat, until browned and softened. Clear some room and add fennel pieces, and some more olive oil if necessary. Cook another 6 minutes, until bottoms of the fennel quarters are browned. Add chicken stock and wine, lower heat to a simmer, and cover skillet. Cook about 15-20 minutes, until fennel is soft all the way through. Add a bit of broth, wine, or water and use a wooden spoon to scrape up the "fond" -- any flavorful brown bits that have accumulated at the bottom of the skillet. Serve hot, warm, or even room temperature (though I prefer hot).

Oven-Roasted Olives

In recent years, a slew of upscale pizza places have sprouted up to sate the ever-growing yuppie appetite for $13 (or $15, or $20) pies. Just look at Manhattan and Brooklyn: they're bursting with fancy pizza points, from the old-school Lombardi's and my favorite Grimaldi's to the newer Roberta's and Co., dreamt up by the breadmaster Jim Lahey. Washington is following suit, in its own more muted way, and by now we've actually got a few great spots for the ultimate Neapolitan treat.

One such spot, Two Amys, is a standby in this house. We pop over there at least once a month, and by now we're buddy-buddy with a waitress, we know our favorite wine on the menu, and we've even found a bus that takes us, literally, from door to door.

We go to Two Amys for pizza, but two other things on the menu are just as much of a draw: the suppli -- fried balls of risotto laced with tomato sauce, with some piping hot mozzarella in the center -- and the oven-roasted olives. Granted, D has no interest in the olives (in olives of any kind, for that matter -- but I'll say, they're one of the cheapest appetizers in town. For $4.95, you get a large bowl of olives roasted with really good olive oil, spices, and maybe some garlic. The little jewels simply burst in your mouth. They even come with a couple slices of crusty bread to soak up all that olive oil deliciousness (if you've got room, between the soupli and the pizza).

After two years of snacking on these olives, I finally came to my senses and realized that, with minimal effort, I could whip some up at home. I browsed my usual cache of websites for some inspiration, but it turns out that recipes were altogether unnecessary. I simply took out a rimmed sheet pan, drizzled it with some olive oil, and into the olive oil I scattered a mix of olives -- picholine, manzanilla, and kalamata, in my case, but any will do. Overtop go any mix of fresh and dried herbs that suits your fancy. I used several sprigs of fresh thyme, some dried basil and oregano, and lots of freshly-cracked black pepper. I threw in a couple slices of lemon as well, for some much-needed acidity.

...Um, did you expect more steps? Sorry to disappoint you. Pop the whole thing in a 350-degree (or other temperature if you're cooking something else) oven for about 15ish minutes until olives are soft and bursting. Serve warm with crusty bread.