Cashew Cream with Coconut, Mango, and Lime

Back when I first moved to DC, I joined a book group that was more wine and gossip than it was book discussions. It eventually disbanded, and since then, I've listened with eager wistfulness as others describe their book group meetings. People talk of long, wine-fueled discussions about Camus and Jane Austen. A friend of our flies into DC every quarter to meet up with some old Oxford buddies and read sections of Plato's Republic. (I am not kidding.) And  just last week, the director of a non-profit of which I'm a board member was telling me that his book group hosts dramatic play readings. I'm missing out!

But the time I was most jealous of a book group was when my friend Rachel told me that at her last meeting, they served this for dessert: a big platter of cashew-scented mousse, topped with fresh figs and gratings of chocolate. (I think they may have swapped in strawberries.) I'm sorry, is it not painfully obvious that I am dying to be in a book club, for, you know, the book discussions and the food?? In other news: if anyone else is bookclubless and wants to start one up, give a shout. I'm on the market.

Back at home, I decided that if I can't have the book club, at least I can have the cashew cream. So can you.

This sounds like a bit of an out-there recipe, I know. But you'll have to trust me that it's easier than it sounds. Equally important: it is amazing.

To answer your questions in order:

It doesn't sound easy. Oh, but it is. There's no cooking or baking involved, you need only one appliance, and you can make it well in advance.

What on earth is cashew cream? It's a mousse that's made from soaked ground cashews. It's light and creamy and best of all, it's vegan (unless you don't want it to be). But still really delicious, says this butter lover.

I don't have coconut/mango/lime in the house. No problem! Cashew cream goes really well with lots of things. You can top it with fresh strawberries or raspberries and grated dark chocolate. Or try blueberries and a drizzle of maple syrup. It's a bit of a blank slate, ready to play in the sandbox with whatever toppings you have on hand. The "summer means unfussy" mantra continues.

Now, the question I have for you: do you think cashew cream would be good as a component to a savory dish? I'm thinking yes, but I haven't yet had the courage to try it out.

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When the weather is hot and sticky and you can't imagine even breezing past that oven, cashew cream has you covered. I figure if I bring this to the Plato book club, they'll never be able to turn me away.

Cashew Cream with Coconut, Mango, and LimeAdapted from The Kitchn's recipe Serves 4-6

1 1/2 cups raw, unsalted cashews scant one cup water or milk 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/4 teaspoon salt scant 1/3 cup sugar or honey 1 heaping tablespoon of coconut oil or olive oil 2 mangos, peeled and cut into slices 1/3 cup unsweetened, large coconut shreds, lightly toasted (I really like the Trader Joe's coconut chips for this - no need to toast them) zest of one lime big shavings of white chocolate, optional

Put cashews in a large bowl, cover with water, and soak for 6 hours or overnight. Strain the soaked cashews, and put them in a blender or food processor with the scant cup water or milk, vanilla, salt, sugar or honey, and oil. Blend for about 2 minutes at high speed, until completely smooth. Don't shortchange the blending process; you want the cashew cream to be smooth and silky, without any coarse bits left. Taste and add more sugar or salt as needed.

To serve, spread cashew cream onto the base of a pretty platter or bowl. Arrange the fruit and coconut chips on top of the cashew cream, and finish with chocolate shavings and lime zest. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

Zucchini with Basil, Pine Nuts, and Croutons

Well, London may have the edge when it comes to strawberries, but DC is just bursting with amazing fruits and vegetables this time of year. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say that eating that summer produce is way, way more fun when your A/C works. Because since May, ours hasn't. And now it does. And cold air, it is wonderful. (In other news: if you've come over to our house in the last couple months and been inexplicably hot, sorry about that.)

Now that we're no longer hot from the moment we wake up in the morning, I can bear a trip down to the Sunday market. This past Sunday, I picked up some bright red, plump sour cherries, two pounds of rhubarb (for recipes I'll be telling you about soon), and some lovely baby zucchini.

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Baby zucchini is so, so pretty, no? All those different shapes and sizes? The little skinny sticks and the bigger, round patty pans? How can you not love them?

And yet, as is the case every year, I bring home a basket of those zucchini, and they sit. In the fridge. For days. Because people, I don't ever know what to do with them. They don't taste different than big zucchini, they just look different. So I feel like I have to leave them whole to preserve their cuteness. Otherwise, why not just buy the regular ones?

A couple years ago, I got hooked on this recipe for zucchini and snap peas dressed very simply with sesame oil. But not all baby zucchini can be left whole. At some point, you gotta cut the things up. Fortunately for me (and you), I've come up with a dish of zucchini sliced small enough that it can be eaten in a civilized fashion without your guests totally missing the fact that you sprang for the little guys.

The dish is inspired by something far more fussy from the legendary Dan Barber, a dish made with, yes, zucchini bread croutons. If you happen to have leftover zucchini bread lying around, this is a great way to put it to use. For the rest of us, say it with me now: summer is unfussy. Then go laugh at the fact that Oprah says this recipe takes 10 minutes. Really? Ba-ha.

Where were we? Yes. You're slicing baby zucs, getting 'em nice and browned, and tossing them with some basil oil, some toasted pine nuts, and some croutons. Simple? Simple.

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If you don't feel like making croutons, simply toast a couple pieces of bread, smear their toasted tops with some ricotta or goat cheese, and pile the zucchini on top. You can also top this with shards of a harder cheese, like parmesan or pecorino. Even a harder goat cheese would work well.

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While we're on the topic of do-what-you-want, if you -- like my beloved -- hate pine nuts (I know, how could she??), swap in almonds, hazelnuts, or no nuts whatsoever. If you don't love basil (again with D...crazy), try dill or mint. And if you don't feel like buying the baby zucs, big ones work just fine. I'm on a mission to make summer recipes flexible and un-fus-sy. I will prevail. And then we'll all not fuss one bit, and eat delicious summer food, and be very happy.

Zucchini with Basil, Pine Nuts, and Croutons Inspired by a recipe from Dan Barber serves 2-3 as a side dish or appetizer

1 pound small zucchini (about 5), trimmed and cut on the bias into 1" slices 4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, separated 1/2 teaspoon flaky salt 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper juice of half a lemon 1/4 cup basil chiffonade 1/4 cup pine nuts 1 cup torn croutons (I like sourdough, but any bread will work) 7 or 8 big shards of a salty, hard cheese like parmesan or pecorino (optional)  

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and spread pine nuts onto a baking sheet in a single layer. Toast pine nuts until evenly golden, about 7 minutes. Set aside.

Add 2 tablespoons olive oil to a large heavy pan (I like cast iron) and set it over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add zucchini slices in a single layer. Season with salt and pepper, then let cook undisturbed for 3-5  minutes, until undersides are shiny and golden-brown. Patience is the virtue here; if you move the zucchini around too much, it will steam and not brown properly.

Flip browned slices onto their second side and cook for 3-5 minutes more. Meanwhile, transfer chiffonade basil (or other herb) to a small mixing bowl, and as the zucchini slices finish cooking, add them to the bowl and stir to wilt the basil. Add any oil that remains in the pan into the bowl, to help the basil wilt and emit its flavor.

Add the remaining olive oil to the same pan, heat on medium, and when it shimmers, add the croutons. Season with salt and pepper, and again, leave undisturbed for about 3 minutes until undersides are golden. Flip to get as many sides of each crouton as possible crisped and slicked with the oil. When croutons are golden and toasty, Remove to a plate.

To serve, arrange zucchini and basil, pine nuts, croutons, and cheese (if using) on a flat platter. Squeeze the lemon overtop and serve warm or at room temperature.

Summer Berry Eton Mess

We're fresh off the plane from London and I have so much to tell you that I honestly cannot figure out where it all begins. Do I start high, with pictures and bits from our unbelievably delicious meal at Nopi? Do I tell you about the day I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Indian restaurants? There's so much to discuss. I already feel like we need more time.

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Let me first say this: I didn't expect to love London. For all the claims that it's better than New York - you know I love New York - I was sure my heart would stay with Manhattan, even after crossing the pond. London, I had been told, was rainy and cold. It was expensive. And more than a few friends warned me that the food wasn't worth much excitement.

But people, I loved London. Of course I loved the accents - so civilized! so grand! - and the dress - much more refined than our stateside attire, I'm afraid - but I really, really adored the food.

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British food used to mean fish'n'chips and beer. For the record, we ate plenty of those. But we also found our way to the mecca that is Borough Market, where hipster-clad folks pull fantastic espresso, sell homemade charcuterie, and serve up the best plate of raclette I've ever seen.

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I expected a rather staid attitude toward food in London, but I encountered quite the opposite. In fact, roaming through Marylebone on the weekend, I passed by a folding table on which a farmer from Kent and his son had set up a pop-up shop selling what were, simply put, the best strawberries and the best cream I've ever eaten.

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And then, of course, there were the more expected pleasures. In planning our trip across the pond, I focused on two food groups. One was Indian food. Everyone says London has the best, and I planned to put that claim to the test. I made sure that plenty of dosas, curries, and chaat were on the week's agenda.

If I'm being completely honest, the curry houses I unearthed - via a quite comprehensive online search and a lot of asking - were good, but not the best. We had some really good samosa, great bhel puri, and memorable aloo gobi. But the baingan bartha, saag paneer, and dosa left something to be desired. If folks have better recommendations -- because yes, there will be a next time -- please do leave a comment below.

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So what was the other major food group? That would be Ottolenghi. Yes, the Ottolenghi food group. Not familiar with that one? A quick search on this site reveals nearly 10 recipes from his collection of wonderful cookbooks, and I'm sure there are more lurking around. Between Plenty, Jerusalem, and the original Ottolenghi, I've cooked dozens of his recipes, and I'm a more skilled and creative cook as a result. So the chance to try some of his five locations across London wasn't something I could pass up. We went to two of his restaurants, and quite frankly, we were blown away. Ottolenghi is famous for his salads, which sit high and mighty on a long table, ready to dish up at lunch or dinner. They are as glorious as the ones in his books, and eating them prepared by an expert is a truly memorable experience. And as for Nopi, his newest location and more of a fancy, sit-down situation, we spent most of the meal with our mouths agape at the exquisite surroundings, the incredible continuity of the room and each little detail contained within. The food was also amazing. You have to go.

One of the most memorable bits I ate at Nopi was dessert. Can we briefly establish that picking a best was very hard? The asparagus and samphire salad was unbelievable and in just a few days back at home, I've already tried to replicate it twice. But the dessert was a pitch-perfect Eton mess, and I've been dreaming about it ever since. And now, you can make it at home.

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Eton mess is a traditional British dessert, and everything in it is something you probably love: strawberries, meringue, and clouds of whipped cream. For Eton mess, these three wonderful things are piled unceremoniously into a large glass, where they mix and mingle into a dessert far greater than the sum of its parts. Tuck in with a spoon and get a bit of each, further blurring the lines between components with each spoonful until by the end, you've got a vaguely pink mash of sweet, crunchy, creamy goodness. It's perfect, unfussy food for summer.

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At Nopi the night we were there, I ordered the rhubarb Eton mess, which had bits of silky cooked rhubarb and other bits that were macerated, but nearly raw. I loved that combination of soft and crunchy. Traditional Eton mess is made with strawberries, which are mostly over for the year. I still had one small box of strawberries left, so I added them to a pile of raspberries, and the combination was perfect. If you have rhubarb, I offer instructions below for using it. Otherwise, I bet cherries would be lovely. Any summer berry will work well here.

Happy July, folks. Stay cool.

Summer Berry Eton MessAdapted from recipes by April Bloomfield, yet another Brit worth celebrating Serves 4

I spent an afternoon making cheese with Cathy last month, and she convinced me that I made a mistake not buying Bloomfield's new book, A Girl and Her Pig. When I borrowed it from the library, it seemed like too many of the recipes contained pork, which I don't use in my kitchen. (The title may have suggested as much, too.) In any event, Cathy is right about most things and this was no exception. She lent me her copy, and I've been cooking from it ever since. (Cathy, it's coming back to you soon - promise!)

Bloomfield has a way with peculiar, particular instructions. For her Eton mess, she has you macerate strawberries in almost a dozen ingredients before adding them to the mix. I winnowed down her list for simplicity because it's summer in DC, not summer in London. It's too hot to fuss. The result, though, is no less splendid. This is a dessert that will evoke wide, teeth-baring grins from anyone who eats it. Sorry for the cliche, but it's a party in your mouth.

One more thing: if you don't want to make your own meringue, you'll lose that crispy-chewy thing, but you'll save a hell of a lot of time. No judgment here.

For the meringue: 3 egg whites, carefully (perfectly!) separated from their yolks 1/2 cup sugar zest of 1/2 a lemon

For the berries: 2 pints berries of any sort (I like a mixture of raspberries and strawberries) zest of 1/2 a lemon 2 tablespoons lemon juice 2 tablespoons sugar 2 grinds of the pepper mill

(If using rhubarb, mix a pound of rhubarb with 1/4 cup sugar and 2 tablespoons water and put into a baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes, until the rhubarb has softened but not lost its shape. Cool completely.)

For the mess: 1 cup heavy cream 1 teaspoon sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla or the seeds from 1 vanilla bean

Make the meringues:Preheat the oven to 225 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat.

Beat the egg whites and sugar in a clean large stainless steel bowl or a stand mixer until the mixture holds very stiff, shiny peaks, 4 to 5 minutes. Gently fold in the lemon zest. 

Spoon the mixture into 6 equal mounds on the lined baking sheet. Bake the meringue until it’s dry and crunchy on the outside but still soft and chewy inside, about 1 1/2 hours. Let it cool, preferably in the oven turned off but also fine on the counter.

Macerate the berries: Combine all the ingredients in a large bowl, stir gently to combine, cover with plastic wrap, and let sit on the counter while the meringues cook, stirring every so often to encourage juices to seep out.

Assemble the mess: Whip the cream, vanilla, and sugar together until the cream holds semi-stiff peaks. Crumble the meringues into a large mixing bowl; you should have a combination of small crumbles, medium pieces, and large chunks. Add the whipped cream and stir gently just until the meringue pieces are coated. Add about three-quarters of the berries (or rhubarb) and their liquid and stir very gently just until the berries are well distributed but you still see streaks of red in the white cream.

Carefully scoop the mixture into bowls, scatter the remaining berries on top, and drizzle on the rest of the liquid. Serve straight away.

Double-Decker Strawberry Summer Cake

I fear that strawberry season may already be drawing to a close where many of you are. Ours are bursting-juicy and red, but my CSA folks warned me last week that we've got one more week of strawbs at best. What I'm saying is, NOW is the time to make this cake.

Let me stack another good reason on top of that one: very soon, turning on your ovens will stop being fun. That time has come for us, and I'm really quite glad about the extra cake I've got tucked away in the freezer, waiting to be some awesome people's dessert.

Did I say extra cake? I did. That's the other, other best part about this recipe: it makes 2 cakes, but you only need 1 at a time. To serve, you slice one of the cakes in half, pile some damn good fillings inside and on top, and voila: a double-deckered dessert made from just one cake. Use one, store the other in the freezer for up to six months. Ina says so, and she knows everything.

That's Ina Garten, domestic goddess and cake wizard. She's outdone herself with this one, an ode to everything that's perfect early in the summer: vanilla-scented cake, soaked with the syrup from fresh, perfect strawberries, topped with whipped cream that can still hold a peak. (In August, not so much. Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Ina plops plain raw strawberries on this one, but I like to macerate mine in some sugar beforehand. That way, they release some of that beautiful juice, which I spoon onto each serving. This is a cake to behold. Eat it on the porch, with very good friends and perhaps a glass of chilled sauternes. Bask in the glory of summer.

Here, I saved you a slice.

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Double-Decker Strawberry Summer Cakeadapted from Ina Garten's book, Barefoot Contessa Parties

Notes: As I explained above, this recipe makes two cakes, but each makes its own dessert. One cake easily serves eight people, so most of us will save the second cake for another time. If you do, double-wrap it and store it in the fridge for up to six months (or more likely, a hot hot summer day when the last thing you want to do is turn on the oven).

If you don't have strawberries, feel free to substitute raspberries, cherries, blueberries, or a mixture.

Lastly, remember that this is a summer cake, meant to be eaten and enjoyed without too much fuss. If you can't wait for the butter and eggs and sour cream to be perfectly at room temperature, don't sweat it.

For the cake: 12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature 2 cups sugar 4 eggs, at room temperature 3/4 cup sour cream, at room temperature 1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 2 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 cup cornstarch 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 1 teaspoon baking soda

To serve:: 1 pound very good strawberries, washed, hulled, and sliced 3/4 pint (1 1/2 cups) heavy cream 6 tablespoons sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla

Macerate the strawberries: Combine the strawberries and 4 tablespoons (1/4 cup) of the sugar in a medium mixing bowl. Stir to incorporate, then set aside (at room temperature) while you make the cake.

Make the cakes: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Butter the bottom of two 8-inch cake pans. Then line them with parchment paper and butter and flour the lined pans.

Cream the butter and sugar on high speed in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment until light and fluffy. On medium speed, add the eggs, 1 at a time, then the sour cream, zest, and vanilla, scraping down the bowl as needed. Mix well. Sift together the flour, cornstarch, salt, and baking soda. On low speed, slowly add the flour mixture to the butter mixture and mix just until combined.

Divide the batter evenly between the pans, smooth the tops with a spatula, and bake in the center of the oven for 40 to 45 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cool in the pans for 30 minutes, then remove to wire racks and let cool to room temperature. Wrap one cake in two layers of plastic and/or tin foil, and freeze for up to 6 months.

To serve the cakes: To make filling for one cake, whip the cream, 2 tablespoons sugar, and vanilla in a mixer fitted with the whisk attachment until the cream holds soft peaks. Slice one cake in half with a long, sharp knife. Place the bottom slice of the cake on a serving platter, spread with 1/2 the whipped cream and scatter with half of the macerated strawberries. Cover with the top slice of the cake and spread with the remaining cream. Decorate with the rest of the strawberries. Serve with some of the macerating liquid drizzled over each slice.