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.

Fresh Salmon Cakes with Ginger and Lime

We've been having some of the most beautiful days in DC these past couple of weeks. The air is crisp but not yet cool, and the sun seems happy to shine all day long. It looks like summer from my office window, but it's starting to feel like fall.

The weather's confused my compass a bit in the kitchen. tomatoes and -- believe it or not -- peaches are still at the market for the taking, but apples cropped up early this year, and now they're everywhere. Most confusing of all, as I passed through the lower part of the Dupont market a few Sundays ago, I saw unlikeliest of early fall produce: fresh ginger.

Ginger typically doesn't come into season until mid-October, but there it was, at the end of September, and it was gorgeous. I'd used up my stash from last fall months ago and craved more ever since. Was I going to hold back? No, no I wasn't.

The first thing I do with market ginger is make ginger ice cream. It's been that way every year. Fortunately, I bought enough to have extra after the ice cream was frozen and tucked away. So I flipped to a recipe I'd tabbed back when I breezed my way through The New York Times Essential Cookbook, for fresh salmon and lime cakes.

Rid the image of canned salmon and/or disgusting amounts of mayonnaise from your mind. Shudder; sigh. These are no ordinary salmon cakes. They contain fresh, diced salmon; very little binder; and --surprise! -- wasabi, ginger, and kaffir lime leaves. Dipping sauce: lime juice, soy sauce, brown sugar. No mayo whatsoever.

salmon cakes 2

These aren't burgers; they're cakes. Don't sandwich them inside a bun (unless it's one of those Asian steamed buns, which actually might be great with a shmear of hoisin and sriracha...whoa, what an idea!) But really, these don't belong in a kaiser roll. They belong on a plate, with a fork and knife -- the way the French might eat burgers, come to think of it.

salmon cakes 4

salmon cakes 5

Dicing the salmon will be time-intensive. If you have a meat grinder, lucky you. If you're in a rush, you can cut the salmon into large pieces, put them into a food processor, and pulse a few times very quickly until salmon is coarsely chopped. After that, the work is minimal. You can have dinner on the table in 15 minutes flat. Now that fall's arrived -- with school underway, jobs busy as ever, and all of those fall Jewish holidays here -- there's not much else I can ask for.

salmon cakes 6

Fresh Salmon Cakes with Ginger and LimeFrom The New York Times Essential Cookbook Recipe says it serves 4-6, but I'd say it's more like 2-3; I doubled recipe and served 4 with not too many leftover

*Note: kaffir lime leaves aren't the easiest to find. If we're being honest, I had to try 3 stores before finally getting some. Your best bet is an Asian grocer. That said, you definitely can make these with lime zest. Fret not.

One 1-pound skinless salmon fillet 1 large egg white, lightly beaten 3 tablespoons rice flour 2 kaffir lime leaves, chopped, or zest of one lime 1 tablespoon minced or grated fresh ginger 1 teaspoon wasabi paste 3 tablespoons chopped chervil or flat-leaf parsley

1/4 cup fresh lime juice (from about 2 limes) 1/4 cup soy sauce 2 tablespoons brown sugar

Oil for frying (something neutral, like corn, canola, or vegetable)

Run two fingers along the top of the salmon to check for any pin bones. They run the length of the flesh, right along the middle. To pull them out, either use tweezers or a small piece of paper towel between your fingers (which mitigates the slipperiness of the fish). Pull in the direcfaces of the bone; they should slide out.

Dice the salmon into 1/4-inch dice. In a medium bowl, combine salmon, egg white, rice flour, lime leaves, ginger, wasabi paste, and chervil or parsley. Stir until everything is evenly mixed.

In a small bowl, combine lime juice, soy sauce, and brown sugar. Set aside.

Set a piece of plastic wrap or parchment paper on a baking sheet. Scoop 2-tablespoon portions of the salmon mixture into your palms, roll into a ball, flatten into a cake, and set on the baking sheet. Continue until all salmon has been used.

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Put a baking sheet into the oven.

Heat 1/2 an inch of oil in a nonstick or castiron pan. When oil shimmers, add cakes, leaving at least 1 inch between them. Cook cakes for about 45 seconds on each side; do not overcook. When cakes have finished cooking, transfer them to the oven to stay warm while you cook the rest of the cakes.

Serve immediately, with lime dipping sauce on the side.

(If you'd like to make these in advance, don't preheat the oven; just transfer the cooked cakes to a plate, refrigerate, and warm through in a 200-degree oven before serving.)

Luisa Weiss' Sour Cherry Quarkauflauf

The other day, I spent too many hours at the office. It was dark when I left work, and by the time I got home, all thoughts of roasted eggplant tartines went out the window. I wanted something I could dig into with a spoon, that would be warm and soft and comforting. Strangely, I wanted something with sour cherries.

It was dark in the kitchen. I couldn't find my individual gratins. I'd misplaced my whisk, too. Not one to let minor issues deter me from cooking, I tucked a strip of foil 2/3 of the way into my smallest baking dish. I flexed my muscles and whisked egg whites by hand. I squinted my way through the recipe. Lo and behold, what emerged from the oven 45 minutes later was as fluffy and light as I'd hoped it would be, never mind all of my adjustments. It's called  Quarkauflauf, and it lives up to its name.

Quarkauflauf is from a new cookbook by Luisa Weiss. As I made my first Quarkauflauf, I pictured Luisa standing by my side, laughing at my makeshift gratin and my sore forearms, cheering me on. We've never met, Luisa and I, but I read her blog. I cook her food. In the kitchen, she's a friend.

Luisa's been blogging forever at The Wednesday Chef, which by god you must read. She shares recipes from newspaper dining sections, but the good ones, the ones you read about and immediately dog-ear. She also writes wonderfully. And now that she's got her very own book, there's even more writing, even more of her captivating story, all in one place. When Luisa sent me her a copy of My Berlin Kitchen, I picked it up and promptly stopped everything else I was doing for 48 hours.  This is one good story.

What's the story? It's a love story. (Of course.) Am I going to tell you any more? No. (Of course not.) But people, there are recipes. So many recipes. And if, like me, you were under the misguided impression that German recipes just weren't your thing, dare I say this is the book for you? It is.

my berlin kitchen

You will make Quarkauflauf, for starters. You don't even know what it is yet, but the name alone...you want to make it. And then, after you've tucked a spoon into the tart, fluffy, fresh-from-the-oven auflauf (and again the next morning, when its cold and custardy), you will make cloud-like gooseberry cream cake (what, you want the true name? Hannchen Jansen.) You'll make braised endives. And poppyseed whirligig buns. See why you need this book? Now?

Reading Luisa's blog, I always knew we'd be friends in the kitchen. Now that I've read her book, I'm even more sure. We both like vinegary, pickled things; we both despise mayo. I beheld a friend's roasted goose, three days in the making, with the same awe Luisa experienced when she roasted one herself. And no matter how spicy I take my food, I get inexplicably paranoid when cooking hot stuff for others. (See: Luisa's meatballs in chipotle-tomato sauce.) Even if you don't read The Wednesday Chef (but you should...), you will befriend Luisa through My Berlin Kitchen. And you'll start to forgive yourself the little things, like the slumping, dribbling cake you woefully underbaked, or the cream you whipped by hand that lacks any semblance of a soft peak. This is cooking: trial, error, lesson. This is life, too. If risks and mistakes always taste as good as my sour cherry Quarkauflauf, count me in.

Sour Cherry QuarkauflaufAdapted ever so slightly fromMy Berlin Kitchen

I originally wanted to make this in individual gratins, but I couldn't find them. That said, I think this would be lovely in individual portions. Also, now that it's fall and sour cherries are a distant memory, I bet you could swap cranberries that have been tossed with a healthy portion of sugar. They'd go great with the cinnamon, too. That said, I haven't tested it that way, so if you do, let us know in the comments.

Also, a note about quark: it's fantastic, but not easy to find. One farmer at the Dupont market sells it, and I think Vermont Butter Co. does too. If you can't find it, super-fresh chevre would work well.

Last note: 8x11 baking dishes are hard to find in the US. The closest analogue would be a 10-inch round dish, whose area is slightly less. This means the Auflauf will be slightly taller, but since when is a towering souffle-custard a bad thing? That's what I've recommended here.

Butter for the baking dish 3 eggs, separated 1/2 cup sugar, plus a few tablespoons for the cranberries, if using 1 pound Quark zest of 1 lemon 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/4 cup farina (semolina will work in a pinch, but it has more gluten than farina and will thus be less creamy; don't use instant Cream of Wheat) 2 cups pitted sour cherries (fresh or preserved/drained) or cranberries, pinch salt

Heat the oven to 375 degrees and butter an 8x11 baking dish or a 10-inch round pan. The pan should be at least 2 1/2 inches deep.

In a large bowl, beat the egg yolks and sugar until pale and frothy. Beat in the quark, zest, baking powder, cinnamon, and farina until smooth and creamy. Fold in the sour cherries.

Beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt in a clean bowl until the whites form medium-stiff peaks. Use a spatula to fold half the whites into the quark mixture to lighten it; then fold in the remaining whites just until no white streaks remain; do not overmix.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 30 minutes, until the Auflauf has just set (Luisa says it should be starting to brown, but mine was still quite pale.) Don't fret the cracks, for there will be some. Just remove it from the oven, and serve to hungry people.

As Luisa says, the Auflauf will be a whole different kind of delicious right out of the fridge tomorrow morning. Do save a bite for that.