Winter Salad with Pears and Manchego, My Catering Debut

Catering? Moi? Uh, NO. Not exactly. I'm flighty, forgetful, and a host of other wonderful things that don't mix with catering. And yet, today, my mom and I cooked and served brunch to a party of 8 at their home. The brunch was an item that my mom had offered in a silent auction at work; I'm a sucker for all things food-related, so when mom enlisted my help, I happily agreed.

Can I tell you how utterly shocked I am that brunch today went PERFECTLY? I mean, without a hitch. Not a single issue. Nothing forgotten, undercooked, overcooked, gross-tasting; everything plated on time, ready to go, delicious. I'm in awe of my beginner's luck. In awe, I tell you.

To be fair, we really lucked out. The couple that won our item has a beautiful and spacious house with a tricked out kitchen that's about the size of my whole apartment building. Mom and I hardly noticed each other in the kitchen, there was so much room. And we're used to working together in the house I grew up in, which has an itsy bitsy kitchen; we're the only two people who can happily coexist in that kitchen.

Also, the hosts had two ovens with pure-convection settings, so our finished dishes could be held at 135 degrees until they were ready to eat. That was very, very helpful. And on top of the space and equipment, the hosts and their guests were very chill, making the whole experience relaxed and enjoyable for the cooks as well.

In our post-mortem session during the drive home, mom and I agreed on the elements that were key to our success. First, in menu-planning, I made sure that the dishes were manageable given our timeframe. Specifically, each dish required either time to cook or time to plate, but not both. Second, when selecting recipes, I kept an eye out for things that people tend to like, even if I myself don't care for them. Best example was the french toast we made, which was stuffed with a cream cheese and apricot mixture. I don't much care for creamy things like that, but people swooned over it. Recipe to come in a later post, I promise.

Even with the caveats, I'm totally impressed that we made it work. And by made it work, I mean kicked its butt, hit it out of the park. We kinda rocked today! As you can tell, I'm really proud of our success. So proud, in fact, that when the guests asked if I was up for hire, I didn't hesitate to say "YES."

Don't worry, I'm not quitting my day job -- but I would totally, totally do this again. For money. And truthfully, considering the actual cost of brunch (inexpensive) and the relative bang for buck (diners thought it was fancy and delicious), I think I could make it worth my while. We'll see.

But all that's just prologue to today's recipe, a salad that will convert even the most adamant leaf-haters. It's dead-easy to make, and friendly to december's ever-dwindling supply of nice salad veggies. Best of all, it's freakin' delicious. Pics are from today's catered affair, with more pics and recipes to follow as I gather steam.

Hope you all had a lovely weekend!

Winter Salad with Pears and Manchego adapted from Epicurious

1/3 cup green (hulled) pumpkin seeds (pepitas; not toasted) 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon olive oil, divided 3 tablespoons Sherry vinegar (I used champagne vinegar) 1 teaspoon mild honey 1 teaspoon grainy mustard 8 cups packed salad greens, such as radish greens, spinach, watercress, and arugula, tough stems discarded 1 (1/2-pound) piece Manchego cheese, rind removed and cheese shaved into thin slices (preferably with a cheese plane) -- please don't measure greens. it's ridiculous. just use a package or two. 2 small red or yellow Bartlett pears, sliced thinly

preparation

Cook seeds in 1 tablespoon oil in a small heavy skillet over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until puffed and beginning to brown, about 4 minutes. Transfer with a slotted spoon to paper towels and reserve oil. Season seeds with salt and pepper.

Whisk together vinegar, honey, mustard, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper. Add remaining 1/3 cup olive oil and reserved oil from skillet in a slow stream, whisking until emulsified.

Toss greens, half of cheese, and pear slices with dressing. Divide among salad plates. Top with remaining cheese, and sprinkle with seeds.

Cooks' notes · Pumpkin seeds can be toasted 2 days ahead and kept separately from oil, covered, at room temperature. · Greens can be washed and dried 1 day ahead and chilled, wrapped in paper towels, in a sealed bag.

Cinnamon Palmiers (and cheat puff pastry)

File this under "things I've always wanted to make but thought I needed an excuse." Not that they're actually so hard, but let's face it -- nothing is easier than simple chocolate chip cookies, or my go-to dessert of late, chocolate pudding. It's just that the recipe is very specific, and one must strictly adhere to it, or else the resulting cookie will be dense and tough. But follow the instructions, and your afternoon tea date will thank you. These cookies are the height of elegance, with their flaky texture and caramelized-sugar crust. They're just the right amount sweet, and very crispy. They might be small and light, but I dare you to eat just one.

As you know, I'm always on the lookout for excuses to tackle culinary challenges. Bryce's PhD soiree gave me one such excuse, so thank you, Dr. J!

On another note, looking at the recipe just now, I realized that it essentially calls for an easy puff-pastry dough layered with cinnamon sugar. Now I've never made my own puff pastry, but I think this is a very user-friendly way to fake it -- so I'll be filing this under techniques; the next time I need puff pastry, I may just make this dough.

One word of caution: do NOT pull a Rivka and start an episode of Barefoot Contessa while your palmiers blacken in the oven, because they don't waste any time. The recipe says to bake for 7-9 minutes, flip, and bake 3-5 more minutes. I baked them for 7 and 4, and they came out black. The second roung, I did 7 and 3, and they were perfect: as you can see, there's a fine line between caramelized and burnt. Beware!

Last thing -- hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving! I'll be off until next week, as I'm traveling for the holiday, but I promise to post some healthy recipes to detox from T-day excess when I return.

Cinnamon Palmiers from Epicurious

* 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour * 1 teaspoon salt * 1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, frozen * 5 to 6 tablespoons ice water * 1 cup sugar * 2 teaspoons cinnamon

Stir together flour and salt in a chilled large metal bowl. Coarsely grate frozen butter into flour, gently tossing to coat butter.

Drizzle 5 tablespoons ice water evenly over flour mixture and gently stir with a fork until incorporated. Test mixture by gently squeezing a small handful: When dough has the proper texture, it will hold together without crumbling apart. If necessary, add another tablespoon water, stirring until just incorporated, and test again. (Do not overwork dough or add too much water, or pastry will be tough; dough will be lumpy and streaky.)

Form dough into a 5-inch square, then chill, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, at least 30 minutes.

Roll out dough on a floured surface with a floured rolling pin into a 15- by 8-inch rectangle (with a short side nearest you). Brush off excess flour and fold dough into thirds like a letter. Rewrap dough and chill until firm, at least 30 minutes.

Arrange dough with a short side nearest you on a floured surface and repeat rolling out, folding, and chilling 2 more times. Brush off any excess flour, then halve dough crosswise with a sharp knife and chill, wrapped separately in plastic wrap, at least 1 hour.

Stir together sugar and cinnamon, then generously sprinkle a clean work surface with some of cinnamon sugar and place 1 piece of chilled dough on top. Quickly roll out into a 16- by 12-inch rectangle (1/8 to 1/16 inch thick; if dough becomes too soft, chill on a baking sheet until firm). Trim edges with a sharp knife. Sprinkle top of dough evenly with some cinnamon sugar to cover completely, brushing off any excess. Fold 2 opposite long sides of pastry so they meet in center. Fold in same sides of pastry in same manner, then fold one half over the other (like a book) and press gently with a rolling pin to flatten slightly, forming a long rectangular log. Sprinkle with additional cinnamon sugar if dough is sticky.

Chill on a baking sheet, uncovered, until firm, at least 30 minutes and up to 2 hours. Meanwhile, repeat with remaining piece of dough and cinnamon sugar.

Preheat oven to 425°F with rack in middle. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper.

Cut 1 log of dough crosswise into 1/4-inch-thick slices with a sharp knife and arrange slices, cut sides down, 1 1/2 inches apart on baking sheet. Bake until puffed and golden around edges, 7 to 9 minutes. Remove from oven and turn palmiers over with a spatula. (If palmiers begin to unroll, gently press to reshape when cooled slightly.) Continue baking until golden all over and sugar is caramelized, 3 to 5 minutes more. Transfer as done (palmiers may not bake evenly) to a rack and cool. Make more cookies on cooled baking sheet lined with fresh parchment.

Dough, without cinnamon sugar, can be chilled, wrapped well, up to 2 days or frozen up to 1 month (thaw in refrigerator).

Cookies keep in an airtight container at room temperature 4 days.

If desired, palmiers can be recrisped in a 300°F oven until heated through, about 5 minutes.

What I did with my very last tomato

Yes, folks, it's true: tomato season has come to a close. Back when I made this, in October, I wasn't walking, it seemed pretty unlikely that I'd make it back to the farmers market to catch one last round of tomato madness, so I figured it was safe to assume that the tomato I ate that night was my last for the season. I'm a card-carrying member of the tomato lovers' cult, so that's not an easy thing to admit -- but, like an old fling whose time has come to an end, I think I can walk away from this one with no regrets.

Running with that analogy for a minute: you'd like to think your last time with the fling would be the best there was to have, the best there ever would have been. But that's never the case, is it? Usually the last time is just....fine. Such was the case with my last tomato. It wasn't one of those specimens that could have been framed. No shiny, taut, glossy skin and jewel-like innards. Had it been perfect, I'd have eaten it raw, simply sliced with olive oil and fleur de sel. But I was already smack-dab in the middle of fall, and my tomato wasn't so perfect. However, it was jam-packed with flavor, that I can assure you. So I prepared that last tomato in a dish that quickly became a standby this summer -- a dish that's perfect for celebrating tomatoes' flavor even when their texture is somewhat imperfect. What's that, you ask?

Quick-sauteed tomatoes with feta and anaheim chilies. So few steps, so many flavors. It's one of those dishes where the right ingredients, the right cooking method and time, and the right appetite just work. It really is such an easy dish to throw together; while I generally make it for one, it is easily be sized up to feed a crowd. And while I often find myself eating it straight out of a bowl (and drinking the soupy sauce at the end, slurps and all), this quick-stew would be lovely (and a bit fancier) served over a slice of toasted baguette, perhaps rubbed with garlic. Already, I'm wishing I had a few more bites on hand!

If you've got one more tomato -- or, perhaps, one tomato that's not as shiny and perfect as all the others -- don't hesitate; make this dish. I promise, you'll look back on that last tomato with fond memories, and not one ounce of regret.

Sauteed tomatoes with feta and anaheim chilies serves 1

1 large tomato, needn't be perfect; I used beefsteak 1 anaheim chili 1 sprig cilantro, optional a couple big chunks feta cheese, high quality and not low-fat salt and pepper

Roast the chili over an open flame. I use my gas stove. Roast until the skin is blistered all over. Either using a damp paper towel or under running water, remove the charred skin until only the flesh remains. To reduce the pepper's heat, remove the seeds and fibrous membrane threads as well. Slice pepper into rings.

Slice tomato into 8 wedges, and slice each wedge in half. In small saute pan, place tomato, pepper, and 1 Tbsp of olive oil. Saute for 3 or so minutes over medium heat, until tomatoes begin to emit their juices. Toss a few times to incorporate. Add chunks of feta cheese, give the whole thing one quick stir to break up the feta a bit, turn off the heat, and eat immediately. Done correctly, the stew will make a delightful spicy feta-tomato broth at the bottom of the bowl, which is absolutely perfect for slurping. I usually lick the bottom of my bowl without shame.

Thanksgiving confession and pep-talk

Confession: I'm going to Detroit this year with D and fam, and will not be cooking any T-day fare as I did last year. Sorry to desert!

Pep-talk: I would be remiss to leave you empty-handed as you tackle your Turkey, tofurky, and other accoutrement. With that in mind, I've written a page of vegetarian recipes that I deem Tday-worthy. Are they particularly traditional? No, not necessarily -- but they're pretty darn tasty. If you're bored of the same old turkey-stuffing-mashed spuds triumvirate, click over to this page for fresh inspiration. Hey -- even if you're not cooking T-day dinner, this page offers some pretty good suggestions for everyday eats. Click away!