Taco Night Coleslaw

Taco night is a perennial favorite. It's an easy meal to prepare, most components can be prepared well in advance, and if you make it for a dinner party, you'll be feasting on leftovers for days. When I say "taco night," of course, I'm referring to that generic category of weeknight suppers, including but not limited to tacos, fajitas, burritos, and anything else involving tortillas, fillings, and toppings of your choice.

In case you're at a loss for where to start, here's my go-to iteration of Tex-Mex dinner: I serve warm flour tortillas, refried beans, sauteed peppers and onions, cabbage slaw with lime and chile, and salsa, guacamole, and queso fresco to top it all off. It's a regular feast.

And please, don't let me cramp your style: the possibilities aren't limited to beans and whatnot. If you're not a fan of the legumes, pan-fry some chicken, fish, or beef slices over high heat until charred, squeeze a lime juice and sprinkle some salt and pepper, and you've got yourself a taco or fajita filling.

The peppers and onions are dead simple. Halve a red onion, trim the ends, and slice each half into three. Take a few bell peppers (I like red) and poblano peppers (the big dark-green ones -- they're pretty mild, with just a whisper of spice) and slice them into long strips. Add pepper and onion slices to a hot pan with a bit of olive oil and some salt, much like you did with the protein. Stir at regular intervals so that lots of different pieces get charred. When you see enough brown spots, turn off heat, and transfer hot vegetables to serving bowl. They'll steam and soften while sitting there, so by the time you're ready to serve, they're ready, too.

Another great dish is simple charred corn. If you have fresh ears available (and there's no time like July for fresh, sweet corn), use them. If not, frozen kernels work great here, too. Follow the rules above: into a hot pan with just a spoonful of oil, and maybe some epazote (if you have it) or cilantro (works too). Toss once in a while, let the kernels char, you get the drill. Hit with some salt and pepper, maybe a squeeze of lime, done.

The crown jewel at dinners like these is the cabbage slaw. (When isn't it?) This one is about as basic as they come: red and green (or Napa) cabbage, lime dressing. Fin. The tangy crunch of this simple concoction, provides the perfect contrast to tacos and fajitas. It's the must-have dish in the spread, if you ask me. Then again, I'm hard-pressed to pick a favorite element. Every dish in this meal is pretty darn tasty.

Taco Night Coleslaw

1 small head red cabbage 1 small head green or Napa cabbage (I prefer Napa, as it's slightly softer but just as crunchy) juice and zest of 2 limes 1/2 teaspoon chile flakes, preferably something smoked like chipotle or ancho, but any will do 1/3 cup olive oil 1/2 teaspoon salt black pepper to taste

Shred cabbage using sharp knife or mandoline; you're going for as thin slices as possible. Combine remaining ingredients in a large bowl and stir to combine. Add cabbage, and toss to coat. Set aside to macerate for at least 15 minutes before serving. If you leave it for more than an hour or so, put it in the fridge. You'll note that as time passes, the red cabbage will turn the dressing (and with it, the rest of the slaw) a bright pink shade. All the prettier, if you ask me.

Fried Squash Blossoms

Please welcome my good friend Jeremy, who's going at 'em again with his second guest post on NDP. I'm off to Santa Fe, NM for the long weekend, and Jeremy's babysitting the blog (because 4 kids isn't enough!) while I'm gone. Behave now...and get thee some squash blossoms!

I'm not one for begging, but I'm begging you, dear reader, not to miss out on the squash blossom.

For some reason, this extraordinary harbinger of summer seems to scare the bejeezus out of people. For the past month or so of Sundays, I've found myself lingering at a table covered with little wooden baskets filled with these delicate, delicious flowers. And without fail, I've overheard conversations like this one, between two veteran denizens of DC's biggest farmers' market:

"What would I do with them?" -"I don't know." "I mean, I love squash, but the blossom... whatever." -"I know. There must be a reason you never see them on a menu anywhere." "Exactly."

Verbatim? No. But you get the idea. So let's set the record straight, shall we?

First of all, a bit of demystification: they may look exotic, but we're just talking about the flower of the squash or zucchini here. On the farm or in the garden, they're ubiquitous this time of year. Squash are monoecious, you see, which means both male and female blossoms appear on the same plant. Only the female flowers will produce fruit (sometimes you'll see them still attached to smaller zucchini, courtesy of particularly gentle growers). However, early in the season, male flowers tend to dominate the plant, and when they realize there aren't many females around to pollinate, the male blossoms just give up, and drop right off the vine. Lucky us. Later in the season, we get a mix of male and female flowers to gather and enjoy; they all taste awesome.

Secondly, what you do with squash blossoms is fry them. It's so easy a child can do it, which, in fact, my six year-old daughter does (with some supervision around the hot oil, of course).

Finally, the reason you almost never see squash blossoms on a restaurant menu is that by the time they reached your table, they would be past their prime: these little lovelies are at their best straight out of the pan, not after sitting on the slide waiting for your server to make sure your companions' apps are ready to go, too. Chefs get this, which is why you don't see these treats often, even when they're in season, as they are right now. But you can bet that when the pros are at home whipping up a meal for friends, they've got squash blossoms sizzling away to snack on while they cook. And so should you.

The immediacy of this delicacy, the drop-dead simplicity of their preparation, and the uniqueness of their flavor, are what make squash blossoms so special. Harvest. Cook. Serve. Eat. It's what summer food is all about.

Now, you can jazz up squash blossoms if you insist. You can stuff them with a soft cheese -- some swear by ricotta. You can batter them in beer, or sprinkle them with cayenne. But we stick to basics. Olive oil. Flour. Milk. Salt. Squash blossoms. That's it.

So here's what you're going to do. Grab you're favorite skillet -- non-stick works great here, if that's how you roll. Take some good olive oil and cover the bottom of the pan, just a couple of millimeters or so. Then turn the heat to medium-high and let the oil get nice and hot.

While that's happening, put a couple of spoonfuls of flour into a shallow bowl, add a splash of milk, and whisk them together with a fork (or a whisk, if you happen to have one handy) until you have a thin batter. This isn't tempura, folks -- go too thick and you'll overwhelm the blossoms. Sprinkle in some kosher salt, whisk a little more, and you're good to go.

Dip your finger in the batter and flick it in the oil. If the oil sizzles, then you're ready to make the magic happen. Take a blossom between your fingers and dredge it in the batter -- I find a twirling motion to be particularly effective. Slide the flower carefully into the oil, turning it in a couple of minutes or so, when the pan-facing side is golden and crisp. You're done when the blossom is uniformly gorgeous in all its summer splendor.

Set it on a paper towel, give it another dash of salt, and pop it in your mouth as soon as you're sure you won't burn your tongue. Then invite your friends to hang around the kitchen. You'll feel satisfaction akin to sharing a really great secret. And they'll be eternally grateful.

See? There's nothing to be scared of... except missing out.

Two Bruschette for Spring

While I've usually thought of May as the true spring-to-summer transition month, these days, June seems to be taking on that role. One day the weather's as hot and sticky as boiling caramel, the next it's as cold and damp as the dish towel. But the erratic weather carries with it the promise of vegetable bounty. I may be mourning the end of asparagus season (how did I not realize until now that asparagus are the best vegetable on earth?) but I'm ramping up for my full-blown annual tomato courtship. And it's just tomatoes that roll around in June -- peas, snap and shelling varieties, have finally made their debut. Few things make me happier than bright green peas and tender, juicy tomatoes: there, I've exposed myself in all my nerdiness.

Over the past few years, I've settled into something of a routine when it comes to tomatoes and peas. I love tomatoes raw in salad, or simply sliced with a little flaky salt and olive oil. I get thrills from popping peas out of their pods and into blanching water, or tossing them with asparagus into pasta primavera. These bruschette are every bit a part of that routine. The tomato bruschetta occupies that middle ground between unadulterated raw tomato slices and a good, rich, labored tomato sauce, concentrating the flavor of the tomato without sacrificing its essential texture. Ditto the pea bruschetta, which celebrates the freshness of the peas' by adding complementary flavors, but retaining their plump firmness. I suppose by now it's pretty clear: I'm totally hooked on pea and tomato bruschette.

I've used a pretty simple method to make these bruschette. First, I saute some aromatics in butter (scallions with the peas, red onions with the tomato). I deglaze the pan a couple times with a bit of water, which reduces with the butter and onion to form a base for the vegetable. In goes either a handful of cherry tomatoes or a cup of peas, a bit of thyme, plus a pinch of salt and a grind of pepper. Five minutes of tossing and stirring later, I add just a bit of cheese (feta with the peas, sliced Pecorino Romano with the tomatoes) to tie it all together, and dump the whole panful on a piece of toasted sourdough (peas) or Italian (tomatoes) bread. Fin.

Naturally, you shouldn't feel tied to my specifications. Prefer a different bread? Happen to have yellow onions instead of green or red? Whatever. It'll still be delicious. And if you don't have pecorino on hand, which I usually don't, a thick grating of parmigiano reggiano would be great with the tomatoes.

If you're the type who likes a proper dinner -- one that requires a knife and fork and, oh, a table -- then, maybe, file this under "snack." But it makes a pretty darned good supper for the rest of us, and I've been known to whip these up for breakfast in the morning before heading off to work. Can you blame me?

Pea or Tomato Bruschette makes enough for 2 slices of bread; as you can see, I made 1 portion with peas and 1 with tomatoes, and the total was enough for dinner for 2.

2 tablespoons butter 2 scallions or half a red onion, chopped 1 cup of freshly-shelled peas, or 1/2 pint cherry tomatoes, halved 2 small sprigs thyme salt and pepper 1/3 cup feta or Pecorino Romano cheese a lemon wedge, for pea bruschette 2 slices bread olive oil for finishing, if you're feeling luxurious

Set a saute pan over medium heat, and add butter. when butter begins to bubble, add onion. Shake pan to distribute, and give a stir if you need to. When onion begins to turn golden at the edges, sprinkle a couple tablespoons water into the pan; it should pop and sizzle. Stir or shake pan to distribute water evenly, and continue cooking. As water evaporates, onions will begin to color some more. When that happens, add a couple more spoonfuls of water and stir. Repeat this step once more the next time onions color; by then, you should have a brownish onion mixture in the pan, that's more flavorful than you can imagine.

Add tomatoes or peas, leaves from the thyme sprigs, a pinch of salt, and a grind of the pepper mill. Shake the pan or give contents a stir to distribute tomatoes or peas among the onions. Leaving the heat at medium, cook for about 5 minutes, stirring regularly, to allow vegetables to soften.

When tomatoes are soft and juicy, or peas are bright green and perfectly bursting, turn off the heat and add the cheese. Stir the cheese into the vegetables. Meanwhile, pop the bread into the toaster. When bread is golden brown, set on a plate, top with bruschette, and finish with a swirl of olive oil. Eat. Now.

Spicy Smoky Sour Cucumber Salad...and a Giveaway!

In my kitchen, cucumbers are always the bridesmaid, never the bride. They find their way into so many of my salads, and play supporting roles in soups and even cockails (working on a sake-ginger martini...). But still, I've never been one to swoon over a dish composed entirely of cucs. In my mind, it'd be like eating a bowl of nothing but tofu. Meh. Where's the good stuff?

I hope cucs can forgive me for overlooking their star power. In this salad, this humble combination, cucumbers need no company. In fact, what makes this salad great is that without the dominating flavors and textures of their usual salad accompaniments, the cucumbers can really shine. Their fresh crunch provides a perfect canvas for an addictively spicy dressing of lime juice, hoisin sauce, chopped scallions, and the real magic -- freshly ground chili powder. Subtlety has no place in this dish. The combination is at once sour and salty, tongue-lashingly spicy and utterly clean. Make enough for two, and I guarantee just you will eat it all.

There were several inspirations behind this salad. First, the buns at Momofuku, which come with a few slices of pickled cucumber, a dab of hoisin, and a generous squirt of sriracha. The combination is like crack, and I had it in mind in creating this dish. Second, a salad I saw this week in NYMag that combined cucumbers with lime juice and fresh chili powder, which lodged itself in my mind. Third, David Chang's ginger scallion noodles, also from Momofuku, in which the scallions essentially become the dressing. It was a brilliant idea, and the scallions in this dish have a similar effect. I could go on about what caused me to make this dish, but once you make it, you really won't care. You'll be making a B-line for the kitchen to get some more.

ALSO: After nearly three years of blogging, the time has finally come: I'm doing a giveaway on the blog! better late than never, right? The wonderful folks at Marx Foods sent over a chili sampler, which is where I got the smoked serranos for this salad. They've graciously offered to send one lucky reader a chili sampler as well. Leave a comment sharing your favorite use for chilies, and I'll pick a commenter at random on Monday, June 14th to get the sampler. Good luck -- I can't wait to hear your favorite chili recipes! Wow, you guys rock! Love these recipe ideas. Mango-jicama salad with chiles? Yes, please!

The giveaway has ended, and our lucky winner is commenter #1. Congrats, Natalie! I'll email you with the information about your free chile sampler. Enjoy, and thanks everyone for participating!

Spicy Smoky Sour Cucumber Salad serves 2, questionably

Note: The freshly ground chili is what makes this recipe great. If you use the jarred stuff, your salad may taste a bit like sawdust. Just sayin'. In terms of how much chili to use, you'll have to taste and adjust, as heat is clearly a matter of preference. I used two smoked serrano chilies, which have a moderate level of heat. They're certainly not mild. Ground, they amounted to about 1.5 teaspoons. I added the chili slowly, starting with 1/2 teaspoon and working up to the level that tasted best. You should do the same. If you want to use a milder chili, try ancho (smoked poblano) or something else smoked; that smoky flavor is key.

1 Japanese or (small) English seedless cucumber, or 3-4 small Mediterranean cucumbers; aim for 6 oz. total 1/4 cup finely chopped scallions (I needed 1 long scallion for this) 1/4 cup lime juice 1 teaspoon hoisin sauce 1 teaspoon flavorless oil, such as grapeseed or safflower 1/2-1 teaspoon freshly-ground chili (see note) 1/4 teaspoon salt, or more to taste

Combine all ingredients except cucumbers in a medium bowl, starting with 1/2 teaspoon of chili and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Taste and adjust heat and salt levels according to your preference.

Trim ends of cucumbers, and slice into thin coins, 1/8-inch thick if possible. Don't fret if some are slightly thicker than others; call it textural contrast. Add to bowl with dressing and toss to combine. That's about it. Salad will be ready to eat in about....now.