Not to put his business out there, but my husband is not a fan of spinach. Stubborn that I am, though, I try to work it into dishes to “convince” him that maybe, just maybe, there is requited love out there for him and the leafy greens. You see, I didn’t always adore spinach myself. When I was in preschool, I once had an abysmal lunch of macaroni and cheese (yum!) with canned spinach (ugh!). When I refused to eat my spinach, I was told that I couldn’t have any chocolate pudding for dessert. This was no matter in that I didn’t like chocolate (don’t really love it to this day unless it’s really, really good) – I pitched a fit and refused to eat the vile spinach. With that, I was whisked off to timeout and my hatred of spinach was sealed. Until…I decided to study Italian in high school before heading off across the pond for a school trip. As we learned the different food names in Italian, a group of us made a face at spinaci. “Oh no!” our professor assured us, “Fresh spinach sauteed with olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper is delicious! You must try it.” Try it, I did, and I never looked back – spinach and I were meant to be together. Continue reading Dionysi’s Spinach and Cheese Pie
Category Archives: Easy to Prepare
Lemon Pound Cake with Fresh Berries
Is This a Recipe?
You’re gonna laugh when you read this recipe. Because it’s not. Aside from the slightest, and I mean the SLIGHTEST, bit of doctoring of this amalgamation, it is scarcely a recipe. When the name of the dish is “pound cake” and the first ingredient is *cough* pound cake, you know that there ain’t much goin’ on. So why post this at all? Because it’s good. Damn good.
Recent trips to my grandmother’s house have all included a care package of countless cookbooks and photocopies of tried and true recipes. It’s been glorious and at the same time humbling – so much to cook, so few mouths to feed, and above all else, so little time. It’s as sad as the number of clichés that I used in the previous sentence. She recently gave me the recipe for “The Best Damn Lemon Cake” which upon tasting, my husband and I agreed was the only name this cake could ever have. But much like life, this good thing involved a hell of a lot of steps to mold it into majesty. So what do I do, non-baker that I am? Create a yummy lemon glaze for a Sara Lee pound cake, top with seasonal berries and garnish with whipped cream and lemon zest. Let me tell you, it was sexy through and through, all the while saving me precious time to deal with the other courses of the meal I was preparing. So maybe I should call this the gift cake. I mean, it did manage to give me precious minutes of my life back. L.O.V.E.
Lemon Pound Cake with Fresh Berries
1 pound cake
2 pints of mixed berries (I like blueberries, hulled and halved strawberries, raspberries and blackberries)
zest of 1 lemon
1/2 c. lemon juice, freshly squeezed
3/4 c. of sugar
1/4 c. of water
fresh whipped cream
In a small saucepan, heat the lemon juice, sugar and water until boiling. While it heats up, take a chopstick and poke a crapload of holes into the top of the poundcake. Pour the boiling syrup over the cake. Let cool.
Once the cake has cooled completely, pour the excess syrup over the berries and toss. Stack a piece of poundcake with whipped cream and berries. Top with another piece of poundcake, whipped cream and lemon zest. Spoon additional berries around the side and serve.
Classic Stuffing
In the powerplay for key plate location and eating supremacy, stuffing is my champion well beyond Thanksgiving. Don’t get me wrong – I adore mashed potatoes, roast turkey, string beans and a biblical-worthy proclamation of gravy over all. But at the end of the day, the one dish that I jones about above all others is glorious stuffing.
For a goodly while, I’ve been taking part in (if not orchestrating) the Thanksgiving meal. I can remember the first time I was allowed in the kitchen to help out my paternal grandmother make sweet potatoes, and what a gift it was. It was like a vote of confidence that I was old enough to help out with the cooking (and thus, not going to eff things up). The meal itself was full of such history, from the family recipe for Carolina-style cornbread to two special versions of dressing, my favorite one with oysters. When it came to my making the meal myself years later, I carried with me the memories as much as the flavors and ingredients. This stuffing was less a recipe and more an extension of my favorite type of cooking – completely unfussy ingredients turning into deliciousness with fail-proof techniques. My hope is that if ever you end up cooking this meal for you and yours, and you don’t already have a beloved stuffing recipe, that maybe you’ll try this one out for inclusion in the pantheon of cherished Thanksgiving favorites. It’s really that simple and lovely that you’ll be happy to make it a part of your fam.
Recipe for
Classic Stuffing
Ingredients
2 bags of Pepperidge Farm stuffing (I prefer the crumbs to the cubes, but either works)
2 stalks of celery
2 carrots
1 large onion
2 apples
1 cup of craisins
6 c. of chicken stock
2 sprigs of sage
4 sprigs of thyme
1/2 tsp. of white pepper
1 tsp. of black pepper
1/4 tsp. of salt
1 stick of butter plus 2 tbs.
1 tbs. of olive oil
Begin by chopping your carrots, onion, celery and apples – I like to just throw everything in the food processor and chop into a rough dice. Stem and chop your sage and thyme. Set the herbs and veggies aside.
In a saucepan, warm your stock with 1 stick of the butter, white pepper, black pepper and salt. Add the craisins and allow to reconstitute. Let it hang out while you prep your veggies.
In a large skillet, add the 2 tbs. of butter and 1 tbs. of olive oil. Add the veggies and herbs and cook until softened, but not browned. Add the veggies to a large mixing bowl and stir in the stuffing. Pour the broth over the stuffing and stir to moisten. Turn out into a greased casserole dish.
Bake stuffing on 375° for 35-45 minutes, or until browned on top. Serve on a prime spot on your dinner plate.
Strawberries with Elderflower and Mint
I adore putting together a menu, but like a grocery shopper entering the store with a rumbling tummy, I find that I often set myself up for a challenge. Between my need to feed my guests with reckless abandon, to a love of a seemingly daunting menu, I face the issue of running out of steam. Couple that with my lack of prowess in the realm of desserts, I find that many of my menus end up being a bit front-loaded in terms of the serious cooking. Which is why, lovely readers, I am a sucker for a dessert that is simple to prepare, with a heavy dose of wow factor.
Summertime on the east coast (or pretty much anytime on the west coast – you guys have easy access to berries!) always meant an abundance of ripe strawberries just begging to be picked up and taken home. In my house growing up, we always kept it simple – cut the tops, halve the berries and toss with a few teaspoons of sugar. As the berries hung out, they’d give off the most lovely scarlet juice, which we then used to sauce the little shortcakes you could pick up in the produce section of the store. A little whipped cream, and we were in business. Continue reading Strawberries with Elderflower and Mint
Arugula Salad with Truffle Vinaigrette
It’s not terribly often that I have a dish that makes me want to have a mini fit, but when it happens, I try to do everything I can to extend the excitement. I had a salad similar to this one at one of my favorite NYC restaurants, Marseille. Between the tender prosciutto, warm buttered croutons and luxe truffle oil dressing, I wanted to hug a stranger and do a jump kick for joy. Truthfully, though the taste is haute, the ingredients themselves are not terribly expensive or hard to come by. With the truffle oil as your only splurge, the real luxury comes from the lovely combination of flavors and texture. Making fresh croutons and serving them warm on the salad is an essential part of the glory – with just a few ingredients joining the peppery bed of arugula, you want to make sure that everything is just right. After all, the end result should be a mini fit, and for a salad to achieve that honor, it’s got to be damn good. Continue reading Arugula Salad with Truffle Vinaigrette
Pao de Queijo (Brazilian Cheese Puffs)
I don’t know what it is, but whenever I think of pao de queijo, I think of my mother. In that she is the first generation on her mother’s side born outside of Brazil, she made a big deal about passing on the culture and heritage of our ancestors down to my sister and I. For the two of us, culture always related to the kitchen in some way, shape or form, and the true “mother” of heritage came in the Brazilian feast, feijoada completa. A celebration through and through, feijoada completa meant cherished guests and many, many plates and platters on the table, all marks of a few days of cooking in order to stage all of the dishes. It was some kind of special, and the meal kicked off with a special treat – pao de queijo. Translated into English, it literally means “cheese bread,” but make no mistake – these babies are so much more. Made of tapioca flour and crumbly, salty cheese, they more closely resemble cheese puffs than actual bread. Eaten fresh from the oven, we noshed happily while waiting for the rest of the feast to come together (usually waiting for the white rice to finish cooking or for dad to put the final touches on the greens).
Interestingly enough, my mom’s a french professor, and over the years my sister and I have become mini-francophiles by association. My sister even downplays the influences from over the years, cracking jokes in a perfect French accent. Petite Beurre cookies and homemade madeleines were just as much a part of our kitchen as Brazilian specialties. In a complete and total cultural blend, our beloved pao de queijo held many of the same characteristics as the classic French cheese puffs, gougère. The little treats, made of gruyere or comte cheese, were savory, chewy and airy just like their Brazilian cousins. An apropos association, if I do say so myself.
Because pao de queijo are traditionally made with a cooked dough called a pâté choux, the old school recipe can be a bit daunting. In fact, we often purchased the frozen variety from specialty markets for quick snacking. But when my mom turned me on to a blender version, I tried it out with great success and haven’t looked back since. In fact, the hardest part of the recipe is tracking down the tapioca flour, which is barely a challenge in that not only Whole Foods, but most regular grocery stores carry the stuff under the Bob’s Red Mill brand. I’ve had the most success with making the batter and baking these guys pretty much right when I have the craving to snack away. I’ve also had excellent success with a 24 mini-cup muffin tin – it allows a mess of pao de queijo to be baked all at once for aggressive snacking. And, as you know, aggressive snacking is what we were all born to do.
Recipe for
Pao de Queijo (Brazilian Cheese Puffs)
Ingredients
1 egg
1 1/3 c. of tapioca flour
2/3 c. of whole milk
1/3 c. of olive oil
6 oz. of queso fresco, crumbled
1 tsp. of salt
1/8 tsp. of white pepper
Preheat the oven to 400°. In a blender, add the egg, milk, olive oil, salt, queso fresco and white pepper. Put the tapioca flour on top and blend on low until mostly mixed. Scrape down the flour on the sides of the blender and blitz again on low. Pour batter into greased muffin tin and bake for 20 minutes or until puffy and golden. Serve immediately.
Pappardelle con Cinghiale
My time spent in Orvieto, Italy, much like the experience of many students studying abroad in college, was all about turning my preconceived notions on their proverbial heads. I never imagined that following up on a random postcard in my mailbox for a summer “arts” program in the heart of Tuscany would lead to a series of revelations in terms of ingredients, cooking and collecting food memories. Up until that point, Pizza Hut wasn’t a four letter word, ice cream and gelato could be considered one in the same, and a bottle of wine per person wasn’t considered a reasonable lunch. But all of that was thrown out the window, and I was utterly spellbound by all of the tastes and sights and experiences surrounding me. I discovered fava beans, pasta cooked in red wine, tomato-less bolognese, fresh porcini mushrooms and young white wines with ne’er an additive or preservative. I ate gelato after every meal, and sometimes as my meal, choosing flavors that tasted riper than fresh fruit. I learned that in Italy, I couldn’t leave the table before finishing the bottle of grappa or limoncello plonked there by the owner, much like a child forced to eat their vegetables before clearing off. I even taught an Italian movie star to do the robot while simultaneously doing an impression of Julia Child. I was officially living the life. Continue reading Pappardelle con Cinghiale
Spicy Bucatini with Wild Boar Meatballs
Meatballs have been getting a lot of play lately. From the incessant features on the Meatball Shop in NYC, to the meatball entrepreneur Joey on America’s Next Great Restaurant and his “Saucy Balls,” it’s as if ballmania has struck and there isn’t an end in site. For me, though, meatballs have always played a part in my collective food memory. Although I never got to know my Sicilian side of the family in person, their customs and traditions were passed down to me through my grandmother and mother. Making a sauce, or gravy as it’s truly called, involved frying off scores of homemade meatballs, and I’d stand close by for the chance to snag a taste. Apparently the tradition of searing all of the meatballs but one, and then cooking the last one through to give to someone you love came from my grandmother long before I learned it from my mother. I like to think of my mom as a kid, indulging in the perfectly seasoned and seared meatball as the most loving of gifts in that it was rooted in tradition. No kids of my own, I have been known to carry on the tradition with my husband – he himself grew up in a part-Sicilian household as well, and where my fam was doling out tastes of meatballs, his was doing the same thing with his mother’s expertly cooked chicken cutlets. It’s only fitting that we’re together and I can carry on a legacy of culinary “sharing means caring” traditions.
For those in the know, the secret to a good meatball is a good crust on the outside and a tender, juicy center. Although I’ll still sear off a meatball or two in a pan with olive oil, I’ve since converted to the baked meatball camp. You still get the lovely outer crust and it’s a whole hell of a lot less messy since you don’t have to tend to these over a greasy stove top. Because these babies were a part of my dinner party, the Feast of the Seven Boars, I used a combination of traditional ground beef and the less traditional but gloriously flavorful, wild boar. If you can’t get your hands on any boar, feel free to substitute ground pork or veal. Depending on how much time you have, you can simmer these the normal way on the stove in a lovely bath of San Marzano tomatoes OR you can take your sweet time and allow them to bubble away in a crock pot for a few hours OR you can be impatient and cook them in a pressure cooker for a mere 20 minutes. Any way you cook them, you’ll be treated to a perfectly tender treat meant to be served atop a delicious mess of pasta – maybe some bucatini with a heavy dose of crushed red pepper. Or you could just eat them straight away and skip the pasta. It is tradition, you know.
Recipe for
Spicy Bucatini with Wild Boar Meatballs
Ingredients
3 lbs. of ground wild boar (or pork or veal)
1 lb. of ground beef
1/2 an onion, finely minced
6 cl. of garlic, finely chopped
1 c. of grated locatelli
1/2 c. of chopped parsley
1 c. of bread crumbs
4 eggs, beaten
1 1/2 tsp. of salt
1/2 tsp. of black pepper
1 tbs. of crushed oregano
1/2 tablespoon of crushed red pepper
3 large cans of whole san marzano tomatoes
1/2 c. of chicken stock
2 cloves of garlic, sliced
salt to taste
handful of torn basil leaves
1 tbs. of olive oil
1 tbs. of butter
1 lb. of bucatini, perciatelli or similar long pasta
Preheat oven to 450°. In a large bowl or a standing mixer, blend the meat, onion, garlic, parsley, eggs, crumbs, salt, pepper and oregano until thoroughly mixed. Wet hands and form 1/4 c. of the meat mixture into round balls. Place on a foil lined cookie sheet and bake in the oven for 20 minutes.
In a large pot, add the tomatoes and crush gently with a spoon. Add the garlic, chicken stock and salt and stir. Add the meatballs and allow to simmer for at least 30 minutes – longer if you can stand it. When the meatballs are just about finished, cook the pasta according to the package directions. Toss with a cup or two of the meatball sauce, olive oil and butter. Toss the basil leaves in the hot pasta to wilt and top with some of the meatballs. Serve with grated cheese and extra crushed red pepper.
California Cobb Salad with Green Goddess Dressing
I love a good story, and with a name like “Green Goddess” you know there’s a bit of a tale lingering around. An almost kitschy throwback to the 1920s and 30s, the dressing is a zesty combination of fresh herbs, anchovies and sour cream, enlivened by a little bit of lemon juice. The name supposedly originates from the Palace Hotel in San Francisco where the dressing was made as a tribute to the hit play, “The Green Goddess,” and alas, a star was born.
My guess is that the popularity of this gem died down with the waning of favor over anchovies – a pity, really, in that the flavor profile of anchovies themselves are addictive. If people can down caesar dressing by the gallon, what’s the deal with hating on anchovies? It’s plain malarkey.
The recipe for this dressing is a riff off a version from Food and Wine Magazine used to dress a chicken salad. My husband took a look at the picture and said, “This would be great without all of that other mess around it.” “So you mean just the dressing?” “Yeah, pretty much.” After a few tweaks to the recipe and a bed of greens, we were cooking with gas.
So where does a nostalgic dressing trip down memory lane take us. To a salad with just as much historical presence. 1930 at the Hollywood Brown Derby heralded the chefery of Robert Cobb and Chuck Wilson – apparently the owner Cobb wandered around the kitchen looking for something awesome to eat and threw together a crazy amalgamation of greens, bacon, eggs, avocado and blue cheese. I can appreciate a late-night scrounge for munchies, if I do say so myself.
In plating this salad, I love a careful presentation of each ingredient segmented into its own section. Something about the vibrant colors in their own spots just waiting to be mixed together with the lovely dressing is an impressor and a half. As you know, it’s all about the presentation…says the designer.
Recipe for
California Cobb Salad with Green Goddess Dressing
Ingredients
1/2 c. of parsley leaves, loosely packed
1/2 c. of basil leaves
1/4 c. of chopped dill
4 sprigs of tarragon, leaves removed and chopped
1 sprig of oregano, leaves removed and chopped
1 c. of mayonnaise
zest of 1 lemon
juice of half a lemon
1/4 c. of chopped chives
salt and pepper to taste
mixed greens (baby romaine is fun)
3 plum tomatoes, seeded and diced
2 perfectly hard-boiled eggs, diced
4 slices of bacon, cooked and crumbled
1 avocado, diced
1/2 c. of crumbled blue cheese
1 boneless skinless chicken breast, halved lengthwise into two cutlets
1 tbs. of olive oil
1 tbs. of herbes des provence
Begin by making the dressing – add all of the herbs except for the chives to the food processor, along with the garlic, lemon zest and juice. Blitz until finely chopped and then add the mayo. Blitz again to blend and then remove to a bowl. Stir in the chives and then season with salt and pepper. Chill.
Heat the olive oil in a skillet. While that warms, season the chicken with the herbes des provence and salt and pepper. Sear the chicken until it is cooked through and browned on both sides. Remove from pan and let cool slightly. Cube chicken and set aside.
Grab a large platter and make a bed of greens. Arrange the tomatoes, chopped eggs, chopped bacon, avocado, blue cheese and chicken in a pretty splay. Right before serving, toss the salad and top with the Green Goddess dressing. Tuck in and get down.
Fiddlehead Ferns with Gremolata
While many find themselves in the kitchen purely out of duty, I live for the moments of complete and total glory – the times where a new recipe, technique or ingredient inspire you to keep on plugging away at any new culinary quest you can get your hands on. It’s like Dr. Seuss once said, “You have brains in your head.You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.” Replace the shoes bit for a knife in your hand, and that pretty much sums up my quest for culinary majesty.
In planning the Feast of the Seven Boars, a lovely array of dishes with the aforementioned protein as the focus, my buddy Karen recommended we do something fun with the veggies. Off to Marx Foods for inspiration and lo and behold, the Wild Produce Pack. Bleedingly fresh ingredients that we’d never cooked before left us excited for a new adventure. In addition to the miner’s lettuce and stinging nettles, we received a glorious treasure trove of fiddlehead ferns. These little gems are an aesthetic delight – vibrant green and perfectly curled into delicate spirals.
We had learned that they tasted of asparagus and are often served with hollandaise, so in an homage to their taste-profile companion, we decided to follow one of my favorite preparations of asparagus – a quick saute with lemony gremolata. It seemed apropos in that the addictive combination of lemon zest, garlic, parsley and olive oil are as bright as springtime, and the fiddleheads themselves are a true indicator that spring is right around the corner. How could we not all fall in love?
Recipe for
Fiddlehead Ferns with Gremolata
Ingredients
1 lb. of fiddlehead ferns, trimmed of black ends
1 cl. of garlic, minced
1 cup of loosely packed parsley leaves
zest of 1 lemon
1/8 tsp. of freshly cracked pepper
1 tbs. of olive oil
1 tbs. of butter
kosher salt
Begin by finely chopping the parsley leaves. Add the lemon zest, pepper and olive oil and stir. Set aside.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt. Add the fiddlehead ferns and blanch quickly, for about a minute. Drain well and rinse with cold water. Set aside.
In a skillet, melt the butter. Add the fiddleheads and toss to warm through, about 2 minutes. Stir in the gremolata and sprinkle with kosher salt to taste. Serve immediately.