Springtime Lessons

Nothing against a big, hearty bolognese, but sometimes you want something a little lighter for dinner. And nothing against salads, but there are times when torn bits of lettuce just feel a tad boring.

Enter the delicious meal known as the "composed" salad. (It sounds much more elegant in French: salade composee--non?) Anyway, it's a collection of vegetables, starches, and proteins, all cooked in the simplest manner possible and then dressed in a vinaigrette. This version, from Martha Stewart's Cooking School and titled "Poached Chicken Breast and Spring Vegetable Salad," consisted of poached chicken, boiled baby new potatoes, steamed asparagus, and poached leeks--all dressed with either a lemon vinaigrette, or a buttermilk vinaigrette. Martha also likes marinated artichokes with this, and while I'm sure homemade ones are great, I went with jarred for convenience.

Making this "salad" was an education for me. The most important lesson I learned was how to poach chicken. Until now, I'd always just boiled it in water for 20 minutes. But now I know that adding a carrot, stalk of celery, peppercorns, parsley, thyme, a bay leaf, and some salt makes the chicken so much more flavorful (and leaves you with a delicious stock for future use). I found the recipe online here.

I also picked up some other tips:

• cook baby new potatoes at a gentle simmer, not a fast boil


• buttermilk makes a great dressing for chicken or vegetables when whisked with olive oil, white wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and herbs


• poaching leeks brings out their sweetness; tossing a few thyme sprigs into the pot imparts a mild savoriness

There are millions of ways to vary this salad, and I'm thinking I'll explore some of them this summer.--S

All Hail Mikey G

At a talent show-themed birthday party when I was a kid, my cousin Mike dressed up as Julia Child and gave a cooking demonstration. He was about 10 years old. I don't remember what he made but it entailed him telling us to "Set your flame at a nice speed," in a high-pitched voice. Fast-forward about 20 years, and Mike's living in California wine country and still loves to cook. Whether it's lobster bisque or a simple tomato sauce and meatballs, the kid does it really well. The only recipe I have of his is for Caesar Salad Dressing, and though that may seem like a throwaway, it's actually become a staple in my kitchen.

The dressing is just garlicky enough and the perfect consistency for dressing on crisp romaine. I make a few adjustments, like toning down the anchovies, and rarely make an entire recipe, since a halved recipe is usually more than enough for a salad that serves four. You must use a blender or mini-food processor, first to make sure you've pureed the garlic and anchovy, but second because a blender aerates the dressing somewhat, so it's a little frothy and not at all gooey (it's beyond me how waiters who prepare Caesar Salad tableside in fancy restaurants achieve this consistency).

I seriously urge you to make this dressing next time you're having friends, Romans, countrymen over (ha). They'll be hailing you.--S

Caesar Salad

(in blender)
1 c olive oil
4-5 cloves garlic
1 can anchovies [I use only 3 or 4 anchovies]
1 heaping t Dijon mustard
5-6 shakes Worcestershire sauce
1 egg
1/2 c grated parmesan cheese
1/4 to 1/3 c red wine vinegar
Juice from 1/2 lemon
Pinch of salt
Pepper

Herbal Delight

With the vegetable situation still verging on out-of-control, I threw down the gauntlet the other night. I was sitting on vast quantities of lettuce, green beans, red onion, and herbs (basil, cilantro and chives). This time my rescuer was dear Heidi Swanson, of 101 Cookbooks. Her Herb Salad was just the ticket to wipe out nearly all the veggies Fork's mom brought. Snow peas are all that remain.

Again, I wondered if this would be filling enough for dinner, and again, I was worrying about nothing. What gives this salad oomph is its rich dressing, made from avocado, Greek yogurt, lemon juice and garlic. It's heavenly. It pulled the whole dish--blanched green beans, corn, toasted pumpkin seeds, lots of fresh herbs, and red onion--together. And it gives it some substance. Oh, and did I mention it is delicious? In fact, I'd seriously consider making this dressing in lieu of guacamole, adding some jalapeno and perhaps lime juice instead of lemon. I'd say this recipe's star is the dressing, actually--though the fresh herbs are pretty fabulous, too. I rarely put herbs in salad, and this recipe reminded me how they add freshness and flavor to simple vegetables.

Make this one NOW. It's seasonal, and I really don't want you going without this amazing dressing any longer.--S

Ladies' Lunch for Dinner

Last night's dinner was very Ladies Who Lunch: a pink and green, light and citrusy Grapefruit and Avocado Salad with Shrimp and Leafy Greens. Fork and I probably should've been drinking white wine spritzers with the meal. But Fork had just won a softball game, and I'd just completed a speed workout with my training group, so we were more in a water guzzling mood. Dinner, though, rocked.

I found the recipe in Joyce Goldstein's new Mediterranean Fresh, a book of one-dish salad meals and mix-and-match dressings. It's the kind of book I love: easy, healthy plates that can be prepared vegetarian or not. The simple dish I made last night features grapefruit segments and sliced avocado over greens, all tossed in a simple citrus dressing made with orange juice, lemon juice, orange zest and olive oil. Joyce suggests adding crabmeat, scallops or shrimp, and I went with shrimp, which I cooked in a saute pan with some of the citrus dressing and laid atop the salad just before serving. I'm sure seared scallops or crabmeat would be terrific, too.

The grapefruit's tang, avocado's mellow creaminess and greens' springiness all came together beautifully under the citrus dressing. The shrimp gave the salad a little power. We wiped our plates clean.--S

Grapefruit and Avocado Salad with Leafy Greens

Serves 4

2 small grapefruits
2 avocados
3/4 to 1 c mixed citrus dressing (recipe follows)
6 handfuls of assorted mild, sweet leafy greens, such as butter, oak leaf or red leaf lettuce
1/2 lb crabmeat, shrimp or scallops (optional)

1. Working with 1 grapefruit at a time, cut a thin slice off the top and bottom to reveal the flesh. Stand the grapefruit upright and remove the peel in wide strips, cutting downward and following the contour of the fruit. Holding the grapefruit over a bowl, cut along both sides of each segment, releasing the segments from the membrane and allowing them to drop into the bowl. Using the knife tip or a toothpick, pry out any seeds. Squeeze the membrane over another bowl to release the juice. Repeat with the remaining grapefruit. You should have about 1/2 c juice.
2. Cut the avocados in half and remove and discard the pits. With a large spoon, scoop the avocado from the peel. Cut the flesh into 1/4-in. slices. Drizzle with 1/4 c. dressing.
3. Toss the greens with 1/4 c. dressing. Distribute among 4 salad plates or arrange on a large platter. Top with avocado slices and grapefruit segments and drizzle with the remaining dressing.
4. If you are adding shrimp, sprinkle it with salt and pepper. Place 1/4 c. citrus dressing in a large saute pan along with the reserved grapefruit juice and bring to a boil. Add the shrimp to the pan and cook, turning once, until they are barely cooked through, about 4 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and arrange the shrimp on top of the greens, alternating them with the grapefruit and avocado. Drizzle with the remaining citrus dressing.

Citrus Dressing

Makes 1 scant cup

1/2 c. mild, fruity extra-virgin olive oil or pure olive oil
Freshly grated zest of 1 orange (about 1 T)
1/4 c fresh orange juice
2 T fresh lemon juice
1/2 t sugar, if needed
1/2 t sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper

In a bowl, whisk together all of the ingredients. Dip a lettuce leaf into the dressing to see if it is tart enough, has enough salt, and is balanced. Add more lemon juice or sugar if needed.

Recipe courtesy of Mediterranean Fresh

You Had to Have the Big Salad

When I spotted an article in July's Food & Wine about Laurent Gras, an athletic chef who goes on 100-mile bike rides and won the magazine's prestigious Best New Chef award in 2002, I was psyched. Runner's World regularly profiles chefs who run, but their recipes sometimes let me down: too much emphasis on carbs and protein, and not enough emphasis on taste. So I was keen to try one of Gras's dishes. I'd picked up some fresh shelled peas and radishes at the greenmarket, so I was already well on my way to building the Crunchy Vegetable Salad with Sautéed Peas and Radishes.

Warning: this is no get-home-and-you're-eating-10-minutes-later salad. The recipe's head notes suggest 50 minutes. I'd say give yourself a good hour and 15--if you're going to follow the instructions to a T. Yes, blanching and peeling cherry tomatoes (or worse, as I did, tinier grape tomatoes) is not the easiest task. Nor is cooking and peeling fava beans (an ingredient I skipped entirely). The peas take a two-minute bath in boiling water, too; then they go into a sauté pan with radishes, olive oil and salt. And I used jarred artichokes instead of fresh baby ones, since I couldn't find them at the market or the two grocers I went to.

Extra labor notwithstanding, this is a great salad. Its combination of cooked and raw ingredients is quite satisfying, with a zing from lemon zest and a lemon vinaigrette. We didn't even miss the favas, and while I know jarred artichokes pale in comparison to fresh baby ones, they really did the job just fine. We ate this salad for supper along with a zucchini frittata and some country wheat bread. Big salad, big(ger than usual) effort, big payoff.--S

Crunchy Vegetable Salad with Sautéed Peas and Radishes


1 c cherry tomatoes
1 lb fava beans, shelled
1/2 lb fresh peas, shelled
1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil
2 T fresh lemon juice
Kosher salt
4 baby artichokes (I used one small jar of marinated artichokes)
4 medium radishes, quartered
1 bunch watercress (6 ounces), tough stems discarded
1 t finely grated lemon zest

1. Bring a saucepan of water to a boil. Fill a bowl with ice water. Cut a slit into the base of each tomato and blanch them in the boiling water until their skins start to split, about 15 seconds. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the tomatoes to the ice water to cool, then drain and peel.
2. In the same water, cook the fava beans until just tender, 2 minutes. Remove and let cool slightly, then peel. Blanch the peas until just tender, 2 minutes. Drain well.
3. In a medium bowl, whisk 3 tablespoons of the olive oil with the lemon juice and season with salt. With a paring knife, trim the artichoke stems and snap off the tough outer leaves until you reach the light green inner leaves. Using a serrated knife, cut off the top third of the artichokes. Trim the bottoms and stems. Cut the artichokes in half lengthwise. Using a teaspoon, remove the chokes, if any. Thinly slice the artichokes lengthwise, add them to the dressing and toss to coat. Add the peeled tomatoes and the fava beans and toss again.
4. In a medium skillet, heat 1 1/2 teaspoons of the olive oil. Add the radishes and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 2 minutes. Add the blanched peas and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Season with salt.
5. In a medium bowl, toss the watercress with the remaining 1 1/2 teaspoons of olive oil and the lemon zest and transfer to plates. Top with the artichoke salad and the radishes and peas; serve.

Recipe courtesy of Food & Wine

Home Sweet Home

After days of pre-made sandwiches; packaged and processed cheese and cracker sandwiches; and disappointing local fare on my trip to Indiana and Illinois, I was dying to get into my kitchen and make some real food. So I picked up where I left off: with Food & Wine's September "Italy" issue. Tonight: Bread Salad with Tomatoes and Olives. The salad--also known as panzanella--is best made with day-old bread, but I made do (vast understatement) with a whole wheat sourdough boule from Le Pain Quotidien. I also added cherry tomatoes and fresh mint from the greenmarket; basil from my personal supplier; and celery, black olives, a shallot and dried oregano. Dressed with red wine vinegar and olive oil, the salad was complete.

Fork and I chowed down with some more of that delicious bread, which we spread with salted chevre from Patches of Star Dairy in Nazareth, Penn., by way of the Union Square Greenmarket. It's good to be home.--S

A Spoon in Paris

I truly felt bad about going to France without Fork. I know how much he loves the place, its food, its wine, its rap music... but when my parents decided we needed a family vacation in Paris the week before Christmas I couldn't say no. So I sucked it up, packing my suitcase with empty Tupperware and Ziploc bags to smuggle back some cheese. We stayed in a lovely apartment in the 7th and spent our days strolling, eating, visiting museums and shopping. It was miserable. Really. Fortunately for Fork, the cheese made it home, along with some yummy poultry liver pate made with port wine from Hediard. For the meals I consumed, he is resigned to live vicariously. Herewith, the rundown.

Best in show: tie between cassoulet and a variety of salads

This tie might seem ridiculous; how could a rich, slow-cooked bean/sausage/duck stew possibly be on par with a plate of cold vegetables? Here's how: the French, I learned this trip, make some surprisingly kickass salads. Salade de chevre chaud is particularly triumphant, with creamy pats of the cheese browned on toast or bread, atop greens dressed in some sort of vinaigrette (often one with a little cream). They're almost always hearty, either with or without meat (with its potato salad, haricots verts, beans, greens and other veggies, a salade vegeterienne at a cafe in the Marais was just as filling as a curried chicken salad set amid mesclun at the cafe of the Musee d'Orsay). So yes, the salads are awesome. But. That cassoulet (at Aux Fins Gourmets, a charming place Fork & I first discovered on Boulevard St. Germain) deserves major kudos. It came in its own little crock, still bubbling. Bread crumbs on top. White beans, pieces of pork sausage, bits of duck on the bone. The flavors were... how you say... magnifique.

The runners-up would be surefire winners in New York any day:

-A delicious jambon/fromage/crudite (which in this case meant lettuce, tomato and slices of hard-boiled egg!) baguette sandwich at a hole in the wall in Reims (called, hilariously, "Pause Sandwich")
-A fatty but yummy boeuf bourguignon at adorable La Varangue (jammed with Americans thanks to its great write-up in a Rick Steves book)
-An amazing leg of lamb in a curry sauce with rice, figs & prunes at a little restaurant on a cobblestone-paved portion of the 6th called La Jacobine
-Great spaghetti al vongole at our local trattoria, Carmine

In the culinary experiences category, my sister's snail episode deserves mention, if only for our reaction to it. Dripping in butter and garlic, the slippery little sucker flung right out of the clip poor Laura was using to hold the shell, hit her in the gut and ricocheted onto my shin and then my shoe. We had a hard time containing ourselves, naturally, and it was several minutes before I could compose myself enough to gracefully bend under the table and retrieve it. And then I had to convince myself it was not sanitary to eat the thing, even if the escargot was still safely ensconced in its shell.

Oh, and the boulangeries, fromageries and patisseries. Baguettes, croissants, brioches, camemberts, chevres, St. Marcellens, macarons, mille-feuilles, buches de Noel (tis the season!)... I ate them all. Bonnes fetes.--S