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.

Carrot Kugel

Growing up, Passover was the holiday with all the rules. Among the "must"s were cleaning the whole house, covering the countertops, replacing the spices. Among the "mustn't"s: bread, muffins, pasta, cake, cookies. Seeing as how I practically subsisted on spaghetti as a kid - homemade tomato sauce was the first food I perfected - I positively dreaded the gluten-less days of Passover. I really wasn't into all the rules.

Ironically, though, as soon as the holiday arrived, my usual rules of eating went right out the window. Foods I'd never eat during the year, like matzo kugel and whitefish, suddenly seemed delicious. I couldn't get enough. I remember sitting at my parents' dining room table on the last day of Passover one year, nibbling on a matzo brei, thinking just how tasty it was, and realizing that in five hours, when the holiday ended, I'd never want to see matzo brie again. Funny how that works.

Terri, D's stepmom, also breaks some of her own rules on Passover. An exceedingly healthy eater year-round, she goes through an absurd amount of margarine on Passover. What can you do, she says. There isn't much to work with.

And she's right. My mother, a mindful and healthy cook, makes a passover carrot kugel recipe that essentially reads like one for chocolate chip cookies. Sub carrots for chocolate, and you'll have a carrot kugel that actually will make people swoon. On Passover.

Inspired by Passover's permit to break the rules of healthy year-round eating, I attempted a carrot kugel of my own this year. It's adapted from everyone's favorite sisterhood cookbook, "Second Helpings, Please" - because sisterhoods are the leading source of excellent kugel recipes, no? - and it's delicious, on Passover and year round. A couple of you requested this recipe, and while I'm sorry it's taken me so long to share it, hopefully it comes just in time for your Seder. Don't sweat the fact that it's terrible for you; that's sort of what Passover food is all about.

Looking for more Passover recipes?Here ya go.

Carrot Kugeladapted from Second Helpings, Please

1 cup matza cake meal (if making this not on Passover, please, please use flour here) 1/2 cup sugar 1/4 cup brown sugar 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/4 teaspoon cloves 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger 1 teaspoon lemon juice 2 1/4 cups grated carrots 2 eggs 1/2 cup melted butter or canola oil

Preheat oven to 325 degrees and set a rack in the center of the oven.

Butter and flour an 8” square baking pan.

Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl.

In a smaller bowl, combine eggs, oil, lemon juice, and carrots.

Mix the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients, and stir until the two are combined and no lumps of flour remain. Transfer batter into the prepared baking pan, and smooth the top with a spatula.

Bake for 45 minutes; when done, kugel should spring back when touched.

Serve warm or at room temperature.

Beets with Pistachio Sauce

Among the highlights of my big New York birthday was dinner at Lupa. I haven't been to Lupa in ages - not since right after college - and our meal back in February had me vowing not to wait so long before our next trip.

Lupa is a small spot. It's long and narrow, and waiters constantly are squeezing by your table and muttering polite "excuse me"s under their breath as they navigate the cramped quarters. Apparently, Lupa has grown tremendously popular over the past several years; I've heard from friends that even weeknights have long waits.

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Lucky for us, that Saturday night, we coasted straight to the back of the restaurant, tucked ourselves into a little table, and almost immediately got to work on a sampling of their verdure. That night, it was citrus-braised salsify that I've tried to recreate twice (good, not quite there); broccoli with burrata and chili; and beets coated in a smooth, green pistachio sauce, finished with a light vinaigrette. I took one bite, cooed, and started scheming about what it would take to get those beets on my home table.

Apparently, it wouldn't take much. A quick search online turned up a couple other folks who'd tried their hands at the recipe, so I didn't start from scratch. A couple nips and tweaks later, I had jewel-like beets, draped in silken pistachio, and as gorgeous to behold as they were delicious to eat. Quick, before asparagus and artichokes show up at the market, and weeks and weeks of nothing but beets become a faint memory: Make these beets.

Beets with Pistachio SauceInspired by a meal at Lupa

1 lb. beets, rinsed, greens removed 1/2 cup shelled pistachios 1/4 cup (4 tablespoons) water 2 tablespoons pistachio oil or olive oil 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar 4 tablespoons olive oil 1 teaspoon grainy mustard 1/2 teaspoon salt freshly cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Wrap beets in foil and poke a couple holes in the foil with a fork or knife. Set wrapped beets on a baking sheet, transfer to the oven, and bake until tender, 1 to 1.5 hours, depending on size. Remove beets and let cool completely.

Meanwhile, make the pistachio sauce; in a food processor or blender, combine pistachios, 2 tablespoons pistachio or olive oil, and 3 tablespoons water. Blend until smooth, adding the remaining water if necessary; you want the pistachio sauce to be thick, but pourable. If you prefer the sauce very smooth, press through a medium-fine mesh strainer. I did this, and I think it's worth the extra effort.

Next, make the red wine vinaigrette: Combine red wine vinegar, olive oil, mustard, salt, and pepper, and whisk until thoroughly incorporated.

Peel the beets under running water; their skins should slide off easily. Cut the cooled beets into quarters or big chunks (depending on size), and toss with half the red wine vinaigrette, adding more to taste. Transfer to the serving platter, spoon the pistachio sauce over top, and serve.

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.