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Archive for May, 2011

The morning after the last day of school, I always woke up feeling a little adrift and lost, slightly suffocated by a feeling of anticlimax.  As excited as I might be about summer vacation, even as a child I was someone who needed days to be filled with purpose.  I’d sleep late and stumble into the kitchen listlessly for cereal, anticipating day after hot day unfolding in just the same way, wondering what my friends were doing, envisioning the darkened classroom I was so eager to escape only yesterday, chairs stacked haphazardly, abandoned and empty.  My mother, stepping into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, could always recognize the storm clouds on my forehead.  ”Get dressed,” she’d say, “Let’s go to the Book Rack.”

As a kid, the Book Rack, which sold used paperbacks, was possibly one of my favorite places on the planet.  There was no talking, no muzak, no one wondering if they could help you find something, just shelves of books, a rocker, handmade vinyl paperback book covers, and a few sad pothos ivy plants struggling to survive in macrame hangers.  Clearly designed for serious readers, the books were helpfully arranged by genre, so I could disappear into the horror section or the mysteries and never be bothered with Westerns, romance novels, or God forbid, “historical” romances.  My mom would drop me off there while she went to run errands, and I could happily stay for hours, enveloped in the owner’s cool quiet fog of menthol cigarette smoke, filling a paper grocery bag with books priced at a quarter.  At the end of the day, I’d spread all the books out on my bed and agonize over which one to read first.

Summer is here.  I want more than anything to go back to the Book Rack, pull a damp and crumpled $10 bill out of my shorts pocket, and disappear for three months into another world.

A lovely tangle of slippery, sesame-scented noodles is a cool, easy recipe–make a big batch for lazy days and late evenings so you don’t have to put your book down for long.

Buckwheat Noodles with Green Beans & Toasted Sesame-Lime Vinaigrette 

1 package buckwheat soba noodles, cooked to al dente, drained and rinsed

1/2 pound green beans, trimmed, cut into 1″ lengths and blanched

1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and cut into 1/2″ pieces

1 c. cherry tomatopes, cut in half

1-2 spring onions, cut into paper thin slices

1 c. cooked chicken or tofu, cut into 1/2″ pieces

small handful cilantro leaves

1/3 c. roasted peanuts, coarsely chopped

Dressing:

1/3 c. freshly squeezed lime juice

3 Tbs. fish sauce

2 Tbs. “rooster” chile sauce or siracha (to taste)

1 Tbs. sugar

2 Tbs. tamari sauce

3 Tbs. toasted sesame oil

Make dressing.  Place lime juice, fish sauce, chile sauce, sugar and tamari in a small bowl.  Whisk in sesame oil until well blended.

Place all salad ingredients together in a large bowl, reserving a small amount of peanuts and cilantro for garnish.  Add dressing, toss well, garnish and serve.

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In this world, there are those born to wise mothers, and those who must figure everything out for themselves.  Luckily, the stars aligned at my birth, and I fell into the former category.  Lessons from my mother, Salt of the Earth:

1. Unless you ask, you have an automatic ‘no.’

2. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

3. The journey is more important than the destination.

4. Wear a slip.

5. Never sell your mineral rights.

6. Never sneak out of the house at night–you could be in ten different Hefty trash bags on I10 before I even know to start looking for you.

7. Nobody else cares about your dreams the way you do–it’s up to you to make them come true.

8. Nothing is more important than family.

9. Never pay interest on interest.

10. Pull yourself together.

I also have my mother to thank for knowing that food is the most important thing we share.  When we’re happy, we eat to celebrate.  When we’re sad, we eat to comfort ourselves.  We eat for fun, to connect, to understand other people, and the greatest thing you can do for someone else is cook a meal for them.  Feeding people with love is never about showing off–simple, delicious food is always a gift, the right and proper way to give thanks for the wide and generous world we all share.

Braised Zucchini and Sun Gold Cherry Tomatoes

4 zucchini, washed and sliced lengthwise

1/2 c. sun gold cherry tomatoes, sliced in half

3 cloves garlic, sliced

olive oil

salt & pepper

1 small bunch basil, torn or cut into large pieces

Heat olive oil in large skillet with high sides or braising pan.  When it shimmers, add zucchini and cook quickly until browned.  Remove to a bowl and set aside.  Add a little more olive oil to pan and add garlic.  Saute briefly, 30 seconds-1 minute, then add cherry tomatoes.  When tomatoes begin to soften and release juices, add zucchini back to pan, season with salt and pepper, and toss to combine.  Add basil, toss again, and serve hot or at room temperature.

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“Never trust a skinny cook.”  It only makes sense.  Someone who loves food, lives for it, thinks and dreams about it constantly, is not likely to be wafer-thin.  At times I find myself a little too trustworthy, however, and succumb to the temptation to dabble in dieting.  There’s always some program that seems to make total sense in the beginning–no carbs, no sugar, no drinking, no fat, no animal products.  I usually make it about 7 days, and then I lose the will to live.  That squash would be so delicious with a little risotto.  That arugula would be lovely with a little feta cheese.  That grass-fed steak would sure pair nicely with a glass of red wine.  The latest trend involves no sugars, not even fruit.  Which sounds reasonable until I realize it is almost time for peaches and blackberries.  When will I ever learn?  Drippy, sweet fruit, stinky cheese, smoky charred steaks, big, fat red wine, chocolate, buttery corn on the cob, crusty, rustic breads . . . I am not willing to give an inch.  I want it all!  I stopped eating processed food and drinking sodas long ago to make room for everything I truly love.  And maybe there’s a tiny bit too much of me, at least by conventional fashion standards.  But instead of counting calories, I’m just cultivating a new vocabulary: my favorite new word is the Yiddish “zaftig,” from the German for “juicy.”  Voluptuous, well-proportioned, a little plump, and, oh yeah, really happy.

Lamb Burgers with Cucumber Tzaziki

2 slices rustic white bread

1/2 c. milk

1 pound ground lamb

4 spring onions, minced

1 clove garlic minced

handful fresh mint, chopped

3 tsp. paprika

1 tsp. cumin

salt and pepper

tomato, sliced

Arugula Salad:

large handful arugula

1/2 cucumber, sliced

3 radishes, sliced

1 sping onion, sliced

2 oz. feta cheese, crumbled

juice of 1/2 lemon

2 Tbs. tahini sauce

1/3 c. olive oil

2 pita breads, cut in half and warmed in oven

Cucumber Tzaziki:

1/2 c. yogurt

1/4 c. grated cucumber

2 Tbs. chopped mint

juice of 1/2 lemon

salt & pepper

Place bread in a shallow bowl and soak in milk.  Place lamb in a large bowl, and add minced onions and garlic, chopped mint, spices, and salt and pepper.  Drain bread and squeeze milk out.  Crumble bread and add to lamb mixture.  Mix everything together with your hands until thoroughly combined.  Fry a small patty of lamb mixture and taste for seasoning.  Add more salt, pepper, or spices if needed.  Form lamb mixture into oval-shaped patties.  Build a medium-hot fire in grill.  When coals are ready, grill lamb burgers to medium, or as desired.

While burgers are cooking, stir together all ingredients for tzaziki and set aside. Make arugula salad: squeeze lemon into a bowl, stir in tahini sauce and whisk while drizzling in olive oil until emulsified.  Add arugula, cucumber, spring onion, radish, and feta cheese to the bowl.  Toss together and season with salt and pepper.  To serve, place a burger in pita bread, dress with tomato slices and arugula salad and a dollop of tzaziki sauce.

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