Cucumber sandwiches East and West.

My first encounter of the cucumber sandwich kind came when I was living in Mumbai as a teenager.  Although more than fifteen years have passed, I remember the Indian version quite distinctly.   It was usually served in the afternoon, as an accompaniment to warm cups of sweet, milky tea.  Spread with mint chutney instead of cream cheese, the sandwiches were otherwise almost devoutly faithful to the Western version: I do not remember eating sliced white bread as part of any other meal while in India, but somehow, somewhere, each household seemed to keep a loaf hidden away so as to always be prepared to put together a plateful of these delightful finger sandwiches at a moment's notice.  Did some of these chefs de cuisine also spread butter on the bread?  My recollection is shaky on this point.  But at least in the shade of my memories, the sandwiches were always crustless and cut into sharp triangles.  I also remember that I, without fail, always ate more of them than was dignified. 

Fast forward to 2011, when we’ve got cucumbers of all shapes and sizes (green and yellow / long and short / skinny and pleasantly plump) crowding up the produce drawer, threatening to take over the refrigerator for all time.  A brand new issue of Food & Wine arrives and, within it, a delicious take on the standard Southern American version of the old teatime favorite (reproduced below).*  Fast and easy, these were just the thing for a late lunch when served with a side salad on a hot summer’s afternoon. 

Because we are both greedy and lazy when it comes to lunch, we ignored the instructions to cut them into beautiful rounds, used only one kind of cucumber, and made them sloppy and a little bigger than finger sandwiches.  Ours were more like smallish half-sandwiches.  But even these larger versions found themselves gobbled up in an astonishingly short period of time.  I still love the white bread and chutney version, but these have definitely earned a spot on the rotation. 

* Note to F&W: you had me at “rye bread.”

Cucumber-Rye Tea Sandwiches

(From Food & Wine, August 2011)

1 large seedless cucumber, peeled and cut into 3-inch lengths

3 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
36 slices of party rye or 18 slices of rye bread
12 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 scallion, finely chopped
1 Persian cucumber, thinly sliced
Freshly ground black pepper


Using a box grater, coarsely grate the cucumber lengthwise, stopping when you get to the seedy center. Transfer the cucumber to a bowl and stir in the vinegar, lemon juice, sugar and salt. Let stand for 15 minutes.


If using rye bread slices, use a 2-inch-round cookie cutter to cut out 36 rounds from the bread. Cover with a slightly damp towel.


Transfer the grated cucumber to a colander to drain; squeeze out the excess liquid. Return it to the bowl and stir in the cream cheese and scallion. Spread the cucumber cream cheese on the bread rounds, top each with a Persian cucumber slice and arrange on a platter. Sprinkle with pepper and serve.

Give me s'more: the best (and by that I mean possibly the worst) discovery ever.

A couple of weeks ago, I made a few little impulse buys at the grocery store: a big bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and (you guessed it) a bar of chocolate.  We were at the height of our grilling frenzy and I got to thinking what better possible dessert than that old campfire classic s'mores?  I mean, a kebab skewer isn't all that different from a twig or an unwound wire coat hanger (don't tell me that you've never used that trick in a pinch) and what is a gas grill but a contained and controlled open fire? 

It turns out that, at least when it comes to s'mores making, there are significant differences.  I would tell you about all of them in great detail, except that I only discovered one: it takes too long to roast a marshmallow over a standard gas grill. (That is, assuming that it can be done at all.  I gave up before I could either prove or debunk that theory.)

But lest you think this tale ends in tragedy, let me assure you that right on the heels of my failed "grilled s'mores" experiment came an even greater discovery: if you pop a marshmallow in the microwave for 15 seconds or so, it puffs up and gets perfectly s'mores soft.  Cue two pieces of graham cracker and a good sized chunk of chocolate to reign it all in and you are in business! 

Confession: we have been eating (at least) one of these a night for the past several nights.  But hey, at least we're getting eight grams of whole grains in the process.  It says so right on the box.
 

I never promised you an herb garden.

When all of the evidence is examined, I can't fairly lay claim to any kind of green thumb.  In fact, if I am coming clean, there was that incident about ten years back where I killed what began as a robust, healthy cactus.  It put up a fight but in the end, it was no match for my complete and utter inattention.  The irony is that I got the cactus because I thought, "Now here is a low maintenance plant."  But because it required water so rarely, I never got into any kind of routine.  At first, I must have watered it every week or so, but the next thing I knew, several weeks (or more) had gone by and, for the poor doomed succulent, self-help was just not an option.  The rainfall in that part of my room had never been very reliable. 

Have you ever seen a cactus die?  This one began to cave in on itself from the middle out, like it took a punch in the gut that then spread.  It was an awful sight (that I noticed far too late to remedy) and for years afterward I refused to even accept housewarming gifts of plants, too horrific was I sure their fate would be if left in my abysmal care. 

But when we moved down South, I decided that it was time to give plant raising a go again.  This time, I tackled herbs and other edibles that can be grown in containers.  Now, we've got a mini-garden out on our back porch providing us with a seemingly endless supply of mint, basil, parsley, rosemary, basil, thyme, jalapeno peppers, basil, and, for a while there, cherry tomatoes, too. 

What to do with all this bounty---especially the basil, which is growing so rampantly that it pops up repeatedly in sentences where only one mention would do?  Well, as a wise man once said, when life gives you too much basil, it is time to find yourself a good pesto recipe.  The one below is simple and delicious and has the added nostalgic bonus of being sourced from Parade Magazine, which seemed so sophisticated to me as a child.  For reasons I cannot now satisfactorily explain, I would rush to be the first to pull it out of the river of Sunday paper inserts.  I would think myself very grown up as I sat on the couch and considered its contents, most memorably the advice column by Marilyn Vos Savant, who was reported to have the highest IQ in the world (and put it to its best logical use, helping less intellectually endowed Parade readers wrestling with questions such as "Why can't we make pantyhose that don't run or snag?" and "Can you gain more than the weight of your food?").

Garden Pesto
(originally published in Parade Magazine, now available on epicurious.com)

2 cups fresh basil leaves
4 teaspoons minced garlic
2 tablespoons pine nuts
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan
Salt and pepper, to taste

Chop the basil, garlic, and pine nuts in a food processor. With the motor running, drizzle in the oil. Blend in the cheese, salt and pepper. Refrigerate, covered, for up to 3 days.

Lightning fast Thai yellow curry. From scratch. No joke.

If you have a food processor, you can make this Thai yellow curry from scratch in roughly a half-hour.  It is a great (and delicious) way to use just about any type of vegetables that you happen to have lying around.  Tonight, we made it with Thai eggplant, long-stem green beans, and yellow squash, all from our CSA box (plus a cup of frozen broccoli florets tossed in for good measure).  It is particularly good with a couple cups of baby bok choy thrown in near the end of the cooking time. 

 

Thai Yellow Vegetable Curry
(from About.com, recipe by Darlene Schmidt)

For the sauce:
1-2 cans coconut milk
1/2 tsp. fenugreek
1 tsp. ground coriander
1 tsp. black mustard seeds
1-2 yellow chilies (or green or red chilies, either de-seeded or with seeds if you like more heat)
1 tbsp. ground cumin
3/4 tsp. ground turmeric
3 cloves garlic
1 thumb-sized piece galangal or ginger, peeled and sliced
1 stalk lemongrass, sliced thinly (or 2 tbsp. frozen prepared lemongrass)
1/2 onion
3 tbsp. fish sauce or 4 tbsp. soy sauce
1/2 cup cilantro, including the stems
2 tbs. brown sugar
juice of 1/2 lime
2-3 kaffir lime leaves, fresh or frozen, cut into strips (or 1/2 tbsp. lime zest)

2 tbs. Canola oil

Vegetables:
Any combo of your choice, in any amount of your choice, but probably at least 6 cups of vegetables and legumes.  Some ideas: 1 can fava beans, broad beans, or chick peas; approximately 2 cups bok choy, baby bok choy, or Chinese cabbage, chopped; 4-6 shiitake mushrooms, sliced; 1 yellow bell pepper, sliced; 1 large carrot, sliced; 1 cup broccoli; 1 cup cauliflower.

Plus 1/2 to 1 cup fresh basil, roughly chopped if the leaves are large.

Directions:

Put 1/2 can of coconut milk (reserving the rest for later) with all of the other sauce ingredients in a food processor.  Process well. 

Heat oil in wok or large frying pan over medium to high heat.  Add the curry paste and gently stir-fry for 1 minute, or until fragrant.

Add the reserved 1/2 can of coconut milk and stir.  Then add those vegetables that require the longest cooking time, such as carrots, mushrooms, and cauliflower.  Stir well and bring to a simmering boil.  Turn down heat to medium, cover, and cook for 5-10 minutes.

Depending on how much sauce you prefer, plus how many vegetables you are cooking, add 1/2 to 1 can more of coconut milk.  Then add the rest of the vegetables.  Stir well and cover, allowing to cook for another 5 minutes until vegetables are tender.  (NOTE: Add bok choy/Chinese cabbage last, as these only take a minute or two and you want them still slightly crunchy.)

Remove from heat and do a taste test.  Add more salt or fish sauce/soy sauce if not salty enough.  If too bitter, add 1-2 tbsp. more brown sugar.  If it's too sweet, add more lime juice.

Sprinkle the curry with fresh basil and serve with plenty of rice.*

*We like black forbidden rice, but use whatever you like.  There are no rules here.

A little slice of domestic wisdom.

ME:  How do you know when the hard boiled eggs are done?

HUSBAND:  When I get tired of standing here waiting for them, plus one or two minutes, they're done.

Grill, baby, grill.

Maybe it’s the looming proximity of (my favorite holiday) the Fourth of July, but we seem unable to make a meal these days without schlepping out to the grill. It has gotten so that I am not sure that I would necessarily recognize something as “food” unless it is all gussied up with the delicious criss-cross char of grill marks. But in my book, this is not a problem. A few of our favorites (new and old), follow.

If I could, I think I would eat these fish tacos twice a week at least:

Fish Tacos
(Bobby Flay, sir, my stomach thanks you and the Food Network)

1 pound white flaky fish, such as mahi mahi or orata (*we have also used tilapia and it is delicious!)
1/4 cup canola oil
1 lime, juiced
1 tablespoons ancho chili powder (*”chili powder” unmodified by “ancho” also works fine)
1 jalapeno, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro leaves
8 flour tortillas

Optional garnishes: shredded cabbage, chopped cilantro, chopped red or green onions, hot sauce, salsa, sriracha, crema or sour cream

Preheat grill to medium-high heat. Place fish in a medium size dish. Whisk together the oil, lime juice, chili powder, jalapeno, and cilantro and pour over the fish. Let marinate for 15 to 20 minutes.

Remove the fish from the marinade and place onto a hot grill, flesh side down. Grill the fish for 4 minutes on the first side and then flip for 30 seconds and remove. Let rest for 5 minutes then flake the fish with a fork.

Place the tortillas on the grill and grill for 20 seconds. Divide the fish among the tortillas and garnish with any or all of the garnishes.

* * *

Lest you think I've forgotten those CSA roots (pun intended, mwah ha ha!), we’ve also been grilling the bejeezus out of all stripes of vegetables.  Some recent surprise favorites have been okra and tomatoes.  The recipe we used follows, along with a ridiculously good preparation for scrumptious grilled yellowneck squash.

Grilled Tomatoes and Okra
(modified from epicurious.com recipe for Steak, Tomato and Okra Kebabs)

3 tablespoons finely chopped shallot
3 tablespoons red-wine vinegar
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon sugar
Kosher salt
Freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
As many cherry, roma, or campari tomatoes as you can eat
Ditto as to the fresh okra

Whisk together shallots, vinegar, mustard, sugar, 1 tsp salt, and 3/4 tsp pepper. Add oil in a slow stream, whisking until emulsified.

Toss tomatoes and okra with vinaigrette in a bowl. Let sit for at 20 minutes minutes. Thread tomatoes onto skewers. Thread okra crosswise onto pairs of parallel skewers, leaving small spaces between pieces. (*If using wooden skewers, make sure to soak for at least 20 minutes before.)

Grill skewers (covered only if using a gas grill), turning occasionally, until tomatoes just begin to wilt and okra is tender, 8 to 10 minutes total. Transfer to platter and serve with any remaining vinaigrette.

Grilled Yellowneck Squash
(modified ever so slightly from allrecipes.com)

4 medium yellow squash
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed or squeezed through a garlic press
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat grill to medium heat.  Cut the squash horizontally into 1/4 inch to 1/2 inch thick slices.  Heat olive oil in a small pan and add garlic cloves (or garlic squeezy goodness).  Cook over medium heat until the garlic starts to sizzle and become fragrant.  Brush the slices of squash with the garlic oil, and season with salt and pepper.  Grill squash for 5 to 10 minutes per side, until slices reach the desired tenderness.  During cooking, you may brush with additional garlic oil and turn occasionally to prevent sticking or burning.

Glorious cucumber salad.

Being raised in lands decidedly North of the Mason Dixon line, there are many things about Southern cuisine that I do not pretend to understand.  For example: pimento cheese.  I want to love it, really, I do.  But it just doesn't ring my bell.  If we're going to be putting strange cheese stuff onto Ritz crackers, I'm perfectly happy with my pressurized can of Easy Cheese, thank you very much.  (Thanks to Wikipedia, I now know that Easy Cheese is "a descendant of squeeze cheese."  So goes the circle of life, I guess, with each generation taking the dreams of their forebearers into new and, sometimes, unsettling places.) 

But one Southern staple that I always have room for on my plate is a chilled cucumber salad.  Particularly refreshing in the summertime, I have come to believe that no barbecue is complete without a bowl of this vinegary and yet subtly sweet goodness on the table.  There are a lot of variations on the theme out there, but the simple recipe below (adapted from Adrienne's Cucumber Salad on allrecipes.com) is my favorite. 

Chilled Cucumber Salad

4 large cucumbers, thinly sliced and partially peeled

Kosher sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

1 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup water

1/2 cup white sugar

Toss the cucumbers with the sea salt and pepper in a bowl. Combine the vinegar, water, and sugar in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, then pour over the cucumbers so that they are fully submerged below at least an extra inch of liquid.   Refrigerate at least 12 hours (may be refrigerated up to 24 hours).  When ready to serve, drain what is left of the liquid from the bowl (a lot of it will have been absorbed by the cucumbers). 

The salad can be eaten cold or at room temperature.  

Summertime tomato and herb bruschetta.

I love this bruschetta.  The flavors are so brightly delicious and, this time of year, many of the ingredients can be sourced from even the smallest fire escape garden.  It's one of my favorite choices for a summer cocktail party starter, but be forewarned: This is an appetizer to be eaten among friends.  There is almost no way that you are eating this and getting away without at least a moment where you've got something big and green staring out at the world from a tooth or two.  But don't let your vanity talk you out of giving this a try.  There is something almost magical about the way that the light tomato mint mixture tastes atop the herbed olive oil spread and when you bite in, oh, there's that crispy give of the bread.  Whatever the drawbacks, they are more than worth it. 

Herbed Bruschetta
From Great Good Food by Julee Rosso

1/2 cup finely chopped Italian parsley
1/2 cup drained capers, chopped
1 tablespoon finely minced fresh tarragon
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 large, very ripe tomatoes
3 tablespoons finely minced fresh mint
24 1/4-inch-thick slices peasant bread or French baguette
1 small log goat cheese

Combine the parsley, capers, tarragon, and salt and pepper to taste in a medium-sized bowl.  Add the oil and toss well.

Dice the tomatoes very fine, but do not peel or seed them.  Put the tomatoes in another bowl, season with salt and pepper to taste, and add the mint.

Let everything stand at room temperature for at least 1 hour.

Toast or grill the bread.  Spread it with goat cheese, then the herb mixture.  Top with the tomato mixture. 

Enjoy, preferably with a cocktail in hand.

Experiments in breakfast.

We're drowning in turnips over here.  I am not complaining.  I am merely stating a fact.  And having now exhausted all of my turnip recipes, even recycled them several times over, I decided this morning that it was time to swing for the fences and do something wacky but potentially revolutionary in the arena of breakfast.  Okay, maybe it was all of the turnips making me a little bit loopy (there are so many of them and they are always there, always staring at me--or maybe not--with their little blank faces, it can be hard to tell), but still, I thought I had a terrifically radical idea: what about hash browns, but made from turnips instead of potatoes?

It took me about five seconds on the Internet to discover that I was far from the first intrepid soul with this idea.  In fact, much to my deep disappointment, I discovered that low-carbers the world over think that turnip hash browns are the best thing maybe since the rejection of all breads, whether sliced or in happy healthy loaves.  But, because I fundamentally reject the low-carb lifestyle, I decided it wouldn't be morally consistent to crib one of their recipes.

So, I went it alone.  And although the result was definitely tasty, it was still a reminder why I like recipes so darn much.  My hash browns turned out all soft and smooshy, not crisp and crunchy.  The husband suggested more oil and a lower heat for a longer period of time.  I think he is probably right, but I also think that something was wrong with my batter.  It was only after I finished happily grating the turnips and a bit of onion,* beating in an egg and seasoning the whole mess with salt and pepper, that I realized what I had made was not so much hash browns as a riff on turnip latkes.  So now I have a new Hanukkah recipe, but my revolutionary turnip hash remains a work in progress.  I will spare you the letdown of a mediocre recipe until we get it right.

* Did you know that some low-carb fanatics reject onions as food or flavor, deeming them to be too high in carbs?  This is only one of the disturbing discoveries I made while innocently trolling for a little assist with my too-many-turnips woes. 

Room service.

I love everything about it.  The silver hats that keep the food steamy.  The tiny salt and pepper shakers.  The molded butter.  The mini condiments that I almost always slip into my purse instead of eat because it seems like such a tragedy to break open their seals and devour them right then and there without ruminating for a little while, without treasuring them and celebrating their existence in miniature.  I love room service so much that I almost don't care what the food actually tastes like.  I have had bad room service, but rarely.  My scale of what is good and what is bad is weighted heavily on the side of good for any meal carried or rolled into a hotel room, which I am almost sure to consume (no matter what the accommodations and much to my husband's distinct displeasure) while sitting on the bed.  And it is simply not possible to recreate a satisfying room service experience at home.  Like airplane food, it is an experience that, once separated from its context, becomes something else entirely (this recent post on Grub Street New York aside).

This morning I got to eat room service in a wonderful historic hotel in Washington, D.C.  Can we just appreciate together, for one poignant moment, the wonder of these Art Deco butter balls?  They are almost too pretty to smear on toast.  (I did it, but only after bowing my head in a reverent thanks to whoever first developed the wonderful rituals of my beloved room service.)

Turnip curry from heaven.

There comes a time in the life of almost every CSA when suddenly, it seems that the only thing that the ground is turning up is turnips.  And not just a bushel here or there, but a bonafide swarm of these poker- faced root vegetables.  Suddenly, where there used to be none there are what seems like hundreds, tumbling out of cabinets and getting underfoot.  (And almost certainly confidently plotting their ultimate dominion, an upset of the natural order possible only because of their audacious numbers.  Think I am paranoid?  Just you wait until you are genuflecting before your turnip overlords.  That day could come, don't think it couldn't.) 

The only way to fight back is to consume, consume, consume, but generally these kinds of weeks end with me feeling defeated.  Here I have embraced the CSA because I claim I want to be forced to get creative with my vegetable eating, but I get completely stumped when you hand me a bucketfull of your garden variety turnips. 

Well, thanks to an amazing recipe from one of my favorite cookbooks, not only was I happy to discover a glorious band of tokyo turnips in our box this week, I am even hoping that next week we get so lucky again.  Try this recipe from Raghavan Iyer's magnificent 660 Curries and I think you will find that you feel the same way.

Turnips with Garlic & Cumin

From 660 Curries by Raghavan Iyer, Workman Publishing 2008

1 tsp cumin seeds (the recipe as written calls for black cumin seeds, but I have used ordinary cumin seeds with delicious results)

6 medium-sized garlic gloves, finely chopped

3 dried red Thai or cayenne chillies, stems removed

2 tbs canola oil

1 1/2 lbs turnips, peeled and cut into 2-inch cubes

1 1/2 tsp coarse kosher or sea salt

1/4 tsp ground tumeric

1/4 cup firmly packed fresh mint leaves, finely chopped

1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro leaves and tender stems

Combine the cumin seeds, garlic, and chilies in a mortar.  Pound the mixture with the pestle, scraping the sides of the mortar as needed to contain the ingredients in the center, to form a pulpy, gritty paste. (NOTE: I don't have a mortar and pestle, so I just threw all of these ingredients in the food processor and the end result was great.)

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat.  Scrape the garlic-chili paste carefully into the oil and stir-fry until the garlic browns and the chilies smell pungent, 1 to 2 minutes.

Stir in the turnips, reduce the heat to medium, and cover the skillet.  Cook, stirring occasionally, until the turnips brown, 5 to 8 minutes.  The chilies will smell even more pungent, so do make sure you have adequate ventilation (*this is no joke).

Pour in 1 cup water and sprinkle in the salt and turmeric.  Scrape the bottom of the skillet to deglaze it, releasing any browned bits.  Once the liquid comes to a boil, reduce the heat to medium-low, cover the skillet, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the turnips are tender-crisp, 20 to 25 minutes.

Fold in the mint and cilantro.  Simmer, uncovered, anointing the turnips with the sauce, until some of the liquid has been absorbed, 5 to 8 minutes.  Then serve.

*We served this tonight with red Bhutan rice, cilantro-mint chutney, and a side salad.  The range of flavors in this curry, particularly the combination of the slightly sweet turnips with the kick of the sauce, is really something to experience.  Highly, highly recommended.  Plus, how can you not adore a cookbook author that uses turns of phrase like "anointing the turnips with the sauce"?  Fantastic.

  

A salad for grilling season.

First, the beets that came in our box this week were so beautiful.  And I think beets are ordinarily among the lookers of the vegetable kingdom, but these were extra special.  When we cut them open, they looked like strawberries.  

Naturally, I made everyone* in the house come and ooh and aah at them with me before the food preparing process could move forward. 

Also in the box were bundles of crunchy lettuce and more yellow squash than you could shake a stick at (unless you had a group of people shaking very many sticks, then I think it could be done).  This particular combination of goodness made our Saturday lunch decision plain: it was time to break out our favorite grilled vegetable salad from Bon Appetit. 

There are so many things that I love about this recipe, not least among them being that someone thought it would be a great idea to grill fennel (they were right!) and that, although it is ridiculously delicious when made just as directed, it can easily be modified to accommodate most any confederacy of vegetables that you happen to have hanging around.  But I think that what I love most is its inclusion of blue cheese.  Blue cheese, for me, always triggers fond thoughts of my parents.  In one of those incidental bits of food memory that tags along with us from childhood, I remember very lovingly the glass jar of Marie's blue cheese dressing as a virtually ever present staple in our refrigerator.  For better or for worse, we were and are a blue cheese kind of family and I still can't eat it without pausing for a moment to say a silent prayer of thanks that serendipity set me down in the middle of the oddball group of folks that I am lucky to call kin. 

But, I digress.  Here it is, so that you might try it for yourself with your own rare and motley crew:

Grilled Vegetables with Mixed Greens and Blue Cheese Dressing
(on epicurious.com, originally published in Bon Appetit)

Serves 4 as a main course.

2 tbs red wine vinegar
2 tsp Dijon mustard
9 tbs extra virgin olive oil, divided + a bit more for brushing the onion
1/2 cup crumbled blue cheese (about 2 ounces)
2 medium zucchini or yellow squash, halved lengthwise
2 bell peppers (colors of your choice), seeded and quartered lengthwise
1 lb red-skinned potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 1/3 inch thick slices
1 fennel bulb, trimmed, cut through core into 8 wedges
8 fresh shitake mushrooms, stemmed (I often use other mushrooms when I can't find fresh shitakes)
10 baby beets (about 1.5 inches in diameter), trimmed, scrubbed and halved crosswise
1 large red onion, cut into 1/3 inch thick slices
1 5-ounce package mixed baby greens (or greens of your choice)

Whisk vinegar, Dijon mustard, and 5 tbs olive oil in small bowl.  Stir in cheese.  Season dressing with salt and generous amount of pepper.

Prepare barbecue (medium-high heat); brush grill with oil.  Place all vegetables except beets, onion, and greens in large bowl; drizzle with remaining 4 tbs oil and toss to coat.  Transfer to large rimmed baking sheet.  Place beets in same bowl; toss to coat with any remaining oil and transfer to baking sheet.  Sprinkle vegetables on baking sheet with salt and pepper.  Brush onion slices with oil; sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Grill vegetables until slightly charred and tender; about 12 minutes for beets, potatoes and fennel, turning occasionally, and about 4 minutes per side for zucchini (or squash), peppers, onion slices, and mushrooms.

Mound greens in center of 4 plates.  Scatter onion slices over greens.  Arrange vegetables around greens.  Drizzle dressing over and serve.



* The husband and the dog.  The neighbors did not appear to be home, so they got a pass.  This time.

A classic because-I-can-meal.

While eating meals made from vegetables that come in a box straight off of a real live nearby farm is, undoubtedly, like, totally awesome, sometimes all that I want is what I like to think of as a "because-I-can-meal."   Known better in other circles as the "why not?" meal movement, the "what are we sheep?" culinary anti-cotillion, or the "spaghetti for breakfast" battle hymn, I have been pushing the "because-I-can" meal agenda for as long as I can remember.  Who says that we must have eggs in the morning hours, that the only respectable place for a sandwich is lunch, and that anyone who wants to make it in this world better think twice before they take their knife and fork come dinnertime to anything other than a square, somber protein with two sides?  

I say to Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire with them.  They are certainly not invited to dine with me tonight, while I partake in one of my favorite because-I-can's: that old faithful, the PB&J, a glass of red wine, and chipotle sweet potato fries from Publix's freezer section for dessert. 

I'd give you the recipe, but it's a family secret.

Turnips for the well-heeled set.

Is there a root vegetable out there with a less decadent reputation than that pale (sometimes blushing) wallflower, the turnip?  Generally, it flies well below the radar of even the most ardent vegetable consumers; a solid choice for a mash or a hash, but as the starring player in a sophisticated gratin?  Don't make the artisan potatoes laugh.

Except, the recipe below, originally printed in the much mourned late great Gourmet magazine, might have you thinking otherwise.  You might even serve this divine turnip gratin at your next chichi dinner party.

Turnip Gratin (available on epicurious.com)

2 tbs unsalted butter
2 1/2 lbs medium turnips, trimmed and left unpeeled
1 tbs chopped thyme
1/2 tbs chopped savory (*note: I have used dill instead of savory and often double the fresh herbs)
1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
Rounded 1/8 tsp cayenne
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (use a microplane if possible)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees with rack in middle.  Melt butter in an ovenproof 12-inch heavy skillet, then cool.

Slice turnips paper-thin with adjustable-blade slicer (*I have done this with a good sharp kitchen knife with fine results), then arrange one third of slices, overlapping tightly, in skillet, keeping remaining slices covered with dampened paper towels.  Sprinkle with about 1/3 of fresh herbs, kosher salt, and cayenne.  Make 2 more layers.

Cook, covered, over medium heat until underside is browned, about 10 minutes.  Add cream and cook, covered, until center is tender, 20 to 25 minutes.

Sprinkle evenly with cheese, then bake, uncovered, until golden and bubbling, 10 to 15 minutes.  Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

An ode to Trader Joe's whole wheat pizza dough.

Oh, Trader Joe's.  Others wax rhapsodic about the two buck chuck, your frozen chocolate croissants, and even I, a long-time pretzel skeptic, admit to a night or two of absolute devotion to your peanut butter filled pretzels.  But by far your most profound contribution to our household has been your whole wheat refrigerated pizza dough. 

Tragically, you have yet to set up shop here in Columbia, but whenever we are in the vicinity of one of your Southeastern stores (thank you for Athens, Greenville, and Charlotte), we make a detour to stock up, buying five or six bags of dough at a time.  Then we throw it in the freezer, where it keeps perfectly until pizza night. 

During CSA season, pizza night often comes once a week.  It's a particular favorite for the day that we pick up our box, because you can put almost anything on a pizza with delicious results.  Last year, we went weeks where our box brought us heaps and heaps of zucchinis and yellow crookneck squash, which in turn led us to this fantastic (and legitimately "superfast") vegetarian pizza recipe from Bon Appetit, reprinted below.  We've since used this recipe as the base for just about any kind of pizza imaginable and I've included some of our favorite variations below, as well. 

Just last night, we decided, for the first time, to try this pizza dough on the grill.  I adjusted the recipe some for grilling and think the results were among the best we've had.  (But to be fair, I can't remember a bad pizza night.  That would be like an episode of Veronica Mars not worth watching.  Inconceivable.) 

Here is the recipe from Bon Appetit, with my editorial comments.  It is also available in all of its original glory at epicurious.com.

Superfast Vegetarian Pizza

1 tbs olive oil
1 medium zucchini, diced
1 medium yellow crookneck squash, diced
1/2 tbs dried crushed red pepper
Pizza crust (recipe calls for Boboli crust, I use TJ's)
1 14-oz jar mushroom pizza sauce (I use pizza or pasta sauce and saute sliced mushrooms in the sauce--adds a bit more time but you really get the fresh mushroom flavor that way)
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 cup packed mozzarella cheese (about 4 oz)
1/2 cup drained oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, thinly sliced
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 450 degrees (or to whatever temp advised by the directions on the pizza crust package).  Heat oil in a heavy medium skillet over medium heat.  Add zucchini, yellow squash and crushed red pepper; saute until vegetables are almost tender, about 5 minutes.

Place pizza crust on baking sheet (if you are using TJ's, you will have to roll out first -- when we bake it in the oven, we make a big rectangle shaped pizza on a lightly oiled rimmed baking sheet).  Spread mushroom sauce over.  Sprinkle with garlic, then mozzarella.  Top with squash mixture and tomatoes.  Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.  Bake pizza until cheese melts and crust is crisp (or per the pizza dough instructions), about 13 minutes.  Cut into pieces.  Eat. 

Variation - Butternut Squash, Portabello Mushroom and Caramelized Onion Pizza

One of our favorite variations on the above is to make it with butternut squash and lots of other goodies.  Here's that riff on the theme:

1 tbs olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 1/2 cups sliced baby portabello mushrooms
1/2 butternut squash
2 generous pinches of light brown sugar
Pizza crust
1 14-oz jar pizza or pasta sauce
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 cup packed mozzarella cheese (about 4 oz)
1/2 cup drained oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, thinly sliced
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 small log of goat cheese

Preheat oven to 450 degrees (or to whatever temp advised by the directions on the pizza crust package).  Heat oil in a heavy medium skillet over medium heat.  Add the onion and saute until caramelized, about 5-7 minutes.   Add the mushrooms and saute until soft, approximately 3 minutes.

While the other vegetables are cooking, scoop all the seeds and slimy insides out of your half-of-a-squash.  Lay cut size down on microwave-safe plastic wrap and poke several holes with a fork in the rind side of the squash.  Cook in the microwave directly on the microwave plate in 5 minute intervals until soft.  When the squash is done, scoop out the innards into a small bowl, mix in the brown sugar and season, to taste, with salt and pepper. 

When the mushrooms are soft, add the squash to the vegetable mixture.  Saute for another 3 minutes.

Place pizza crust on baking sheet. Spread sauce over.  Sprinkle with garlic, then mozzarella.  Top with squash mixture and tomatoes.  Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.  Dot the top with goat cheese.  Bake pizza until cheese melts and crust is crisp (or per the pizza dough instructions), about 13 minutes.  Cut into pieces.  Scarf down.

Variation - Kale and Goat Cheese Pizza

1 tbs olive oil
1 small red onion
1 1/2 cups baby portabello mushrooms
3 cups chopped kale
1/2 tbs dried crushed red pepper
Salt to taste
1 14-oz jar pizza or pasta sauce
3 large garlic cloves, minced
1 cup packed shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup drained oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, thinly sliced
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese
1/2 small log goat cheese

Preheat oven to 450 degrees (or to whatever temp advised by the directions on the pizza crust package).  Heat oil in a heavy medium skillet over medium heat.  Add the onion and saute until caramelized, about 5-7 minutes.   Add the mushrooms and saute until soft, approximately 3 minutes.  Add kale and crushed red pepper and season with salt.  Saute until wilted, approx. 1-2 minutes.

Place pizza crust on baking sheet. Spread sauce over.  Sprinkle with garlic, then mozzarella.  Top with kale mixture and tomatoes.  Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.  Dot the top with goat cheese.  Bake pizza until cheese melts and crust is crisp (or per the pizza dough instructions), about 13 minutes.  Cut into pieces.  Devour it.

Grillin'

Last night we did a variation on the kale pie, using the beautiful red russian kale from our CSA box, and cooking the pizzas on the grill, instead of in the oven. 

In preparation, I looked at several grilled pizza recipes and learned about the two most common pitfalls of pizza grilling.  First, because of "hot spots" on the grill, if you just throw the crust straight on, it can be hard to get it to cook evenly---you are likely to end up with parts of your crust blackened.  Not necessarily the height of yum.  Second, it can be very difficult to get a loaded pie on and off a grill without some accoutrement to assist.  I ended up deciding to pick up these great pizza grill pans at Cost Plus World Market---they neatly avoided both problems. 

First, we divided the bag of TJ's dough in half and rolled out two medium sized rounds, both a bit smaller than the grill pans.  Then, we put the dough on the grill pans on the grill.  Cooking over medium heat, it didn't take long for the dough to bake and puff up, almost like big, beautiful rounds of chapati roti. 

At that point, we took the grill pans back to the kitchen to load the pizzas.  The very first item we put on the pizzas was the mozzarella cheese.  Then, we poured the sauce (which we had already heated on the stovetop) over the cheese.  On the grill, of course, all of your heat is going to come from below the pie.  This slightly unorthodox ordering of toppings ensures that your cheese will melt.  All of the other items went on in their regular order from the kale pizza recipe above and, last night, we also added a bit of spicy Italian sausage that we had cooked up on the stovetop in a skillet.  

Once everything was loaded on, we put the pizzas back on the grill, closed the top so that the handles stuck out the front of the barbecue and let the magic happen.  We checked on them every few minutes and, in about seven minutes, the pies were done and the crust was perfect: crisp enough that the slice didn't bend or buckle under the weight of the toppings when lifted from plate to mouth, but still chewy.  I see lots more grilled pizza nights in our future.

Collards, charmed, I'm sure.

I am from so far North and West that my Southern-raised husband tells me that I don't even qualify as a Yankee.  And although I have always been an adventurous eater, it wasn't until I moved to South Carolina that I can remember tasting collards. 

They weren't a completely unfamiliar concept.  I had read about them in books and stuff.  But like hush puppies (which I, for some reason, thought were the Southern version of maple bars---who knows where I picked that one up?), they just weren't a part of my culinary landscape. 

Exhibit A: until we moved here, I had always heard the vegetable referred to by its complete, proper name---that is, "collard greens."  Southerners, I have since learned, tend to be on a first name basis, calling them simply, "collards."  Although I can now pick my new friend collards out of a greens line-up, I remain somewhat intimidated in the kitchen.  

It was only a matter of time before collards showed up in our CSA box.  And I am happy to report that, after trying my hand at the recipe reprinted below, I think that our relationship is off to a promising start.  This soup reminded me a bit of a flavorful minestrone, minus the pasta.  And it was frighteningly easy, simple, and quick.  Definitely a tasty and healthy option for a weeknight dinner.

Smoky Greens and Beans

originally published in Bon Appetit, available at epicurious.com

2 tbs olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 14.5 ounce can diced tomatoes in juice (I used fire-roasted)

1 1/2 tsp smoked paprika

1 14.5 ounce can vegetable broth (I used chicken broth)

8 cups coarsely chopped assorted greens (e.g., kale, mustard greens, and collard greens)

1 15-ounce can cannellini (white kidney beans), drained

Grated Manchengo or Parmesan cheese (optional)

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat.  Add onion and saute until soft and beginning to brown, about 6 minutes.  Add garlic; stir 1 minute.  Add tomatoes with juice and paprika; stir 1 minute.  Add broth and greens; bring to boil, stirring often.  Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until greens are wilted and tender, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes.  Stir in beans and simmer 1 minute to heat through.  Divide among bowls; sprinkle with cheese, if desired.

Carrots, two ways.

One of the first recipes that I remember making all by my lonesome was a delicious (and absurdly simple) rustic carrot soup that has since become a trusty favorite.  Many, many, nights I have whipped this up after a long day at work.  Served with some crusty bread and a side salad, this is a fantastic choice for an almost instant casual and fresh dinner.  I have also served it in an elegant dinner party setting, as a first course in tiny chilled soup tureens.  It is one of those wonderfully flexible recipes that can fit almost any occasion, be made vegetarian or not, and is equally good warm or chilled.  And it definitely gets a lot of play at our house during CSA season. 

Tonight, however, we decided we wanted to do something a little different.  We did not have to look any farther than the June 2011 issue of Food & Wine, which conveniently appeared in our mailbox yesterday.  Included was a feature in which the celebrated Richard Blais, who recently trumped all on Top Chef All Stars (we are dedicated fans), offered up several great-looking vegetable side dishes for grilling season.  If there is a flaw with Top Chef, it is that as the home viewer, your appreciation of the food is necessarily limited.  Blais' recipe for Ginger-Lime Baby Carrots offered the perfect opportunity for us to use our CSA carrots and see for ourselves why Padma and Tom and Company go all ga ga for this guy.  Spoiler alert: the hype is well deserved. 

Both recipes are below.

French Cream of Carrot Soup
(modified slightly from Jean Hewitt's International Meatless Cookbook (c) 1980)

3 tbs butter
1 medium-sized onion, finely chopped (1/2 cup)
1 1/2 lbs carrots (approx. 8 medium-sized)
1 small white turnip, diced
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon fresh thyme or 1/4 teaspoon dried leaf thyme
3 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 cup half & half

In a heavy kettle or Dutch oven, heat the butter and saute the onion until tender but not browned.  Add the carrots and turnip and cook, stirring 5 to 8 minutes.  Sprinkle with salt, pepper, and thyme.  Add the broth and bring to a boil.  Cover and simmer until the vegetables are tender, about 15 minutes.  Puree the mixture in batches in an electric blender or food processer and return to the kettle.  Stir in the cream.  Reheat but do not boil.

Can be served warm or chilled.

Ginger-Lime Baby Carrots
By Richard Blais, published in the June 2011 issue of Food & Wine

24 baby carrots, tops trimmed to 2 inches
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
Pinch of cinnamon
1/2 cup chicken stock
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 teaspoons fresh lime juice
1/4 teaspoon Sriracha
Salt
1 tablespoon furikake*
In a large saucepan of boiling salted water, cook the carrots until crisp-tender, about 2 minutes. Drain the carrots.

In a large skillet, heat the olive oil. Add the carrots, ginger and cinnamon and cook over moderate heat, tossing occasionally, until the ginger is fragrant, about 3 minutes. Add the chicken stock and boil over moderately high heat until reduced by half, about 3 minutes. Remove the skillet from the heat and let cool for 30 seconds. Swirl in the butter, lime juice and Sriracha and season with salt. Arrange the carrots on a platter and spoon the ginger-lime sauce on top. Sprinkle with the furikake and serve.

*Furikake is available at Asian markets and many specialty food stores.  It is also delicious by its own on plain rice.

Pay no attention to the nose in the corner.

I heart kale for breakfast.

Lock your skepticism in the pantry.  In our house, we have just crowned this the Best Baked Frittata Ever.

Kale, Red Onion & Mushroom Baked Frittata
(modified from Kayln's Kitchen's Red Russian Kale and Red Onion Savory Breakfast Squares)

1 tsp. olive oil
1/2 red onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup sliced mushrooms
salt & pepper to taste
1 bunch kale
1 tsp. soy sauce
1 cup feta cheese
1/4 cup whole wheat bread crumbs
6 eggs, beaten well
salsa
sour cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Cut stems off of kale, discard stems, and wash kale and dry well (a salad spinner works great for this, otherwise you can dry with kitchen towels).

Heat olive oil in large heavy skillet.  Add onions and saute for 3 minutes.  Add garlic and saute for about 2 more minutes.  Then, add mushrooms, sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste, and sautee for approximately 2-3 more minutes.   Finally, add kale, sauteeing it until it is good and wilted (approximately 4-5 minutes).

Combine sauteed vegetables in a large bowl with soy sauce, cheese, bread crumbs, and beaten eggs.  Stir gently until ingredients are well distributed.  Spray square oven-safe pan with olive oil or nonstick spray and pour in egg mixture.  Bake 20-25 minutes until eggs are well set and the top is lightly browned.

Serve hot with salsa and sour cream on the side.

Lamb, I am.

I love the sassy, tangy taste of arugula, but it can be hard to put together a salad that stands up to its swagger. When this week's CSA box brought us another great big bag of the stuff (plus microgreens and carrots and strawberries, oh my!), I was ready with a twist on one of our old favorites: lamb burger salads. Trust me, its a good one. It combines our newfound love of grilling (and a definite plus of living below the Mason Dixon is that you really can grill practically all year round) and there is no better stage for all of its great Greek flavors than a whole mess of beautiful tangled arugula.

The recipe is originally from Self Magazine c/o epicurious. I made some very minor changes to convert it from a burger to a salad and added the Sriracha sauce to give it some additional flavor and a bit of a punch.

Greek Burger Salad with Arugula, Tomatoes, and Feta
4 whole-wheat pitas (6 1/2 inches each)
1/4 cup skim milk
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic
2 generous tablespoons chopped fresh mint
4 generous teaspoons chopped fresh oregano or 1 teaspoon dried
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
3/4 pound lean ground lamb
4 cups arugula
2 medium tomatoes, chopped
1 red onion, chopped
1 cup peeled, seeded and finely diced cucumber
1/3 cup crumbled feta

Dressing
2/3 cup nonfat plain yogurt (I like Greek Fage yogurt)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint
2 teaspoon chopped garlic
2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon honey

Sriracha sauce to taste.

Heat oven to 350°F. Cut 1/4 off each pita (a half-moon shape from 10 o'clock to 2 o'clock). Chop half-moons, transfer to a bowl and sprinkle with milk. Let soak 5 minutes. Drain and squeeze out excess milk.

Purée soaked bread, onion, garlic, herbs and lemon juice in a blender or food processor. Transfer purée to a bowl. Add lamb, season with salt and pepper and combine. Form into 4 patties.

Wrap pitas in foil and heat until warm, about 8 minutes. (Or place pitas between sheets of paper towel and microwave until warm, about 30 seconds.)

Cook burgers on the grill or on a skillet with teaspoons oil heated over medium-high heat until hot. Cook burgers to medium, 2 to 3 minutes on each side.

Whisk yogurt, mint, garlic, mustard and honey in a bowl. Season with salt and pepper.

Prepare the salads. Divide the arugula between four plates. Break up the burgers and divide between the plates. Add tomato, red onion and cucumber to plates. Drizzle dressing over salads and add several good squirts of Sriracha to taste. Sprinkle with feta. Serve warm pitas and leftover dressing on the side.




Tip from M. Tumbleweed: once you have prepared the patties, make sure that you put them somewhere well out of reach of the dog.  Or else you will end up with three, instead of four, lamb burgers to go around.  (Tip from the dog: ignore those last two sentences entirely.)

Now that's my kind of dividend.

CSA. It stands for Community Supported Agriculture and the number of farms that offer some form of CSA program has been growing every year. While the exact mechanics can vary from farm to farm, the basic structure is this: you, the consumer seeking super fresh produce, pay the farmer for a "share" of the farm for the season. In exchange, you get your investment paid back to you over the course of the season in boxes of produce. In other words: you get dividends that you can eat. It is not entirely risk free. The farmer may have a bad season and the CSA is one way that they seek to spread the potential losses that they can suffer as a result of those particular characteristics of the business that can make a bad year beyond their control. But the rewards, which include providing support for a grower in your local community (in addition to the normal payout of delicious eats), are numerous.

I had long been curious about CSAs, but it wasn't until last Spring that we took the plunge and bought our very own share in a family farm outside of Charleston, South Carolina. It did not take us long to become completely hooked. Some CSAs let you choose what you get each week, but I preferred the way ours did it--the more common grab bag (or more accurately, grab bushel) arrangement, where you get a box of whatever happens to have come out of the ground each week. I came to relish the challenge of using whatever we were given and, with a lot of help from epicurious.com, we ate riotously lip-smackingly well that season.

We ate so well, in fact, that after the season ended, we couldn't wait to sign up again. But then work moved me to Columbia, South Carolina, and it initially looked like we were out of luck. Internet searches revealed no CSAs closer than an hour's drive away and I couldn't help but feel that to make a trip like that each week to pick up my bushel somewhat defeated the purpose of trying to eat local and do even just a little bit to shrink that environmental footprint (which I was painfully aware had become enormous in our transition from New York City dwellers to suburbanites with - gasp - not just one, but TWO cars).

But just as I had given up the dream of another gloriously local Spring, Columbia's very own urban farm, City Roots, announced its inaugural CSA season. I picked up my first box last Wednesday and could not be happier. Around these parts, City Roots is very rightfully known for its salad greens and the box was packed with goodies of this ilk, including arugula, pea shoots, three heads of red-leafed lettuce, and a bag of beet greens. Also inside was pure nostalgia of gardens from my childhood past: some of the most delicious strawberries I have ever tasted and carrots that retained that slightly sweet taste that you only find in carrots pulled directly from the earth.

Below are two of my favorite recipes that the box inspired this week. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.

Farmers Market Salad with Aged Gouda and Roasted Portabellas
3/4 lbs sliced portabella mushrooms
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided
3 tbs red-wine vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
10 cups mixed spicy greens such as mustard, arugula, tatsoi, mizuna, and watercress
1 cup coarsely grated aged Gouda cheese

Preheat oven to 425°F with rack in middle.

Toss mushrooms with 3 tablespoon oil and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper in a bowl. Roast in 1 layer in a 4-sided sheet pan, turning once, until golden-brown and tender, about 15 minutes. Cool mushrooms.

Whisk together vinegar, mustard, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1/8 teaspoon pepper, and remaining 5 tablespoons oil in a bowl until combined. Toss mushrooms, greens, and cheese with enough dressing to coat.

Recipe originally published in Gourmet Magazine. You can view the complete recipe online at: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/354521

Goat Cheese and Beet Green Pasta
1 tbs + 1 tsp olive oil
2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 cup sliced mushrooms
6 cups washed and sliced beet greens
1/2 lb whole grain penne pasta
1/2 cup half n' half
2 ounces goat cheese
1/4 tsp fresh thyme
salt & freshly ground pepper to taste
2 tablespoons pistachios, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup grated Parmesan or Asiago cheese

Chop the beet greens, cut off the thick stalks. Submerge in a large bowl of cool water to remove dirt. Drain and pat dry.

Cook the pasta in salted water according to directions until al dente.

In a large skillet, warm the olive oil over medium heat. Saute the garlic until golden. Add the mushrooms and saute until browned. Add sliced beet greens and saute until wilted, approximately 2-3 minutes.

Meanwhile, whisk the cream and goat cheese in a small bowl until well blended. Add to the skillet and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook for 3-4 minutes, or until sauce begins to thicken slightly. Add fresh thyme, season with salt and pepper.

Add the cooked pasta and a few tablespoons of the pasta water to the skillet and saute with the sauce for one minute. Divide among plates, top with pistachios, extra grated cheese and freshly ground pepper. Serve immediately.

Thanks to Susan Russo of foodblogga.com for the original recipe. (I tweaked some of the measurements a bit, added the garlic and mushrooms, and made some small other changes, including substituting whole grain penne pasta).