Vietnamese Roasted Leek and Eggplant Salad

Perhaps I'm the only one who stresses about these things, but I've been away from the blog for some time. Actually, I've been away from the kitchen for some time. October has been a busy month for me at work, and getting a big project out the door meant fewer of those fall nights where my slippered feet pad into the kitchen searching for something to cook. Now that the project is finished, I'll be on the road a fair amount across the next couple months, presenting the research to hungry executive teams. If only they were hungry for pie.

In months like these, I browse recipes and write shopping lists on the tail ends of plane flights, wrack my brain to remember what's in all those jars in my fridge, and just try my best to squeeze a few home-cooked meals in between trips.

four leeks and an eggplant

Still, weekends exist for a reason. Once I have a to-do list in order, I'm up and at 'em, cooking as many dishes as I can without exhausting myself and spoiling the fun. This past weekend, after a quick trip to the gym, I got Vietnamese chicken stock blurp-blurping away on the stove, mixed up the dough for Luisa's yeasted plum cake and left it to rise, and then got going on today's recipe, a spicy-sour-salty-sweet eggplant and leek salad that will leave you wishing you were coming with me to Vietnam in December. (!)

diced eggplant

That's right: we're heading to Southeast Asia this winter. I'm doing my best not to jump out the screen and shake you, but people, I am excited. And while one member of this household would like to preserve her appetite for Vietnamese and Thai food until we actually arrive, that's not how I roll. Gearing up means cooking the food we'll be eating - or some riff on it - so that by the time we arrive, I'm all primed and ready for the real deal. D told me that we'll be watching The Bridge on the River Kwai to prep, which - hmm, not on my list of movies I must see? I fear I've just lost important points with my father-in-law - but I will do it. I will watch that movie. And D can count on eating lots of fish sauce this month.

Hate fish sauce? Don't worry; today's recipe doesn't call for it.

soft leeks

I first saw the recipe for this salad in the Times, and -- I kid you not -- was so charmed by it that I clicked right over to Amazon and bought the book from which it came. That book is Vietnamese Home Cooking, and it's easily the best impulse-buy of the month (though, had this been an impulse-buy and not an eagerly anticipated purchase, we'd have a tighter race on our hands. More about that another time.)

The man behind Vietnamese Home Cooking is Charles Phan, chef at The Slanted Door in San Francisco (which quite possibly is the first place I ever experienced authentic Vietnamese food. Went once, never turned back.) Phan waited more than a decade to write this book, and I'm glad to finally have his recipes and stories in print. The book is organized by cooking method, and it has helpful chapter markers running along the side of each page. Scattered throughout the book in little blue boxes are recipes for key components of many Vietnamese dishes, like pickled carrots, crispy shallots, and nuoc mam. If you closed your eyes and chose three pages from the book at random, then made whatever was on those pages, you'd wind up with a pretty awesome dinner. Like I said, a great purchase.

vietnamese leek and eggplant salad 2

So, the salad. The version that appears in Phan's book looks slippery and soft and perhaps even a bit mushy, in that good way that eggplant gets if you leave it in the oven forever. The Times' edited version makes for faster prep, and I've made my own changes on top of those, to add in more textural contrast and to utilize regular globe eggplants instead of the baby eggplants that are all but gone from the market these days. I also couldn't find baby leeks, so I used regular leeks and cooked them longer. The result is truly memorable. It's spicy and crunchy and sour and a bit sweet, but not cloying. And even though the only greens are a sprinkle of cilantro, the salad tastes really fresh. Go ahead: make a double batch. Serve half today, store the rest in individual containers and mix it right before tomorrow's lunch.

Vietnamese Roasted Eggplant and Leek Salad

This recipe initially called for baby leeks, but I couldn't find them, so I bought the thinnest leeks I could find and cooked them for a bit longer. I also used regular ordinary eggplant, because the small ones were gone. Use whichever suits your fancy.

Last thing: fried shallots. Not essential, but delicious. You can either buy them at an Asian grocery store, or you can -- you know -- fry 2 sliced shallots in a whole lot (1 cup) of peanut oil just until browned, then strain and set aside on a paper towel until ready to use.

1/4 cup soy sauce 1/4 cup sugar 1/4 cup water 1 tablespoon white vinegar 1 tablespoon Vietnamese chili-garlic sauce or sriracha 1 tablespoon fresh lime juice 1/4 cup olive or peanut oil 1 to 1 1/5 lbs. leeks (about 4), the thinner the better 1 2-lb. globe eggplant salt and pepper 1 1/2 cups loosely packed cilantro leaves, roughly chopped 1/4 cup chopped roasted peanuts 2 tablespoons fried shallots, optional

First, make the dressing: Combine soy sauce, sugar, water, vinegar, chili sauce, and lime juice in a jar. Seal and shake vigorously for about 60 seconds to help the sugar dissolve. Set aside, and shake from time to time as you proceed with the rest of the dish.

Heat the oven to 450 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat.

Next, roast the leeks:Trim the root ends of the leeks as minimally as possible, and cut off the dark green tops. Slice the leeks lengthwise in half, and rinse each half under running water to loosen and remove any grit between the layers. As you rinse them, take care to keep the leeks intact. Place them cut-side down on the lined baking sheet in a single layer. Drizzle 2 tablespoons olive oil over the leeks, then sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for 12 minutes, then carefully turn the leeks over using tongs or a spatula and roast for 12 minutes cut-side up. The leeks should be charred in spots and very soft. Transfer the leeks to a plate, cover with plastic wrap, and set aside to soften further.

Prep and roast the eggplant: Rinse the cutting board to rid any grit from the leeks. Trim stems off eggplant, and cut into half-inch slices. Cut each slice into half-inch strips, and cut these strips into 1/2-inch cubes. Distribute eggplant on lined pan in a single layer, drizzle with remaining 2 tablespoons oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and roast for about 20-25 minutes, turning pieces once, until soft and charred in spots.

Assemble salad: Transfer warm, softened leeks to the cutting board and chop into 1-inch pieces. Put eggplant and leeks into a shallow serving dish or bowl and use your fingers to incorporate gently. Sprinkle cilantro, peanuts, and shallots (if using) over vegetables, and drizzle half of dressing overtop. Taste and add more dressing as necessary. Serve immediately.

Perfect Chana Dal with Golden Raisins

Introducing a new occasional column, Indian Feast, where I'll slowly tackle staples of Indian cooking right here in my kitchen.

I recently received an email from a reader (hi, Deborah!) about curry. She said she'd been on a kick lately, and wanted to know if I had any recipes to share.

It's strange and wonderful when I get emails from you and realize we are on precisely the same page.  Over my years of cooking, I've managed to make Vietnamese pho, real phat Thai, 30-ingredient mole negro, and more. But Indian food -- the kind you eat in restaurants: silky, smooth, and generously spicy -- continues to elude me. But now, after a few fits and starts, I've been tearing through lentils and rice like no one's business, trying to finally find recipes and formulas that will bring my favorite Indian staples within reach at home. The more successful I am, the more recipes I'll be sharing. Wish me luck. Shall we begin?

We start with dal, because it's dal. It is the staple of Indian meals, and if I can't make that, well, I might as well just quit right now. But I can! I can. In the past couple of months, I've made two dal recipes that blow the rest out of the water. One is for a straight-up traditional dal makhani, still one of my favorite things to order at Indian restaurants. But the one I'm sharing today is made with chana dal, yellow split peas - and for those concerned with authenticity, avert your eyes: we're going modern.

chana dal

The recipe comes by way of Nicholas Day, who writes a wonderful column on Food52 called Dinner vs. Child. I don't have any kids, but I feel that I, ahem, share parents' struggle to get their kids to eat healthy food. I've been tuning into Nicholas' column, and this recipe has been in the regular rotation ever since he posted it. It's adapted from 660 curries, a book I don't know but think I might need. This curry is delightful. It is spicy (if you want it to be), sweet, smooth and creamy. Unlike so many dal dishes I've had, where all the flavors are muddled into a big slop, this one is clean and rich and fragrant, and every bite tastes slightly different. It's really, really good.

Incidentally, even D didn't hate it. I told you this recipe's a keeper.

As if you need one more excuse to make this, I didn't even tell you the best part, which is that this dal sort of comes with its own chutney. That's because of the prep method: dal cooked separately; tomatoes and cumin sauced into deliciousness; onions, raisins, and more, cooked and reduced into an ultra-flavorful sauce; sauce folded into dal before serving. Bottom line? All you need to enjoy this dish is a bowl and a spoon. Rice and raita or even plain yogurt are good additions, but they aren't essential.

chana dal 3

Yes, you can read this now and have homemade Indian food for dinner tonight.

And just to make sure you come back for chapter 2, I'll say it right now: I'm teaching you how to make really, really good dosa at home. Stay tuned.

Perfect Chana Dal with Golden RaisinsAdapted from Nicholas Day on Food52, who adapted it from 660 Curries

1 cup chana dal (yellow split peas) 1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric 3 tablespoons ghee or olive oil 2 medium-large red onions, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced 1/2 cup golden raisins (can substitute currants) 3 bay leaves 2 teaspoons cumin seeds 2-inch nub of ginger, minced or grated 2 large or 3 medium cloves garlic, minced 1 1/2 cups chopped tomato (can be canned) 3 serrano chiles, seeds and membrane removed, minced 1 1/2 teaspoons salt (unless using salted canned tomatoes, in which case use only 1 teaspoon and taste before adding it all) 1 teaspoon garam masala

Put split peas in a medium-large pot, and rinse in several changes of water until the water runs clear. Drain. Add three cups of water and turmeric, and bring to a boil. Skim foam, reduce the heat, and simmer the peas uncovered until cooked but still firm, about 25 minutes (longer if peas are old).

Add two cups water and simmer until tender, approximately 15 more minutes.

In the meantime, heat 2 tablespoons ghee or olive oil in a large pan set over high heat. Add onion, raisins, and bay leaves, and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onions look almost fried. Transfer to a bowl.

Heat 1 tablespoon ghee or olive oil in the same pan and turn heat to medium. Add cumin seeds and cook just until they sizzle, which will be almost immediately. Add ginger and garlic and cook for a minute, stirring.

Add tomato, chiles, salt, garam masala, and 1 cup water. Scrape all the good bits off the bottom of the pan.

When the peas are tender, add most of the tomato mixture to the peas and simmer, uncovered, for another 15 minutes or so, until the tastes meld. I like to reserve a good 1/4 cup of the tomato mixture to serve over the finished dish.

To serve, spoon dal into bowls and top with a bit of the tomato mixture and a spoonful of the onion-raisin mixture. Eat immediately.

Sicilian Caponata

Growing up, caponata was a thick, saucy affair. The eggplant was cooked until it almost fell apart, then melted into tomatoes, raisins, olives, and onions until it DID fall apart.  The result was a dip you could eat alone, but it was even better spread on crackers or sandwiches. I loved that caponata, and I still do.

In college, I encountered caponata anew. My boyfriend at the time had a chef for a dad. Alan was an expert at so many things: his challah recipe was the first one I tried, his salad of perfect Berkley tomatoes sticks with me, and his caponata was the best I'd ever had. Alan made two kinds of caponata. One was redder, with plenty of tomatoes and red wine vinegar. The other was lighter, probably with white wine vinegar and golden raisins.  I'm pretty sure Alan thought about bottling it at one time, and wisely so. Both were excellent.

Not that I'm a stickler for authenticity,  but I've come to learn that none of those caponatas was authentic. True Sicilian caponata is more like a cooked salad. Every component is discernible, cooked carefully so that the flavors are married but not muddled. Caponata, like so much of the best cooking in any region, is about the slow, deliberate layering of complementary flavors. It's a dish that requires time and patience. With eggplant at the height of their season, I made time last weekend to make it the traditional way.

eggplant chopped

Eggplant was diced, salted, drained, browned. Mise en place was prepared. Sweet time,  it was taken. Caponata wants to be coddled; the results make the coddling worthwhile.

caponata mise en place

What you get, after the salting and draining and browning and cooking and adding and heating and finishing, is not unlike a traditional ratatouille. It's a delicate, precise dish: you can see the cubes of eggplant, the strips of roasted pepper, and the olives (I cheated and used green olives stuffed with pimento, but cerignola would be even better). This is no vegetable mush. We're getting classy here, people.

caponata 2

caponata 4

Why classy? Well, if you can believe it, this little blog turned 5 last week. That's something to celebrate, now isn't it? Over apples and honey cake, I told you about how I want the pace around here to be less frenetic. Even in a weekend full of errands, work, and cooking for lots of people, I made time to coax eggplant into this caponata. While it cooked, we sat with a dear friend, drank her brother's homemade (award-winning!) beer, and laughed about all sorts of silliness. And you know what? The time alone felt like a celebration. Happy 5th birthday, NDP; here's to 5 more.

caponata 5

Sicilian Caponata From Nancy Harmon Jenkins' Cucina del Sole: A Celebration of Southern Italian Cooking, via Saveur

2 eggplants (about 2 lbs.), cut into 1⁄2" cubes Salt 10 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 large yellow onion, coarsely chopped 2 anchovy filet, chopped 3 ripe medium tomatoes (about 1 lb.), cored, peeled, and coarsely chopped 2 ribs celery, diced 1⁄4 cup red wine vinegar 2 tablespoons sugar 2 tablespoons tomato paste 2 tablespoons golden raisins 2 tablespoons pine nuts 2 tablespoons capers, rinsed 12 pitted green olives, such as cerignola, coarsely chopped 1 red bell pepper, roasted, peeled, cored, seeded, and thinly sliced Freshly ground black pepper 2 tablespoons coarsely chopped basil 2 tablespoons coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley

Put eggplant into a colander set over a large bowl; toss with 1 tbsp. salt. Top with a plate weighted down with several large cans; let drain for 1 hour. Rinse eggplant and pat dry with paper towels. Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add one-third of the eggplant and cook until golden brown, 7–8 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer eggplant to a bowl. Repeat with oil and remaining eggplant.

Reduce heat to medium-low and add remaining oil, onions, and anchovies; cook until soft, 14–15 minutes. Add tomatoes and celery and increase heat to medium; cook until tomatoes release their juices, 5–6 minutes.

Add vinegar, sugar, and tomato paste; cook until thickened, 3–4 minutes. Add cooked eggplant, raisins, pine nuts, capers, olives, roasted peppers, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook until hot. Transfer to a plate; let cool slightly. Top with basil and parsley. Serve at room temperature.

Caponata will keep in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.

Caramelized Garlic Frittata

Over years of hosting friends for Saturday lunch, frittata has become a staple of my lunch table. It's easy to prepare; it makes use of whatever of-the-moment ingredients you have in the fridge or on the counter; best of all, if you're preparing it in the Italian style, it's served at room temperature.

Unlike Tortilla Española, which stacks up nice and high, thanks to a hefty load of sliced potatoes inside - frittata is supposed to be thin. I've made it with tomatoes and feta; with kale, spinach, or other greens; with squash blossoms and/or zucchini; or with whatever else I have on hand. We're talking eggs, seasoning, and vegetables. It's pretty hard to screw up.

But a few weeks back, my in-laws were in town, so I went in search of something to make the frittata extra special. That's when I stumbled (literally - I almost knocked the whole thing over while reaching absentmindedly for flour) across a bowl of caramelized garlic, syrupy and soft and deeply browned, which - of course, you already know this - were the perfect addition to my frittata.

Backing up: I'd caramelized garlic to make Yotam Ottolenghi's caramelized garlic quiche. (I'm sorry, I've been hitting you over the head with Ottolenghi recipes - are you sick of him yet? Are you sick of me obsessing about him yet? Don't be; buy his book and you'll see why I can't stop.) But then I got sidetracked with mini lentil galettes and beet salad with walnut sauce and a really good blueberry tart, and that garlic quiche? It never happened. Kismet, I tell you.

caramelized garlic

Can I just spend a couple minutes telling you about this garlic? Because it is amazing. It's the kind of thing you make and then want to use in everything, on everything. Shmeared into hot sourdough bread, tucked around a block of feta and baked until sizzling, or - yes - sneaked into your mouth by the spoonful as you pretend to use it for an actual dish. It's fragrant with thyme, sweet from the sugar and balsamic vinegar. And it's as tender as if it had been braised. On paper, it sounds like the kind of special ingredient that makes everything better. In reality, it does just that.

caramelized garlic frittata ingredients

To echo the garlic's sweetness and give the frittata texture, I added some fresh corn. And because I really can't help myself, I added a few generous spoonfuls of fresh chevre. I wanted to add garlic scapes, but I couldn't get any, so I added a scallion instead. I may have also stirred in some basil. In retrospect, none of this was necessary. Corn, goat cheese, and garlic are all this frittata needs. The simpler, the better.

This frittata will take us right from summer into fall. When corn is gone, I'll make it with mushrooms. Or maybe I'll really make like an Italian and stick to eggs and that perfect, sweet garlic. Sounds like simple perfection to me.

Caramelized Garlic Frittata

1 head of garlic, separated and peeled 1 tablespoon olive oil 2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar 3/4 tablespoons sugar 2 teaspoons chopped thyme

8 eggs salt and pepper 5 ounces soft, creamy goat cheese Corn from 2 ears, uncooked zest of one lemon 1 tablespoon butter 1 tablespoon olive oil

Put the garlic cloves in a small pan and cover with half a cup of water. Bring to a simmer and blanch the garlic for 3 minutes, then drain well and dry the pan.

Return garlic cloves to the pan and add the olive oil.

Fry the garlic on high heat for 2 minutes, shaking the pan to fry each side of the cloves.  Add the balsamic vinegar and 1 cup of water and bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer gently for 10 minutes.

Raise the heat to medium. Add the sugar, thyme, and a pinch of salt and continue simmering for 10 minutes, or until most of the liquid has evaporated and the garlic is covered in a dark caramel syrup. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

In a medium mixing bowl, whisk the eggs with salt and pepper to taste until well combined. Fold in the lemon zest, corn, and bits of goat cheese.

Set a large saute pan over medium heat and add the butter and olive oil. When butter has fully melted, swirl the pan to coat the sides. Pour egg mixture into the pan, swirl to distribute evenly, and sprinkle the garlic cloves over the surface of the frittata. They should sink into the egg mixture almost immediately.

Transfer the pan to the oven and bake until frittata is set, about 8 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes before trying to remove the frittata from the pan; the hotter it is, the more easily it sticks.

Serve warm or at room temperature.