Roasted Eggplant with Yogurt and Pomegranate

I think you'll be happy to know that I've found a legitimately easy way to tame the most finicky of vegetables into submission. I'm talking about eggplant, of course. Eggplant is beautifully purple (or white with purple speckles!) until you cut into it, when it's suddenly grey-brown. It's thick and sturdy, until you start frying it, when it seems to soak up exactly as much oil as is in the pan, always with room for more. Then it suddenly turns to mush, and from there, there's no going back. Yeah, eggplant is finicky. I said it.

eggplant before roasting

I'm over here breaking a sweat about my 'plants, but Yotam Ottolenghi is unfazed. From the gorgeous eggplant gracing the cover of his second book, Plenty, you'd never know the vegetable was the cause of such stress. The globes are perfectly browned, drizzled with sauce, and dappled with red gems of pomegranate. They're practically begging you to stop whatever it is that you're doing (probably ruining eggplant), and make them. So I did, and I did.

Here's what I've learned. Unless you're slicing your eggplant thinly enough that a quick dip in oil will cook it right through, the trick is to soften it by either roasting, instead of running immediately for the fryer. This way, the eggplant softens without getting too greasy. You can always fry it at the end to get that extra crispness, but if you make prepare eggplant a la Plenty, I'm guessing you won't want to. Ottolenghi has you score the eggplant flesh crosswise before drizzling it with olive oil and broiling it, exposing more surface area. As the eggplant bakes, the scored flesh crisps up on all sides, adding textural contrast to the surface while staying soft within. The yogurt sauce is redolent of garlic; it's a perfect contrast to the juicy, tart pomegranate that finishes the dish.

creamed garlic

eggplant prep

Pomegranates aren't exactly in season right now, but I finished the eggplant with a drizzle of pomegranate syrup, which worked very well. If you have saba, you definitely could use it. It's sweeter than pomegranate syrup, but still plenty tart. I'm pretty sure Cathy tried this with saba and loved it.

I can see using this eggplant roasting technique for so many things. When I was in Mississippi for work earlier this week, I dug my way through a stack of eggplant parmesan that tasted more like breadcrumbs than eggplant. Can you imagine riffing on parm with this roasted eggplant half? It'd be amazing. I'd maybe tuck some pesto into the olive oil before drizzling it on for the roast, and when the eggplant comes out of the oven sizzling, I'd top it with hot tomato sauce, maybe even some fresh mozzarella cheese before popping it back under the broiler for a hot minute. Mouth=watering.

eggplant with pomegranate and yogurt 2

Roasted Eggplant with Yogurt and PomegranateAdapted from Plenty, by Yotam Ottolenghi

Ottolenghi recommends you cook these eggplants for 35-40 minutes, but mine needed more like 60-75 before they were truly tender. Check early, but be prepared for a longer cooking time.

For the eggplant:

2 large and long eggplants 1/3 cup olive oil 1 1/2 teaspoons fresh thyme or lemon thyme, plus a few whole sprigs to garnish Sea salt and black pepper Seeds of 1 pomegranate or 2 tablespoons pomegranate syrup 2 teaspoons za'atar

For the sauce:

1/4 cup buttermilk (or substitute regular milk with a squeeze of lemon) 1/2 cup Greek yogurt 1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil, plus a drizzle to finish 1 small garlic clove 1 pinch flaky salt

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Cut the eggplants in half lengthways, cutting straight through the stalk. Use a small sharp knife to score three or four parallel cuts into the eggplant flesh, without cutting through to the skin. Repeat at a 45-degree angle to get a diamond-shaped pattern.

Place the eggplant halves, cut-side up, on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Drizzle or brush them with olive oil, brushing until all of the oil has been absorbed. Sprinkle with the thyme and some salt and pepper. Roast for 60-75 minutes, at which point the flesh should be soft, flavorful, and nicely browned. Remove from the oven and let cool.

To make the sauce: mash the garlic and the pinch of salt on a cutting board with a chef's knife until garlic is completely smooth. (Alternatively, simply send the garlic through a press.) Then whisk together all of the ingredients, taste for seasoning, and store in the refrigerator until needed.

To serve, spoon plenty of buttermilk sauce over the eggplant halves without covering the stalks. Sprinkle za'atar and plenty of pomegranate seeds (or pomegranate syrup) on top and garnish with thyme. Finish with a drizzle of olive oil.

Pappardelle with Squash Blossoms

When squash blossoms first come out in late spring, I go crazy with the hot oil. I fry them plain; I stuff and fry them; I even shred them, coat them in light batter, and fry them like chips. A couple weeks later, I come to my senses. There's only so much fried food one person should eat, and I probably exceed my quota with squash blossoms alone. But then I stop buying blossoms altogether, unsure of what else I can do with them.

mise en place

Last Sunday, the baskets of blossoms at Dupont were overflowing and not too expensive, so I picked up a couple, resolving to find a non-fry recipe in short order. Here's a sentence I could write about so many things: Molly Wizenberg came to the rescue.

Do you read Orangette? You really ought to. Molly is a beautiful writer, and she always seems to cook things I want to make and eat immediately. In this case, it was her reader who supplied the recipe, for a fresh pasta that tastes at once like noodle soup and like a late summer afternoon in Italy. The pasta starts like a winter braise: celery, onion, carrot, broth.

ready for stove

From there, though, it turns straight to summer, with a generous handful of fresh squash blossoms. The blossoms swim in the broth, mingle with the mirepoix, and eventually melt into the sauce. While their texture isn't prominent in the final dish, their delicacy and flavor lend a richness that, along with tempered egg yolk, make the pasta as creamy as a good carbonara. Only for all its creaminess, the dish is still light and clean.

squash blossons

reducing the sauce

With tomatoes at their peak, it's hard to believe this pasta is the best one I've had all month. No doubt, there's plenty of spaghetti pomodoro in my near future -- not to mention the raw tomato sauce of which I've grown so fond. But there's also this. In it's own right, it nears perfection. Thanks to Molly and her reader, Tony, for sharing this very worthy use for squash blossoms, no frying included.

pappardelle with squash blossoms

Pappardelle with Squash BlossomsAdapted, just barely, from Molly Wizenberg

1 tablespoon butter 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 medium (or half a large) red onion, diced 1 stalk celery, diced 1 carrot, diced 1/2 cup parsley leaves, chopped 12 squash blossoms, quartered lengthwise (no need to remove stem) pinch saffron 2 cups very good chicken or vegetable broth 1 egg yolk 1/2 lb. pappardelle 1/2 cup grated Pecorino Romano cheese

Fill a large pot with water and a couple pinches of salt. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat.

Add butter and oil to a large saute pan and set over medium heat. Add onion, celery, carrot, and parsley; cook, stirring occasionally until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the squash blossoms, a pinch of salt, and the saffron. Stir gently to combine. Add 3/4 cup of the broth, stir gently, and raise the heat to medium. As the broth starts to reduce, continue adding more broth gradually until it has reduced significantly and only a small film of broth coats the vegetables. This should take about 8 minutes. Remove from the heat.

In a smallish bowl, whisk the egg yolk.

Add the pasta to the pot of boiling water. While it cooks, place the sauce back on medium heat. Use a small cup to scoop up about 3 Tbs of pasta water and, whisking constantly with a fork, gradually add the hot water to the egg yolk to temper it. Don't skimp on the water, or your egg will curdle when added to the sauce. Pour the yolk mixture into the saute pan, and stir continuously to combine. The yolk will thicken the sauce.

By now, the pasta should be perfectly al dente. (Mine took 2 1/2 minutes.) Scoop the pasta from its cooking water into the sauce, and use tongs to incorporate it into the sauce. Cook the two together for about 30 seconds, then serve in shallow bowls or on plates, topped with grated Pecorino Romano.

Spinach with Toasted Sesame Dressing

Bittman says that spinach is a dish best served cooked, and who am I to disagree? I used to be very into raw spinach salads with strawberries, avocado, and sweet, sweet vinaigrette -- you know the salad I'm talking about -- but that feels very 90's LA, or Upper West Side circa my college years. These days, it's onward, upward, and into boiling water with my spinachy greens.

spinach

Last week, Bryce and I went to Toki Underground, again. (Brycie, think we count as regulars yet? Probably not. Lather, rinse, repeat. I need more ramen, stat.) Among the many treats buried in every bowl of ramen are these tightly rolled coils of spinach. You peel off layers of the spinach as you eat, sort of like ohitashi; they soak up the broth you're slurping. It's good fun.

spinach log

I've been blanching and bunching spinach in all sorts of recipes lately. There's loads of it at the markets, and while every time the huge bundle cooks down into a little blob I feel a bit deflated, even a small portion of the recipe I'm sharing today delivers a big punch.

It's precisely because the spinach cooks down so much that it stands up to a sauce as insistently vocal as this one. You wouldn't think a sauce of sesame seeds would deliver such a lash, but it does: it's salty from the soy sauce, sweet from the mirin, and deeply, pungently sesame, from seeds toasted just until they're looking over the cliff at burnt, then ground into a dark brown paste and folded into the sauce. This recipe, it's a good one. Oh, and for all you people who have something else to do tonight besides cook dinner? The whole thing takes ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

sesame seeds

toasted seeds

If sesame isn't your thing, I bet you you can make this with toasted ground peanuts, or even with a spoonful of almond butter. Not the same, but probably still delicious. Do let us know if you try it that way.

sesame dressing

If soy isn't your thing (I'm looking at you, Terr...), maybe you could substitute a bit of rice wine vinegar and some salt.

Try it, you'll like it. And have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

spinach toasted sesame dressing

Spinach and Toasted Sesame Dressingadapted from Just One Cookbook's Spinach Gomaae recipe

Vegetarian and gluten-free (if you use GF soy sauce)

1 lb. raw spinach, washed Pinch of salt 6 tablespoons roasted white sesame seeds, plus more for garnish 3 tablespoons soy sauce 2 tablespoon sugar 2 teaspoons sake or rice wine vinegar 1 teaspoon mirin

Set a big pot of water on high heat and bring to a boil.

Meanwhile, put sesame seeds in a small (preferably stainless steel) frying pan and dry-toast them over medium heat until they turn deep golden brown and a couple seeds jump in the pan. The seeds will continue to toast as they cool, so watch them like a hawk as they brown. There's a fine line between deep brown and burnt. Set aside.

Water should be boiling. Add spinach and pinch of salt. Cook 1 minute, until spinach is vibrant green; drain immediately, and either shock in an ice bath or run under cold water to stop the cooking. Squeeze spinach in a fist to drain the water, then shape it into two fat logs. Cut the logs crosswise into four little bundles, leaving the stray bits at each end of the log as a chef's snack. Transfer two bundles to each of four very small bowls or plates.

Put the sesame seeds in a spice grinder or a mortar and grind or blitz until the seeds become a fine powder. If using a spice grinder, transfer sesame powder to a bowl. Add soy sauce, sugar, sake/vinegar, and mirin, and stir to combine.

Spoon the sauce over the four bundles of spinach and finish with a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Serve to hungry people.

Crostini with Cherries, Fennel, and Pistachios

These are the precious few weeks when everything is in abundance. Normal people get really excited about this: they come home loaded with little yellow tomatoes, bright green beans, beautiful ears of bi-color corn, and - for the few days that they're available - blackberries. Me? I get stressed. What if I can't get enough tomatoes in jars to last me through the winter? What if my jam doesn't seal properly? And so on.

Putting up produce has become a summer ritual, and one of which I'm quite proud. I love serving friends pasta with my homemade sauce. When I put out a plate of pickles, I'm happy that they're mostly my own creations. And I love how peppers, cherries, and rhubarb from the summer markets find their way into everything from sriracha to vinegar to Manhattans, all in my kitchen. But getting this done adds a certain pressure to summer market trips, and once in a while, I'd like to just enjoy the market with no agenda at all.

So sometimes, when I feel the stress coming on, I toss out the agenda entirely. I head to the market in search of a few things that would make a great dinner tonight. Just tonight.

A couple weeks ago, I purchased what must be the 15th quart of cherries I've eaten this summer. Jam had been made, and more jam could wait for other days. I brought these plump, sweet cherries into the kitchen, cleaned them off, piled them onto a lovely crostini, and ate them right then and there. Farm to table in under 24 hours.

I found the recipe while tooling around the DCist website. I had no idea the DCist published recipes, but after this success, I'll be checking back more often. Cherries and pistachios are a classic combination, and while typically I'm loyal to sour cherries for this pairing, the goat cheese on these crostini offset the sweet cherries perfectly. The syrupy sweet cherries - almost a savory jam, if that's a thing - will dribble down your chin as you eat. This will not be a clean supper. But isn't that what summer is all about?

Crostini with Cherries, Fennel, and PistachiosAdapted from DCist

1 fennel bulb 3 tablespoons butter or olive oil (I like butter. Shock.) 1 cup sweet or tart cherries, pitted Cardamom seeds from 2 pods or a pinch of ground cardamom 1 tablespoon red wine or balsamic vinegar 1 tablespoon sugar 8 slices baguette, toasted in a 300-degree oven for 5-7 minutes until golden 4 oz. fresh chevre or other mild, spreadable goat cheese ¼ cup pistachios, shelled and roughly chopped Sea salt

Chop the bottoms, stems and fronds off the fennel bulbs and remove any bruised or discolored portions of the outer layers. Chop each bulb in half, then slice lengthwise into thin slices. Meanwhile, heat butter or olive oil in a large pan. Add fennel, a pinch of salt, and 1/4 cup water to the pan and cook covered over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until fennel is very soft and golden brown, about 30 minutes. Remove cover in the last 10 minutes of cooking to ensure fennel gets browned.

Heat the pitted cherries, sugar, balsamic vinegar, cardamom, and 2 tablespoons of water in a pan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until sugar is dissolved and cherries are softened, about 5 to 10 minutes. Set aside to cool.

Spread a thick layer of cheese onto each slice of toasted bread. Layer some of the caramelized fennel on top, then several cherries. (If you're feeling generous, drizzle some of that cherry syrup overtop.) Top the crostini with chopped pistachios and sea salt. Serve immediately.