A few months ago, yet another large and important study was released with irrefutable evidence that 30 percent of heart attacks, strokes and deaths from heart disease could be prevented if high-risk individuals switched to a Mediterranean diet rich in nuts, beans, fish, fruits, vegetables and olive oil. It's been established that low-fat diets simply can't achieve these results and this is good news for those of us who love olive oil in all its diverse splendor—from mellow gold to vivid green, from rich and buttery to bracing and peppery. Quite frankly, there are few foods it doesn't improve.

Although you might not think of it this way, olive oil is essentially a fresh fruit juice and thus is fairly fragile. It needs to be extracted in a process that doesn't involve nutrient-damaging heat ("cold pressed") and it has to be properly bottled and stored to protect it from air, light and extreme temperatures. Finally, it should be consumed fairly quickly, generally within a year or two of production. Without all of these protections, olive oil (and all high quality oils, really) can quickly turn rancid, developing an off taste that some people liken to crayons or old peanuts (I swear) and a greasy mouthfeel. (For more horifying facts, see this.) The sad truth is that the average American has grown accustomed to consuming rancid oils because that is what is predominantly available. Intrigued? Read all about it in Tom Mueller's excellent Extra Virginity: The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive Oil. If you don't have time for that, just be sure the olive oil you buy has been produced and cared for with integrity.
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I was quite an amenable child where food was concerned. Aside from a mild hatred of onions in my enchiladas, the only two things I simply couldn't stomach were meatballs and lamb. On meatball night, all my mother asked was that I eat just one, but doing so was pure, unadulterated hell. Even washing the dishes upon which those brown nuggets had been served made me gag. Literally. I'm not really prepared to believe the obvious scatalogical reference was responsible, but what else could it have been? Whatever it was, I've finally outgrown it. I think it was the incredible veal-and-ricotta meatballs at the old Craftbar that did it (still on the menu at the new location). The real shocker is that I now enjoy making them myself with the sweet, juicy pastured lamb we get from our friends at River Brook farm.
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G has been away for 5 days now and some serious cooking lethargy has set in. I find it frightfully dull to cook for one. I might throw a yam in the oven. Or have some avocado on crackers. It's been mostly salads otherwise. Lots of green juice. A desperate mix of chopped crystallized ginger, chocolate chips and dried coconut—I had banished all treats from the house! (Other things I do when the cat's away: Never make the bed. Burn scented candles constantly. Watch back-to-back episodes of The L Word. Keep the heat up too high. Pine.) Last night I really wanted something a bit more cozy. Nothing too demanding, but more of a real meal. The larder, however, didn't provide a great deal to work with. But I had picked up some lovely fresh eggs from the farm on Saturday and suddenly inspiration struck: Shakshuka! (No, that's not a Lebanese version of Eureka!) Shakshuka is an Israeli dish of eggs in spicy tomato sauce that has recently reached some sort of tipping point, appearing in Saveur magazine and everywhere in the blogosphere (my friend Shayma posted a very similar Pakistani dish here). I googled a few recipes and came up with my own version using vadouvan, a spice mix that's also had a flurry of coverage recently.
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