Oh, My Darling Clementine Mimosas

“What can I bring?” people always ask when I invite them over. And because I know it would be rude to say, “cash money,” I usually tell them to bring fruit or wine.

Bringing fruit – or the fruit of the vine --  allows guests to feel like they haven’t arrived at a host’s home empty-handed, but doesn’t require them to cook when they were looking forward to a day of being fed for a change. That is my official explanation. The truth? I don’t want anyone messing up my menu by arriving with a dish that won’t work with what I’ve planned. (Can you spell c-o-n-t-r-o-l f-r-e-a-k?)

In either case, I often end up with leftover fruit after a party. If it’s melon, which I‘m allergic to, I force-feed it to my children. If it’s berries, I snack on them the next day, or bake them into muffins. But last weekend it was clementines. Lots and lots and LOTS of clementines. And while everyone in my house likes clementines, (and although they do stay well in the fridge for a couple of weeks), no one around here wants to eat six of them a day every day between now and February.

So, riffing on that old saw about what to do when life hands you lemons, I juiced the clementines and made clementine mimosas, served them to brunch company yesterday, and suffice to say, I am no longer overburdened by clementines.

Easy, peasy: 1/2 juice, 1/2 bubbly. Serve in champagne glasses. If I hadn’t been feeling so lazy, I’d have plopped a sprig of mint in each one. But I was, so I didn’t. Nobody complained.

Happy new year!

Beans, Beans, They’re Good for Your Snow-Day Dinner

It snowed here, today -- making it an especially good day to stay off the road to the supermarket and use up some of my ingredient excess. Stuck my head into the pantry and... Oyoyoy. Can someone please tell me how I ended up with two jars of molasses? (Molasses, which I normally use at a rate of about 1/4 cup per annum...So I need TWO jars exactly why?) Five jars of mustard (for real), and half-a-shelf full of canned beans? Someone? Anyone?

I don’t understand it, either. But I vaguely remembered seeing a recipe for bakes beans, once, that called for molasses and mustard. So I googled “baked beans,” got a basic sense of the how-to’s and proportions, added the frankfurters I had in the freezer, and threw in a splash of beer. (I sometimes put beer in my brisket, too. It adds a really nice -- and not at all "beer-y" --taste to slow-cooked meat.)

Then, while the beans took a long, sweet nap in the oven, I took a long, sweet nap in my bed. Two effortless hours later, snow-day dinner was served.

If you, yourself, are not currently stuck with the odd embarrassment-of-riches combination of molasses, mustard and frankfurters, you may not have occasion to make this particular pantry-purging dish…but the strategy I used is applicable to almost any ingredients you want to weed out of your own cupboard: Go to epicurious.com, food.com, or another big recipe website you trust, type in the name of a finished dish (e.g., baked beans) that you think might use some of the ingredients together, or  type the names of some of the individual ingredients you have on hand (beans, mustard, molasses) into the search bar together and just see what pops up. Tweak and adapt the recipe to suit your dietary needs (I left out the pork fatback that many baked beans recipes call for...) and the contents of your own pantry. Taste as you go along, adjust at whim, and see what you come up with. I wouldn't try it when the boss is coming to dinner. But for a snow-night supper? Go right ahead.

Here’s the recipe for the franks and beans:

1 large onion, diced

2 Tablespoons vegetable oil

5 beef frankfurters (or 4… or 6… whatever) cut into rounds

Two 15.5 ounce cans white beans, rinsed and drained (I used cannellini. Navy beans are fine, too.)

½ Cup molasses

¼ Cup Dijon mustard

¼ Cup ketchup (I use the Heinz organic, because it doesn’t have high fructose corn syrup. My kid, the ketchup maven, says it tastes exactly the same as the original.)

½ Cup mild-tasting beer (I used Miller).

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees.

In a stovetop-to-oven-safe pot or Dutch oven, over medium heat, sautee the onions and franks until the onions are soft and the franks deepen a bit in color – about 5 minutes. Drain off the extra fat from the pot.

Add the remaining ingredients, raise the heat to high and cook for five minutes, to evaporate some of the liquid and burn off the alcohol in the beer.

Cover pot, transfer to the oven, and bake for 1.5-2 hours.

Bean there. Done that.

Pepper Rally

You know those peppers Peter Piper picked? Well, guess what: They weren’t pickled after all; they were roasted. And jarred. And tucked so well in the far reaches and back corners of my pantry that I kept thinking I didn’t HAVE any roasted peppers, and kept buying more. And more. And… total roast-pepper-tally when Steve organized the pantry last weekend? Four big jars. (And that’s just the sweet peppers. Let’s not even talk about the chipotles right now…)

But now we’re down to two jars, thanks to a strategic pantry attack that used up not only half of my pepper stash but also the half-box of currants I’d had since God was in knee pants; some of the many, many slivered almonds I have accidentally accumulated; the open jar of capers in my refrigerator (leaving room for the unopened jar in the pantry to take its place); the itty-bitty bits of wine vinegar I had left in two separate bottles, some random cloves of garlic sitting on my kitchen counter… and, oh, yes, the leftover half of a red onion I cut into last Sunday to go with our bagels and lox.

Simmered with boneless, skinless chicken thighs (you could use white meat, but I had thighs in the freezer) it all made for a delicious, kind-of-sort-of-Spanish-inspired stew that was really good with saffron rice and the frozen haricots verts I bought one day when I forgot that I really don’t LIKE frozen haricots verts, because they get too mushy when you cook them. With stew and rice on a rainy night, the “mush factor” didn’t bother me quite so much.

Overstocked on peppers yourself?  Here’s a way to use some of them up. And if you don’t have any peppers, but don’t have anything else to make for dinner, either, either, go buy two jars. This was REALLY good. (And even better re-heated the next day.)

Peck of Peppers Stew

¼ Cup olive oil

1 Cup chopped onion (I used red; you could use white or yellow, too)

5 cloves of garlic, minced

1 Tblsp smoked paprika (if you don’t have smoked, use sweet )

2 lbs skinless, boneless chicken, cut into strips

Bit of flour or cornstarch

2 Cups white wine (I used pinot grigio. Anything similar – not too sweet; not too dry or oaky – would be fine.)

Two 12-ounce jars roasted sweet red peppers, drained, rinsed and drained again

1 Cup dried currants (or raisins, black or golden)

3 Tblsp capers, drained

1 Tblsp wine vinegar

Freshly squeezed juice of one orange (fresh really does matter here)

Salt to taste (I needed about ¼ teaspoon)

Handful chopped flat leaf parsley, divided

½ cup slivered almonds, toasted (you could use pine nuts, instead, if that’s what you have)

In a large skillet over medium heat, start cooking the onions and garlic in the olive oil. Add the paprika and continue cooking until onions are soft and the whole thing is paprika-colored and smells great.

Dredge the chicken in the flour or cornstarch and shake off any extra. Raise the heat to high and add the chicken, browning lightly on all sides.

Add the wine, and lower the heat to a simmer.

Add all the other ingredients EXCEPT the almonds and most of the parsley (That is, add a bit of parsley to the pot, but save the rest for later.) Cook over low heat for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the chicken is cooked through, the sauce is cooked down and everything comes together. It's fine to let it cook longer than that, if the heat is low and you check occasionally to make sure the sauce isn't evaporating too much.

Spoon onto a big platter and top with toasted nuts and chopped parsley. Serve with starchy short-grained rice (I added some saffron to mine) or crusty bread to sop up all of the sauce.

 

The Big Pantry Pare-Down

I'm baaaaaack...

I figured, when I decided not to renew my all-kale-all-the-time CSA two summers ago, that my days of having to use up random foodstuffs before they went bad were over.

I figured wrong.

Like the vast majority of Americans, I (still) waste an appalling amount of the produce I buy. The cucumber I forget in the fridge until it has turned to penicillin; the grapes my kids ask for and then lose interest in; the salad greens I purchase with the best intentions as I start a Monday-morning diet, only to end up at the end of a well-paved road to hell by Wednesday, when a scoop of Ben & Jerry’s for lunch sounds like a fine idea.

And then there’s the leftover cooked food we never get around to eating: The lone chicken leg or the ounce-and-a-half of poached salmon that remains after supper, or the half-portion of spaghetti left in the pot without a college student in sight to snarf it cold from the refrigerator at 3 am.

And somehow (much to my great shame) I have even, occasionally, had to throw out things that should last nearly forever—canned beans or tuna; a vacuum-sealed jar of barbecue sauce. Because while I know that nothing terrible will happen if I eat beans with a January expiration date in February, the can of garbanzos I recently unearthed from before my ten-year-old son was born didn’t leave me feeling entirely comfortable. I mean, I’m willing to ignore a sell-by date. But a sell-by DECADE? Not so much.

So, as we sat around the Thanksgiving table the other night expressing gratitude for all the food we have, I resolved (again) to stop wasting so much of it. To shop for less at a time, and to use up what I have before I bring home anything new. To sort through my pantry and make sure I know what I have on hand, so that I stop buying duplicates that obstruct the view even further, making it more difficult to plan meals efficiently.  Oh, and yeah, to use up the three cans of chipotles in adobo I bought TWO YEARS ago because they were on sale – and never used.

So, here’s what we did (OK, fine, here’s what my husband and son did, while I bossed them around): We emptied the pantry, the fridge and the freezer, created a written inventory, and then put the stuff back in something resembling an organized fashion. We resolved to buy nothing but meat, fish, produce, eggs and dairy (i.e., highly perishables) between now and the end of the year, and to prepare them with only the condiments, grains and other pantry items we have on hand. (In other words, I will not be purchasing another can of chipotles any time soon – nor replacing the walnuts I might use up while I still have 4 bags of pecans on the shelf). AND to keep myself honest -- and because I’m thinking that things could get somewhat entertaining when I’m down to nothing but Japanese rice vinegar, Hungarian walnut conserve and chickpea flour in the cupboard-- I’m going to blog it. 

Because, really, is there anything the world needs MORE than another food blog? ;)     

So, if you have ever wondered what YOU can do with half a head of broccoli or two ounces of roast cod… or if the tinned anchovies in your pantry are older than your mother-in-law and you want a recipe that will help you use them up… or if you just want to see how many chipotles I can eat before landing in the E.R. with a seared esophagus... I hope you’ll follow along.

And feel free to chime in with suggestions. Rice wine-and-chickpea-flour pancakes anyone? No, I didn’t think so. Howzabout let’s put our heads together and come up with something else.

And Then We Came To The End

The email in my in-box this morning took me by surprise: “Today will be our last CSA drop off for the year,” it said, followed by a terse “thank you for your participation,” and not much more.

Huh? Whaaaa? – or as I might say of I weren’t so very, very ladylike and well mannered: WTF???

What happened to all those gorgeous fall squashes I was looking forward to – the butternuts and acorns and who-remembers-what-else the farmers told us they were planting?

What happened to the promise of deliveries until “right before Thanksgiving”?

Deer happened, that’s what.

The deer that roam the farm have, apparently, been crashing the fences and eating everything besides the onions and potatoes. And more onions. And more potatoes… which is pretty much all we’ve gotten for the past few weeks, save for the occasional head of cabbage or tiny bunch of kale – which, when divided into the amount of money we spent to join the CSA are some very, very expensive green leaves.

Of course, this is exactly what my husband predicted when I told him I’d signed us up for the CSA early last summer.

He was right and I was wrong.

Luckily, he's not only smart but funny, and has already turned this whole thing into a story we'll be laughing at --or pretending to laugh at -- for years. But still, I'm pretty steamed. Yes, I understand that when you sign up for a CSA, your luck is tied directly to the farmers’. Rain wipes out the crops? The farm dudes are out of luck, and so are you. Early frost kills the first-planted seedlings? Better luck next year, CSA members; this is what it means to support a family farm. But really? They couldn’t figure out how to keep the deer out of the pumpkin patch? Sorry, pals, but I don’t think this ought to be my problem.

And yet, it is. That's how a CSA works -- or doesn't, as the case may be. Oh, well. As my mother says in Yiddish, we live and we learn.

So, to summarize, here are some of the things I learned this summer:

1. Steve was right and I was wrong.
2. No matter how much you love kale, you won’t want to eat it week after week.
3. Steve was right and I was wrong.
4. No matter how much you love your sister-in-law, you’ll eventually get tired of having to drive to the CSA pick-up point at her house three towns over to pick up abovementioned kale every $%^& week.
5. Steve was right and I was wrong.

AND DID I MENTION THAT HE'S REALLY, REALLY HANDSOME?  

And so, while I eat a big ol’ plateful of humble pie for dinner, I’m going to serve him one of his favorite soups, made with the last kale of (I promise!) our last attempt at belonging to a CSA.

Here’s how to make it:

1. Put on your sexiest dress and your highest-heeled shoes. (Hey: As my mother also says in Yiddish, "It couldn't hurt.")
2. Slice 12 ounces sweet Italian sausage into rounds and brown in a drop of olive oil in a large saucepan. If the sausage gives up a lot of grease, wipe some but not all of it out of the pot.
3. Add 2 cups chopped kale, and saute until wilted.
4. Add 1 cup peeled, diced potatoes, and a quart of really good chicken soup that you slaved over a hot stove to make from scratch. I'm just sayin'.
5. Cook over medium-low heat until the kale and potatoes are soft and the broth, somewhat thickened, tastes of sausage – the longer, the better. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with really great bread, and a nice bottle of wine.

A really, really nice bottle.

And that's all she wrote -- at least for now. Thank you for reading along as I cooked through my CSA summer. See you next year, in  the produce aisle of the Stop & Shop. 

CSAngst

I am sick and tired of our CSA. 

There, I’ve said it. I feel much better now.

And so, just for good measure, I will say it again. I’m sick and tired of our CSA. Sick of having to wash acres of mud off every vegetable before I can cook it; tired of having to drive to the third town over to pick up my produce. I’m sick of five weeks of chard, chard and more chard followed by six weeks of green beans, green beans, green beans, in Soviet-Union-like monotony. And most of all, I’m tired of having someone else dictate – however benignly – what I am going to have for dinner.

Of course, as the I’m-not-gonna-say-it-but-I-told-you-so look on my husband’s face reflects, none of this should be a huge surprise to me. We did a CSA before, a few years ago, so I knew how the program goes. Also, the farmers running this year’s program were very clear and communicative up front about what crops would be ready when – and the vegetables themselves have been delicious -- so I have no complaints against the good people who are working so hard to grow my food.  

Nope. This one’s all on me. Mea Culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. (For those of you whose eighth-grade math teachers didn’t stroll the aisles of the classroom chanting in ecclesiastical Latin even though you were in yeshiva, that translates roughly into “my bad.”)

So, there I was this afternoon, with about two months of the CSA stretching out before me, a renewed vow to pull up my socks and use everything…and a ginormous pile of onions and green beans.

Here’s what I did:

Wash and trim three large handfuls of green beans. While doing so, decide that Clarence Birdseye was a freaking genius.

Steam, par-boil or nuke the beans. Wonder idly if you can sell your green beans to the Birdseye company for a tidy profit.  

Meanwhile, dice 8 small or 3 large onions (you’ll need about 3 cups of chopped onions, all told). If you are a good multi-tasker, you can use the time you are steaming and chopping to consider whether there was a traumatic event in your childhood that makes it so difficult for you to learn obvious, clear lessons the first time around in your adult life.

Sautee the onions in 3 Tablespoons olive oil over medium heat, and when they start to color, adjust the heat to low and caramelize the onion, stirring occasionally, till nice and brown. This may take as long as half an hour. Use the time to mentally rehearse admitting to your spouse that s/he was right about signing up for a CSA and you were wrong.

Add 1 Cup chicken or vegetable broth and ¼ cup white wine. (I used chenin blanc.) Resist the temptation to drown your annoyance at the whole enterprise in the rest of the bottle.

Cook until most of liquid is evaporated, the beans are comfort-food mushy, and sauce is thick, glossy and onion-y. This will give you at least another half hour to get down on your knees (even if you went to yeshiva) and swear, with God as your witness, that you will never again criticize parents who feed their kids McDonalds night after night after night. You are beginning to see the appeal of that.

Enjoy the green beans (they really are quite tasty) and enjoy them a LOT – because if you’re in a CSA you may be making them five or six more times.

Dippity Do

Of my many, many vices, just about the only one I’m about to discuss on a blog my father reads is dip.

Yeah. You know: Dip. Those creamy, drippy, fatty, spread-y tasty substances served at social gatherings to help the addictive potato chips and tortilla crisps go down our gullets that much easier (which is exactly what we ALL need, isn’t it?)

From guacamole to chili con queso; from pretentious truffled-white-bean dip to proletarian Lipton Onion Dip… (And can we count chopped liver? Yes! Let’s count chopped liver!) I’ve never met a dip I couldn’t love. Which can be somewhat problematic (see “creamy” and “fatty” above). So imagine my pleasant surprise when I discovered a dip (in the first Barefoot Contessa Cookbook) that I can eat without even a dollop of guilt and can serve to just about ANYONE on the planet because it’s vegan, nut-free, gluten-free, low-fat, low-cal, high fiber, not terribly high in sodium, Halal and kosher for Passover. (Okay, that last one's not a huge concern in August, but go ahead and bookmark this, because come April you’re going to wish you remembered where you saw it.)   

But never mind how healthful it is, this dip is really, really delicious. And easy to make. And a great way to use up the peppers and eggplants that were in my CSA box this week. And it'll last for at least a week in an air-tight container in the fridge.

The original recipe calls for a tablespoon of tomato paste, but I skip it, because I hate being left with the rest of the can. So, here’s what I do:

Preheat the oven to 450.

Cut 1 large or 2 medium eggplants into 1-inch cubes.

Slice 1 red onion and 2 sweet red peppers.

Peel 2-3 garlic cloves.

Spread the veggies out on 2 cookie sheets (Don’t try to fit them all on one; everything will end up steaming instead of roasting if it's too crowded.)

Drizzle with a few Tablespoons of olive oil and sprinkle with a little coarse salt. Toss to coat the veggies with the oil.

Roast for 20 minutes. Stir the veggies around and roast for 10-20 minute more (checking often) until the edges of the pieces start to brown but don’t start to burn.

Let cool completely. (Be patient. Cooling the veggies before you puree them is safer, and letting the steam escape prevents the dip from becoming watery.)

If the vegetables seem oily, blot them with a piece of paper-towel, the way some folks do with pizza.

Puree (the veggies, not the Bounty) in a food processor or with a stick blender.

Add freshly ground black pepper and more salt to taste. Serve with crackers or fresh cut up veggies or wedges of toasted pita bread.