Let me teach you guys a magic trick. How’d you like to learn how to take some old cans in your pantry and elevate the contents to heavenly bites of goodness? This white bean bruschetta is downright dirty in its simplicity – crack open a can of white beans, toss with a fresh vinaigrette of lemon, rosemary and garlic, and slather the deliciousness on toasted crostini. Continue reading White Bean Bruschetta with Rosemary and Lemon
I’ve been wistful this week, thinking about my fam and the kinds of laughter that would only appear when all of us were together. The kind that makes you cry like a fool and wheeze, you can’t even get it out. Around the time that my little sister was first getting to know my then boyfriend-now husband, she laid some strict rules on him to be accepted into the family (all of this according to her alone, by the way). The most important one of the three (which I remember also included him doing a jump kick and possibly joining Facebook?) was to say something so ridiculously funny to her, she’d break out into silent laughter. It turned out this wasn’t much of a challenge given that my husband tends to be fucking hilarious the majority of the time, but I loved that my sister’s request was so telling of what was so very prized to her and to all of us in the fam. My husband completed a crew that has always (and will always) appreciate the times where we all get to do nothing but chill – I’m talking a backyard feast with plenty of grey goose, barbecue or blue crabs, farmer’s market produce gifted to my dad for playing music for the vendors, and an inordinate amount of stupid puns. Continue reading Potato Salad with Lemon Tarragon Aioli and Haricots Verts
I think it’s apropos that this Tuesday following Mother’s Day (aka Dia des Las Madres), the recipe is one of my all time faves that my own resplendent mama taught me. She’s pretty majestic, and given that one day isn’t enough to honor her awesomeness, I’m extending the party to this Tuesday. My tartness is all earned honestly, but I can’t say that I didn’t get any encouragement growing up in a house with some of the sassiest fucking people to ever walk the earth. A sass factory if you will, and I was sentenced to work early on in the game. This original recipe was one of the early ones on Adesina’s Kitchen, and though it’s a clutch go-to every time I need a vinaigrette, the old picture did not sell this salad’s infinite awesomeness. I knew I had to go back and give it the glory that it deserved. Bibb lettuce. Check. Crispier croutons. Check. Snipped tarragon and chives. Check and motherfuckin’ check. Continue reading Throwback Tuesday: French Lemon Tarragon Vinagrette
This salad is too cool for school – it just stares you down like it’s the reason that your life is spectacular and you should adore it as such. The recipe is wicked simple – just a little chopping and a light vinaigrette of olive oil and lemon juice to hold it all together. It’s versatility, though, is the selling point – meaning that you can serve it with any and all things grilled or top it with feta or mix in some orzo and BAM BOOM, you’ve got yourself a new dish and a new recipe to save for the treasure trove. Don’t thank me – thank the Olive Tree Cafe for the inspiration. They hooked me on the stuff and I had to craft a similar recipe for myself. Continue reading Israeli Cucumber Salad
This recipe was a part of a special menu for Foodbuzz’s June 2011 food blogger party, 24×24. Showcasing posts from 24 Foodbuzz Featured Publisher bloggers, the monthly Foodbuzz 24 highlights unique meals occurring around the globe during a 24-hour period. Read more about my meal along with all of the other recipes at An Ode to Orvieto.
I know some folks might be surprised by this claim, but the majority of limoncello offerings here in the states are straight rocket fuel. Sure, the lovely bright taste of lemon is first and foremost on the palette, but most immediately smack you in the face shortly thereafter with bitterness and pure, unmellowed alcohol. My very first trip to Italy included a tour of Sorrento, the dreamy southern town known for their luscious lemons coaxed into deliciously smooth limoncello. And yet, the gorgeous lemon liqueur doesn’t really seem to be available here other than a whole lot of fully-loaded (to the point of noxious) imposter cousins. Continue reading Homemade Limoncello
Much like my obsession with collecting bolognese recipes, I love love love a good roast chicken recipe. I adore the way in which a little love, butter or olive oil, salt, pepper and aromatics transform the lowly chicken into something worth honoring. Crisp, golden skin and tender meat come into their own with very little effort, and a homestyle supper is on the table for loved ones without a second thought. Or if you love them EVEN more, you’ll just tuck in with them without even leaving the kitchen. Best of all the leftovers make at least one more meal, if not a gorgeous chicken stock.
My husband saw me oogling over Jonathan Waxman’s pan roasted chicken cooked in a cast iron skillet and purchased me a Lodge Logic 15″ beauty from Amazon. It’s heavy as hell (a two-hand job) but an amazing holder of temperature and big enough for a chicken and a mess of roasted veg to boot. It needs a name. Like Thor. Or maybe the Kraken. So whenever I take it out, I’m releasing the…haha…you get it.
For the butterflying portion, you can certainly have the butcher do it, but it’s easy work with a nice pair of kitchen scissors. Simply cut out the back (and save for stock) and flatten the entire mess with a little pressure on the breast bone. Prepping the chicken in this manner cuts the cooking time way down and allows more of the surface area to come into contact with the lemon and herbs. The whole mess forms a delicious sauce for the incredibly moist chicken, all with no fuss at all. So basically, yes, your prayers were answered and that homecooked meal you’ve been dreaming about is here. Now. Go make it.
Ingredients
1 whole chicken
2 lemons
1 bunch of rosemary
1 bunch of thyme
1 onion, thinly sliced
coarse sea salt and black pepper
good olive oil
1 bunch of tarragon
1/2 c. of chicken broth
2 tbs. of butter
Preheat the oven to 450°. Rinse the chicken well and pat dry. Using the poultry shears, cut along each side of the backbone to remove it. Flip the chicken over and press down on the breastbone to flatten it. Liberally season with coarse salt and black pepper and then rub with a bit of olive oil. Place chicken skin side down in a cast iron skillet. Surround the chicken with the onions and top with the rosemary and thyme. Halve the lemons and squeeze the juice over the chicken. Tuck lemons into the pan with the herbs and onions. Drizzle with a little more oil and pop into the oven. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until the juices of the thigh meat run clear when pierced with a fork.
When the chicken is finished, remove from the skillet to a platter and let rest. Put the skillet on the stove and heat. Add the chicken broth and scrape up the browned bits on the bottom of the pan. When the sauce thickens a bit, add the butter. Strain the sauce and set aside. If you feel diligent, you can also pick out some of the roasted onions.
Carve the chicken into pieces and serve with the sauce.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Like a true daughter of the Eastern shore, I love me some blue crab. I once read an article that broke me into a fury as strong as the east coast-west coast hip hop beef. Apparently Tupac thinks dungeoness crab is far better than Biggie’s favorite blue crabs, and that those little hard-shelled beauties from the Chesapeake Bay (and increasingly from the Gulf and around Texas) are too hard to crack and overrated. To which I say, Tupac, that’s bollocks. Come over for these crab-stuffed mushrooms anytime and I will change your mind. And yes, I just offered the deceased crab stuffed mushrooms.
This recipe is incredibly simple, but can be pricey if you are making it outside the Chesapeake Bay area. I lessen the blow by substituting half of the lump crab with claw meat – this briny, dark colored meat is far cheaper and works well as a mushroom filling. If that’s still too expensive, employ a blend of a half pound of diced raw shrimp and roasted red peppers sautéed with an extra cup of panko, a few tablespoons of butter and enough chicken stock to moisten the stuffing. Regardless of the seafood, the mixture is lightened by lemon zest and parsley, and has a dose of cayenne for kick. Make a batch of these for loved ones, and I am sure that your street cred will go through the roof. Homie? Homie.
1 shallot, minced
4 tbs. of butter
8 oz. lump crab meat
8 oz. of crab claw meat
1 egg
1/2 tbs. of dijon mustard
2 tbs. of mayo
pinch of cayenne
1/4 tsp. of white pepper
1 tbs. of fresh thyme
2 tbs. of fresh chopped parsley
1 tsp of old bay, plus more for sprinkling
1 lemon
1/2 c. of panko, plus more for sprinkling
1 lb. of cremini or white button mushrooms
Wipe the mushrooms clean and remove the stems. If you’d like, chop the stems and sauté with the shallots in the next step or save for another use (like a marinara sauce or a mushroom risotto). Line a cookie sheet with foil and grease with olive oil or butter. Place the mushroom caps on the cookie sheet and preheat the oven to 375°.
Sauté the shallots in a small skillet with the butter until translucent. Let cool to room temperature and then pour into a mixing bowl. Blend carefully with the egg, mustard, mayo, cayenne, white pepper, thyme, parsley, old bay and the zest of 1 lemon. Pick over the crab for any extra shells and gently fold into the stuffing mixture. Fold in the panko. Fill each mushroom with a few tablespoons of filling. Sprinkle with panko and old bay on top. Bake in the oven for 15 minutes until golden. Cut the lemon into wedges and squeeze over the mushrooms before serving. Eat and then bust a rhyme.
These suckers are stupid easy to make, which is up my alley as you know that I am no baker. One of my greatest failures in the kitchen, and a dish that lives on in infamy, were the Wolfgang Puck Lemon Bars I attempted to make many years ago. My grandmother had brought us a bounty of grapefruit-sized lemons from her garden, and I knew I had to do something other than a million citron pressés with the mess of citrus. Why not lemon bars? Wolfgang Puck is kinda awesome – this must be a good recipe. Ugh, they were so bad – too tart, not entirely set, just awful. I don’t blame Wolfgang so much as myself for not being able to pull things off. Worst of all, I kept on making my sister eat them so that we could get rid of them. To this day, she is terrified of the words “lemon bar” – I take the blame.
Fast forward to this Christmas and I myself was stuck with a bumper crop of lemons from my tree in the back yard. I found a recipe for Lemon Shortbread Bars on Chow that featured an ever so easy lemon curd with no precooking or tempering of the eggs and lemon. Just mix, bake and go. I planned to tackle the recipe with my sister, but after a marathon of baking and decorating gingerbread, it was time to keep things simple. Using sugar cookie dough out of the Pillsbury tube, I pressed out mini tarts into a muffin pan and topped them with the lemon curd. A short bake later, and we were all treated to chewy, lemony goodness with a snowy topping of powdered sugar. I didn’t even have to get my sister to eat them – she just went to town on a truly good thing. Here’s to the little victories in life, to include my ability to actually bake something awesome.
Recipe forIngredients
1 tube of pillsbury sugar cookie dough
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
6 large eggs
1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (about 6 lemons)
3 tbs. of flour
pinch of salt
powdered sugar for dusting
Preheat the oven to 350°. Spray a muffin tin with large cups (mine has 6) with cooking spray, preferably the kind for baking with flour mixed in. Cut the sugar cookie dough into 6 chunks and press each chunk in the bottom of the muffin tins, slightly raising the sides to form a mini tart. Place tarts in the stove and bake dough for 12 minutes.
In a mixer or a large bowl with an egg beater, beat together the sugar, eggs, lemon juice, flour and salt. Take the dough out of the oven and prick with a fork to release the air from the dough. Pour the lemon curd over the dough and bake for an additional 20-25 minutes in the oven. Let the muffins rest for a few minutes and then remove to a plate. Using a sifter, sprinkle powdered sugar over the muffins. Serve warm or cold.
