My friend Andy Jacobson died on Saturday. He was only 52, and he left behind an incredible wife and two amazing teenagers. I saw it coming but I wasn't prepared. I wanted more time with him, a chance to fix him the Brussels sprouts salad that was the subject of his last tweet to me. In response to my posting this video on the subject, he wrote: "Looks so good! Will you make them???? Pleeeeeze." I never got around to it. Like my father, he had stomach cancer, so he might not have been able to eat it anyway. But still. I'm making it now, Andy, and I'm hoping that whoever else tries the recipe below will think of you, too. An aesthete, a mensch, a quibbler, a devoted father and husband, a loyal friend, a merry prankster. One of G's pals from way back, and like family to us, he got himself licensed so he could perform our wedding ceremony, and he milked that crowd for laughs. The gods are surely smiling today.

Read More...

The grapefruit (Citrus × paradisi) is an 18th-century hybrid first bred in Barbados, a subtropical citrus tree known for its pleasingly sour fruit. It was originally named the "forbidden fruit," though until the 19th century it was called "shaddock." (Huh?)  Its current name alludes to the cluster formations of the fruit on the tree, which look like grapes. My in-laws sent us a baker's dozen from Florida last week, and they are ruby red inside and bursting with juice. My first thought? Sorbet.
Read More...

I opened the fridge and saw a jar of red chile puree, left over from our chile-fest the other weekend, and thought, instantly: enchiladas. Italians have their red sauce, their seminal tomato "gravy" that gets right to the heart of who they are as a people, a culture, and New Mexicans have their own version, a thick, smoky and deeply complex puree of toasted chiles that is their lifeblood. My mother poured hers from a can—routine at that time, but seems like sacrilege now. It was my grandmother who taught me to lightly toast the leathery, dried chiles in a hot skillet, then soak them before pureeing them in the blender. I've got my own methods now, but the whole process still connects me to the women who came before, the ones who made pink beans and sopaipillas and tamales with their own hands. This is the food of my people, and it tastes of courage, the earth and love.
Read More...

Indian summer. We bandy that phrase around quite a bit at this time of year, hoping to conjure up those crisp, sunny days. The expression has been used for more than three centuries, first described in 1778 by John Hector St. John de Crevecoeur, a French-American writer in rural New York: "A severe frost prepares it to receive the voluminous coat of snow which is soon to follow; though it is often preceded by a short interval of smoke and mildness, called the Indian Summer." Its etymology is debated. In Colonial New England, Indian Summer referred only to a January thaw, when Native American raiding parties could be expected in the western and northern areas; the ground had briefly lost its snow cover so tracking the raiders back to their winter camps was much more difficult for the Colonials. Or perhaps it's because this was the traditional period during which early Native Americans harvested their crops of squash and corn. The modern use of the term refers to a period when the weather is sunny, clear and above 70º, after there has been a sharp frost; a period normally associated with late-October to mid-November. It's also used metaphorically to refer to a late blooming of something, often unexpectedly, or after it has lost relevance. (See "middle-aged women.") We haven't actually had the first frost yet—though the temperatures veered awfully close just this morning—but, after a week or two of brisker day, we're expecting a veritable heatwave—77º this weekend. I'm not sure how I feel about that, though it may mean we get to pull a few more tomatoes off the vine. For those of you still reaping summer's bounty, cook it down to the essence of sunshine: a brilliant yellow, sharp and fruity Sunshine Sauce.
Read More...

Squash blossoms are delicate and ethereal, yet somehow sturdy enough to  stand up to a good frying. They're delicious other ways, too, as in this fresh vegetable stew from Mexico, full of flores de calabaza, chiles and herbs. You'll find them fried all over Italy where they're known as fiori di zucca, always battered and sometimes stuffed. One classic version calls for a stuffing of anchovy filets and mozzarella, but mine—herb-flecked goat cheese—is lighter and feels a bit more in tune with these days of Indian summer. Like most fried foods, they're best served fresh from the oil, so they're really not the thing for a big party. But it's lots of fun to fry up a dozen or two for a group of friends gathered in the kitchen, sipping prosecco or rosé and singing the chef's praises. I can't remember where I learned to use masa harina for these, but I'm always on the lookout for gluten-free substitutes for wheat flour. As with my fried calamari, rice flour would probably work well, though the understated corn flavor of the masa harina really does seem to complement the subtle, sweetly vegetal note of the squash blossoms. By the way, zucchini flowers are said to be better than those of yellow squash, which can get slightly bitter. Choose the freshest, perkiest ones you can find. They need to be slightly open. Too tight and the fragile petals will tear as you attempt to pipe in the filling. Ain't that always the way?

Fall is here—already. It's brought with it beautiful cool sleeping weather and that poignant quality, a tender melancholy. This is my favorite season, bittersweet and poised so precariously between the royal flush of summer and the dark abyss of winter. Time now to squeeze every last drop of warmth and sweetness from the world. In the garden, tomatoes, zucchini, basil and herbs are performing a glorious swan song. It's the perfect moment for one of these verrines, a French bistro staple that I learned about in the October issue of Food & Wine, which is dedicated to the new French classics. You're undoubtedly familiar with parfaits, those gorgeous layers of fruit, cream and frozen delights showcased so perfectly in clear footed glasses. Well, this is sort of a vegetable version of that. A fresh, chunky salad topped with a creamy layer of whipped mascarpone, and garnished with a crispy slice of prosciutto. It's an ideal lunch, or a lovely way to welcome guests for a casual dinner party.
Read More...

Have you been trying to follow Michael Pollan's edict? "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." It's easier in the summer when amazing produce is practically falling at your feet. Even you city folk have access to farm-fresh vegetables—corn, actual ripe tomatoes, baby lettuces... Just the other day I was reading the new issue of Lucky Peach and laughing along with Wylie Dufresne as he made fun of "farm-to-table" and "ingredient-driven" cooking, but I had to eat a little crow along with last night's dinner. Because all I did was take a few farm-fresh ingredients and let them drive the bus. It was nothing fancy, really. I just used only what was straight from the garden (mine or someone else's) and let those pure flavors shine. Not a whole lot of technique was involved, and yet it was such a satisfying meal. I haven't even written out real recipes for you, because I want you to have that feeling of creating as you go, putting together dishes from your imagination according to what's in front of you. I'll walk you through what I made and maybe you'll be inspired to do the same with your freshest ingredients. Which will probably include a whole lot of sweet green peas right about now...
Read More...

Can't stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen. But if you live in the complete sticks, where restaurants and take-out are really not an option, the kitchen is where you ultimately wind up when you feel hungry. The solution is often the grill, or you can abandon fire altogether and opt for cold leftovers, chilled soup, composed salads or even ceviche. But if you happen upon some screaming yellow zucchini and are looking for an easy supper, here's something that's all inspiration and no perspiration. In addition to the squash, you'll need a knife, pine nuts, basil, parmesan, a lemon and some good olive oil. Leave your hearty appetite at the door. This is a light repast for those summer evenings when you're feeling like a cat on hot tin roof. If you're still hungry, eat a pint of ice cream...
Read More...

In my quest to offer you more alternatives to the dreaded, over-processed, denatured, cardboard-like breakfast cereals we should all be rejecting forever, I hereby tempt you with a delicious bowl of nutty, nutritious and quite comforting grits. As you can see, I've gotten all fancy with purple rice and, though you need not be so esoteric, I highly recommend you source your grits from somewhere like Bob's Red Mill or Anson Mills. Both offer a variety of organic heirloom rices and grains, all painstakingly milled and very fresh. The taste really illustrates the difference, as does the quality of the nutrition you get from products like these. Please don't feed your kids (or yourself) instant oats or Rice Krispies or cornflakes when you can give them healthy, whole foods instead. And grits are a great vehicle for other flavors, like soft-cooked eggs, crispy bacon, spicy Tabasco, creamy yogurt, maple syrup, strawberry jam, cultured butter—pretty much anything tastes good plopped on top of or stirred into this yummy bowl of mush. This particular bowl I ate with a dollop of crème fraîche and some crunchy smoked sea salt.
Read More...

It’s hot and rainy here in Indonesia, and so far I haven’t managed to do more than catch up on sleep and wander around the hotel. Any hopes I had of going sight-seeing with G were dashed the moment I clapped eyes on his leg: scarily mottled and swollen, his toes like little sausages. Not to mention the 8” incision through which they inserted two titanium plates and seven screws. I’ll venture out into the city on my own eventually but for today, the 5th of May, I'm content to do a little armchair traveling to another part of the globe: Mexico. It’s Cinco de Mayo, not Mexican Independence Day as so many seem to believe (that’s September 6th), but a date observed in the United States as a celebration of Mexican heritage and pride, and in one part of Mexico as a commemoration of the army’s unlikely 1862 victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla. If you lack the time or inclination to make something like my mother’s chile relleno casserole or my green chicken enchiladas, but still want to skew south of the border, maybe you’ll try one of these salsa recipes from Saveur magazine. (This month's issue is devoted to Mexican cuisine.) Salsa simply means “sauce,” and variations extend well past the fresh-tomato-onion-chile-cilantro pico de gallo we all know (and love) so well. They’re quick and easy to throw together, pack a huge punch of flavor and are endlessly versatile. Beyond scooping them up with tortilla chips, you can serve them with grilled chicken or fish, stir them into scrambled eggs, spoon them into quesadillas, or whip them into mayonnaise to slather on fresh seafood or a steak sandwich.
Read More...