Spicy Creamed Feta Spread

Earlier this summer, we met up with a couple friends and their kids at Right Proper, a not-so-new brewery in Shaw. They've got a great selection of beers brewed onsite, plenty of high chairs, and a passable food menu. Still, it's a perfect spot for Sunday with little ones, whose grabbing and clapping are rivaled, if not bested, by the laughter and occasional shouts from beer-drinkin' grown-ups.

Strangely, the best thing on the table wasn't beer: it was a spicy feta spread, which was eaten -- okay, the plate licked clean -- before our second round of beers had even been ordered. We briefly contemplated ordering a second round of feta spread, too, but we had burgers and grilled cheeses and fried pickles to get through, so we held back. Silly us.

The next weekend, as we sat around contemplating another afternoon of beers and $10 feta spread, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I had half a block of the Whole Foods brand feta in the fridge, which is both good and cheap. To make the spread, I broke up the feta and dribbled some cream into the bowl, mashing the mixture with a fork until smooth. I stirred in a bit more cream, then finished things off with a couple spoonfuls of the homemade apricot-habanero hot sauce that I don't use nearly often enough.

The spread became a staple nearly immediately. I've had it on tomato sandwiches, on avocado toast, layered with smoky eggplant, under fried squash blossoms, in omelettes, and on its own with toasted pita chips, should I keep going? I have even served the spread on slices of baguette alongside a pile of dressed greens and called it dinner, and no one complained. Now you can skip the $10 restaurant version, too.

Spicy Creamed Feta Spread
inspired by an appetizer at Right Proper Brewery

5 oz. feta cheese
1/4 cup milk or cream
Sriracha, Cholula, or another hot sauce

Crumble feta in a medium bowl and mash with a fork until no chunks remain. Drizzle in milk/cream one tablespoon at a time, mashing and stirring as you go, until feta is smooth and creamy. You'll need less milk if aiming for a stiff spread, and more if you want the consistency of a dip.

Add chile sauce a couple teaspoons at a time, stirring to incorporate and tasting as you go, until spread has reached your ideal spice level.

To serve:

• simply, with bread/toast points/pita/pita chips, as a dip
• with carrots/cucumbers/green beans/other dipping vegetables
• spread on a sandwich with tomato, avocado, roasted eggplant, roasted squash, etc
• scooped over a big bowl of farro/wheatberries with roasted veg, to be mixed at the table
• hollow out a couple small tomatoes, put a spoonful of the feta inside, top with bread crumbs and a drizzle of olive oil, and roast until hot and bubbly
• inside an omelette
• dozens of other possibilities
• a spoon.

Fennel frond pesto + what to do with those pesky stalks

I love fennel, especially the bright, beautiful bulbs available at my farmer's market right now. But I do feel a small pang of guilt when I buy whole fennel, because the bulb? It's so small. And -- at least in my case -- the stalks are so big. I mean:

So you see what I'm dealing with here.

A quick search for what to do with my piles of fennel stalks turned up some truly dainty advice: "sprinkle the fronds on salad," and "add a pinch of fronds to simple syrup, then mix with gin for a nice cocktail." That all sounds lovely, but if I were to "sprinkle" these fronds on my salad, I'd end up with something akin to fennel tabouli. (Which, come to think of it, doesn't sound half bad. Next time.)

I thought momentarily about trying a few different preparations and seeing what panned out, but quickly abandoned that idea for fear of excessive fussiness. I wanted to give my pile of fronds destination and purpose, and I wanted to do so post haste. So I went long - six cups long -- on what, in retrospect, was the most obvious choice: pesto.

I started with Melissa Clark's basic formula: fronds, toasted almonds, garlic, olive oil. You could stop there and have something worthy of fridge space. But I ended up adding a bit of orange zest and some Turkish chile to round things out, and I'd recommend both additions.

When the pesto comes out dense, as it did in the photo above, you can just add more oil. If you're going to use it relatively quickly, you can even add a bit of water to help thin it out.

Can we talk for a moment about all the ways to use this pesto? A few are obvious, but others are less so:

• mixed with ricotta, spread on baguette slices
• spread on a tart or a sheet of puff pastry, topped with tomatoes or, hey, slices of roasted fennel
• a spoonful mixed into a simple vegetable soup or dolloped into a bowl of minestrone
• added to salted water as a lovely cooking broth for any vegetable, especially artichokes
• as a layer in a grilled cheese sandwich (with blue, gruyere, parmesan, or pecorino)
• as a condiment on a cheese plate (see recommended pairings above), alongside orange marmalade
• Tossed with spaghetti and any number of other things (tomatoes; anchovies; raisins/currants; toasted bread crumbs)

We had it on tarts for Friday night dinner, layered under shaved zucchini, crushed tomato, and parmesan cheese.  For Father's Day dinner, I folded a bit of the pesto into tomato sauce for campanile (those little bell-shaped pasta), which I topped with a carefree helping of olive oil-toasted bread crumbs. I've still got a  tub of it left in the fridge; whatever I can't get through before the move, I'll freeze in small containers for use later this summer.

As for those pesky fennel stalks, they are far more stubborn than the bulb, slower to yield. That said, a long, lazy bake in a cast iron pan did the trick, and now I'm addicted. I sprinkled them with sea salt and pepper, drizzled a tablespoon or so of olive oil and about half as much honey, and baked them in a cast iron pan at 400 degrees for about 40 minutes. The result was a pile of soft, golden stalks, sweet and yielding and delicious as I'd ever tasted. They made a great cook's snack, but next time, I'll try layering them on a tartlet, on top of a smear of that frond pesto, finished with some honey or orange marmalade and maybe some soft cheese.

With that, I'm off to toast a slice of the last challah this AdMo home of ours will see. *sob*

Fennel Frond Pesto
Adapted from Melissa Clark Makes about 2 cups

Clark calls for an 8:1 ratio of fennel:nuts, but I prefer more nuts in my pesto. Because I used whole roasted salted almonds, I didn't need to add any salt. If you're using unsalted nuts, add salt to taste - probably no more than 1 teaspoon, but I'm guessing here.

3 cups fennel fronds, roughly chopped
1 cup toasted salted almonds (if toasting yourself or using unsalted, you'll salt the pesto to taste after blending) 
1 garlic clove
1-2 teaspoons fragrant medium-spicy chile, to taste
1 teaspoon orange zest
3/4 cup olive oil

Combine all ingredients except oil in a food processor. With the motor running, drizzle in olive oil 1/4 cup at a time, until pesto reaches the desired consistency. If adding salt, add by the 1/2 teaspoon to taste.

Store in the fridge in an airtight container topped with a thin layer of olive oil. Keeps at least a week, probably two.

Eggplant-Walnut Pâté + Passover Ideas

D's birthday falls on Passover this year, which means I can't get away with thrice-a-day matza brei as our only sustenance. For the first time in a long time, I will be cooking a meal on Passover in actual, non-disposable pans, and serving food to actual friends on actual plates. This small feat makes me feel like an actual grown-up. What that says about me, or the holiday, or both, is a conversation for another day. For now, we need to talk about our menus.

Were my birthday on Passover - and seriously, I love food too much for that to be the case, so phew for February birthdays - I'd probably want a big Greek salad, a plate full of avocado in different preparations, and a dessert made with no small quantity of egg yolks, cream, and chocolate. But this is D; not much of a dessert person, undying lover of meat. We'll be having brisket.

Our brisket is from KOL Foods, a purveyor of sustainable, grass-fed beef that also is kosher. The brisket's flavor is good enough -- and, considering the astronomical cost, rare enough in our house -- that I'm taking a minimalist's approach to cooking it. Instead of my usual pomegranate molasses recipe, I've settled on the famed approach of Nach Waxman. It's deceivingly simple: onions, tomato paste, and one carrot. But in my experience, no recipe celebrates the flavor of brisket more than his.

As for the rest of the meal, I'm planning to slow-roast a mess of red onions until they become sweet and soft. I'll also make a carrot kugel, because kugel is D's favorite, and it's her day.

But the brisket can't last forever (at least, not this brisket), and chocolate pudding/mousse/ice cream only gets us so far. Many of our other meals are likely to include a heaping scoop of this pâté. It's pictured here with sourdough. Of course, it's better on sourdough; everything's better on sourdough. But if matzah is your cracker (it's not bread, people), this pâté will make it taste like something, something delicious.

The method is simple: broil a mess of eggplant slices and a whole bulb of garlic. If you've got a food processor, you'll puree those with a bunch of ground walnuts, some raisins and capers, and a hit of cinnamon. If you don't, some patient knife work will yield a lovely caponata-style spread, which is less shmearable but, on the bright side, lets each component shine more independently.

Either way, on a holiday where hummus and peanut butter and bread (sob) are not on the menu, this does a lot to compensate.

Passover, previously:

• These pina colada-flavored macaroons are good. Not in a relative sense - I'd eat them not on Passover.
• Carrot kugel is an essential part of our Passover diet.
• Good weeknight supper? These twice-baked sweet potatoes should fit the bill.
• If you must make cookies, these chocolate ones are a great choice.
• Plenty of other ideas here.

Passover, elsewhere:

• Deb's mushroom pâté looks awesome.
• Passover desserts need not contain matzah/coconut/almond flour. I'll be making this flan at some point.
• This Persian-inspired frittata looks like a fantastic addition to my Passover lunch-for-company menu.
• For a show-stopper main dish at a vegetarian meal, this gorgeous cauliflower is my choice.

However you celebrate, whatever you celebrate, have a wonderful weekend.

Sweet-Tart Roasted Eggplant and Walnut Pâté
Serves 6-8 as an appetizer

2 large eggplants
4-5 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
1 whole head garlic, unpeeled
1/2 cup raisins 1 tablespoon honey
1 1/2 cups walnut pieces
2 tablespoons capers (optional)
2-3 tablespoons lemon juice
pinch cinnamon
chopped pistachios, for garnish

Set a rack about 4-6 inches away from the broiler in your oven and preheat the broiler. Trim eggplants and slice 1/2-inch thick. Drizzle 1 tablespoon olive oil onto an unlined baking sheet; sprinkle a pinch or two of salt over the oil. Place eggplant slices in a single layer on the sheet (if they don’t all fit, you’ll broil them in batches). Drizzle a bit more of the oil and sprinkle salt onto the tops of each slice. Broil for about 5 minutes, moving pan around under the broiler to ensure that slices brown evenly. Turn slices and broil another 4-5 minutes, until nicely browned. Transfer to a plate, layering slices on top of each other. Repeat with remaining slices. When all eggplant has been broiled and piled into the plate, cover the plate with plastic wrap and let sit for at least 15 minutes, and as long as overnight. Eggplant will steam and soften as it cools.

Place whole garlic bulb under broiler (on the same pan as the eggplant, if there’s room) and broil for 10-12 minutes, until skin has blackened and garlic is soft. Tuck garlic bulb onto the plate with the eggplant and let it steam-cool as well.

Meanwhile, place raisins in a bowl with the honey and 2 tablespoons of water. Let them plump up while the eggplant and garlic cool.

Place walnuts into the bowl of a food processor fitted with the blade attachment, and grind until the texture resembles bread crumbs. Squeeze the contents of the broiled garlic bulb into the bowl, along with the eggplant, the raisins and their liquid, the capers (if using), the remaining tablespoon of olive oil, the cinnamon, and 2 tablespoons of the lemon juice. Pulse until eggplant has broken up, then blend until mostly smooth. Taste; add salt, pepper, and more lemon juice as needed.

Serve cold or at room temperature, with a drizzle of olive oil and maybe a few chopped pistachios on top.