Tomato Kumato

January 2, 2010

Lentil and Rosemary Soup with Lemon

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Soup — Tags: , — emiglia @ 1:35 am

After knowing me for a few months, most people replace the typical greeting of, “How have you been?” with the more useful, “Where have you been?” Those who I haven’t seen in awhile tend to get an answer that sounds like a list, and those who I haven’t seen in a very long while abandon the question entirely.

Suffice to say, I move a lot, and it’s been a very, very long time since I’ve been back in my native New York for more than a few weeks at Christmas. This year, all that has changed. I’m back in the land of bagels, lox and incredible pizza from John’s on Bleecker.

Returning home is strange for everyone, I think. I’m watching as my brother, a freshman in college, realizes this for the first time at eighteen: when you leave home, coming back is more like picking up where you left off. Your family may be aware on some level of the fact that when you leave the house, you actually continue living your life, meeting people, making decisions and mistakes, learning things and forgetting others, but when you actually appear at the doorway, your hair in dire need of a haircut and your laundry in dire need of washing, it’s all too easy for everyone around you to send you to the barber, toss you a box of detergent and treat you as though you had never left.

I’ve gotten used to toning down some of the developments in my life when I come home. I know now that some things are better left unsaid, and I’ve stopped vying for my time to speak at the dinner table, instead letting the normalcy wash over me, getting used to what has become the status quo in a place where I used to live. I’m used to having my own space, my own time and, especially, my own kitchen, things that are not the case when I’m living in my parents’ house.

This is one of the last things I made before leaving Paris for New York. It’s bright and delicious and perfectly light for starting those New Years’ diets for all of three seconds. I have several pictures from those last few days, and that’s probably all you’ll get while I’m here in New York, where the kitchen is most definitely not my domain, where I squat on a couch and live out of a suitcase. It’s not bad–just different, although I have to admit that when my cousin came back from Paris for the holidays and asked if I was sorry not to be standing in front of the stove instead of sitting in front of the television, I took pause.

And then I decided that the answer was no. I love cooking, don’t get me wrong, but this isn’t my kitchen, and in New York, my mother does the cooking. I may miss it now and again–that sense of possibility that comes from standing in front of a cutting board, reaching for ingredients without actually being sure what you’ll do. I miss serving what I’ve made to other people and watching as they enjoy it.

I’ll be leaving New York again soon… I always do. But while I’m here, I’ll be letting other people do the cooking: Barney Greengrass, John’s on Bleecker, Vico Ristorante, Artisanal… and, of course, my mother.

Lentil and Rosemary Soup with Lemon (adapted from Running with Tweezers)

1 tsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 cup lentils
6 cups water
1 large rosemary sprig
1 lemon, cut in half, juiced, fruit and juice separated
salt and pepper

In a large stockpot, heat the oil and add the onion and celery. Cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until soft and translucent, 10 minutes.

Add the garlic and season with salt and black pepper. Add the lentils, water, rosemary and lemon, reserving the juice for later. Cover and cook until lentils are cooked through, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes.

Remove from heat and remove and discard lemon and rosemary sprig. Using an immersion blender, purée to desired texture. Stir in remaining lemon juice and season with salt and pepper.

Optionally, you can garnish the soup with olive oil, parsley or parmesan cheese.

October 23, 2009

Things that make me blissfully happy:

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Restaurant Reviews — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 7:58 am

The smell of wood-burning fires.

The taste of hot apple cider.

The smell of wood-burning fires and the taste of hot apple cider together.

Skiing and singing to myself when no one can hear.

Braiding pigtails in anticipation of skiing.

My “Champagne Supernova” ritual.

Staring at a blank page, waiting for drops of blood to appear.

Piercings.

Being with people who know me through and through.

Making tomato sauce and smelling the garlic hit the hot oil.

Riding down an unknown highway at night when someone else is driving.

Sitting in silence with another person while the both of us get lost in work.

Meeting other Americans abroad and just knowing.

Holing up in a café with a café cortado (also known as a café noisette or a caffe macchiato) and my computer to write while I stare at the rain.

Surfing in the rain.

Surfing at all.

Seriously… I don’t understand how something that I barely knew anything about could become such a huge part of me in such a short time. I live for 4 o’clock, for forcing myself into a long-sleeved wetsuit and heading for the surf, board under my arm. I love to watch raindrops fall on the surface of the water–I am in Basque country, after all–especially when they’re so strong that it looks like it’s raining up instead, like the air is absorbing the ocean drop by drop all around me. The rainwater mixes with the saltwater on my face, and I never know when I lick my lips if I’ll taste clear fresh water or the heavy salt I now recognize after being tumbled again and again and again… not that I mind in the slightest.

I get a pang in my stomach when I even think about three weeks from now, when my hair will not be constantly wet, when I start to wear makeup during the day again, because there’s no reason not to if it’s not going to come pouring down your face as you make your first duck under a breaking wave.

I’m getting a little hint of what that will be like now: for the past two days, the waves have been four meters high here–so high, they even make the river angry–and since I can’t get to Mundaka, and even the best surfers in Gros don’t attempt to surf this ocean, which looks ready to devour you whole, I’ve been standing with the rest of them–all of Gros in a line along the beach instead of in the water or in a bar with a caña, watching the waves lap the beach, attacking the rocky jetty and spraying those who get too close.

Today it’s raining again, the kind of rain that I love to surf in, the kind that not only falls but seems to attack the ground, pounding and pelting every surface with gallons of water. I got a pang of longing as I stared at the uncharacteristically empty ocean and beach and headed instead to ZM, a café and restaurant right on the shore, writing instead of surfing, staring through the glass-paned windows at my ocean, already missing it even though it’s not yet truly gone.

During a pause in the rain, I went outside to take pictures, but they don’t do these waves justice: they’re huge and wild and untamable, perfect except for the fact that I can’t be out in them myself. I stood at the edge of the boardwalk and watched them smash the rocks, staring so hard I thought they would absorb me whole. When I got back, I licked my lips, and they tasted like salt spray, the salt that seems to be a permanent fixture of my life here, crusting my eyelashes and drying my hair into beach waves even though it’s nearly November, much longer than I usually allow my hair to curl rebelliously around my shoulders instead of styling it into something more manageable.

I let my usual café cortado go cold as I relished the taste of salt, licking my lips until that too was gone, and all that was left was a hint of rainbow outside and the whitewash of waves at the foot of the hill that looks out over Gros.

Vegetarian Sort-Of Chili

This isn’t really chili, but I treat it like I would chili, sprinkling shredded cheese on top and dousing it with Tabasco. It doesn’t really matter what you call it: it’s perfect after finally abandoning your seat by the window and trudging home through the pelting rain.

1 tsp. olive oil
100 g. lardons, bacon, ham… whatever
1 clove garlic, minced
3 carrots, sliced into half-moons
1 can pinto beans, drained
1 can white navy beans, drained
2 cups tomate frito or tomato purée
2 tsp. basil
1 tsp. oregano
1-2 dried cayenne peppers
salt and pepper

Heat the oil in a heavy stock pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and ham and cook one minute. Add the carrots and cook 2-3 minutes, until they start to color a bit.

Add the beans, tomato and herbs and spices. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the carrots are soft, about 20 minutes. Add water if the mixture gets too thick. Serve with hot sauce and shredded cheese.

June 24, 2009

Shrimp with Mint Pesto and Sweet Pea Risotto

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Rice, Seafood — Tags: , , , , — emiglia @ 5:00 pm

I eat fish on Fridays.

I don’t go to church (except on Christmas, Easter, or if for some reason I’m feeling particularly devout). I don’t say evening prayers. I don’t go to confession, wear a promise ring or deserve to wear white on my wedding (I will anyway).

I was born and raised an Irish-Italian-American Catholic which, for many of us, means nothing more than getting together for 13 fishes on Christmas Eve, even more food on Christmas day, and one more time for the cheap seats in the back at Easter.

That’s it.

No fasting on Ash Wednesday or going to Church on First Friday or giving up flour and eggs and sugar for Lent, although it’s never stopped me from celebrating Fat Tuesday with relish (and pancakes).

And yet, I eat fish on Fridays.

It wasn’t really a conscious decision… not at first, anyway. I don’t recall my mother ever doing it, but I know that fish was served on Fridays in the dining hall at my boarding school. It just sort of snuck in through the back of my mind, the same place where I keep the Pledge of Allegiance, the Hail Mary and the numbers 1-10 in a variety of languages from German to Korean. It snuck out without letting me know and integrated itself into my life before I even noticed.

As I started to accumulate recipes and cooking knowledge, as I started to piece together menus from new recipes I wanted to try and old recipes I wanted to recreate, here and there, a fish or seafood recipe would sneak in, and somehow, my mind would automatically stick it in on a Friday–not for any religious reason, but just because it seemed right: fish on Fridays.

I still do some form of fish or seafood on most Fridays, and if it’s not fish or seafood, it’s usually vegetarian. I like to get in the health benefits of these foods, and if I make sure to stick a seafood recipe in on Friday, I know I’m getting them in at least once a week. I guess it’s one of those inexplainable things now: I don’t really think the devil is looking over my left shoulder when I spill salt, but I toss some over, just in case. I don’t know why I kiss my fingers and then touch the roof of my car when I drive under a yellow light, why I snap if someone says “thank you” as a response to “God bless you” after a sneeze. I do it and don’t think about it, and I think I like it that way.

This recipe was an idea I got from Well Fed which I then riffed on: she calls for cooking the shrimp with rosemary and lemon, which I’m sure is lovely, but I get 5 euro pre-cooked shrimp at my market, and so I just tossed them with the pesto and threw the whole thing in a skillet just long enough to warm through. It’s a great spring recipe, with tons of fresh mint and fresh spring peas, both of which I picked up at my local market.

If you get the shrimp with heads and tails on, you can make a lovely shrimp broth to use as the liquid when making the risotto. Otherwise, chicken broth or veggie broth are fine.

Shrimp with Mint Pesto and Sweet Pea Risotto (adapted from Well Fed)

24 large, cooked shrimp, peeled, deveined, tails removed
1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted
3 garlic cloves, peeled
2 tablespoons (packed) feta cheese
2 tablespoons (packed) Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
2 cups (packed) fresh mint leaves
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

2 cups fresh peas, cooked
8 cups stock, heated
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1/4 cup finely chopped shallots
2 cups Arborio rice
1 cup dry white wine
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons butter, room temperature
1/2 cup grated Parmesan

Set aside the cooked shrimp, and take the shells and tails and place them into a pot of water. Bring to a simmer and then allow to cook, skimming off any residue from the top of the pot, as you prepare the rest of the dish.

Combine all the ingredients from the pine nuts to the lemon juice with a mortar and pestle. Stream in the olive oil and stir until combined. (Note: The pesto, when left to sit, starts to discolor. This does not change the taste, but if you would like a brighter green, store the pesto with a layer of olive oil over the top.)

Purée 1 cup peas with 1/3 cup of the stock and set aside. Heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the shallots and a pinch of salt. Cook until soft, 2-3 minutes, and then add the rice. Cook until translucent, an additional 2-3 minutes, stirring to make sure that nothing burns. Pour in the glass of wine and allow the liquid to cook out, stirring all the while.

Add stock by the half-cupful, stirring until each addition is absorbed. When the rice is al dente (still firm), turn off the heat and cover.

Combine the shrimp with the reserved pesto and heat in a skillet, stirring frequently, until just heated through (no more than 2 minutes.) Meanwhile, add the pea puree, peas, butter and parmesan to the risotto and stir until everything is combined (the residual heat should help it achieve the proper consistency.

To serve, plate a portion of risotto in a wide, shallow bowl and place some shrimp and pesto on top. Serve with sprigs of mint and additional parmesan cheese for sprinkling, if desired.

April 24, 2009

A Big Bowl of Vegetables

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Vegetarian Main Dishes — Tags: , , — emiglia @ 6:57 am

Sometimes, I just crave a big bowl of vegetables.

The term was first coined by my long-time-vegetarian-finally-turned-omnivore friend while we backpacked through Europe after we graduated high school. The cheapest and easiest foods to buy while traveling are not necessarily fresh produce, and by the end of our five weeks, she had us all fantasizing about carrots and tomatoes and fresh corn.

I still go into “big bowl of vegetables” mode, usually after a week like this one, where somehow I ended up eating things like fast food pizza (guilty pleasure) and vast amounts of cheese (no guilt whatsoever).

This vegetable moussaka is actually a combination of two moussaka recipes I found at Almost Turkish. The first was a layered and baked version, which I liked the look of, however I didn’t want the meat portion: I was in big bowl of vegetable mode. The second was a chickpea and zucchini Turkish style moussaka, which is really more of a stew than the Greek-inspired layered versions. I put the two together, and what I got was this: a big, layered tray of vegetables that perfectly satisfied my need for a filling meal that was low in fat and high in vitamins and minerals.

This moussaka is also my entry into the third round of Cooking to Combat Cancer. I have never participated in this event before, but for the past year, my family has been dealing with my grandfather’s battle with cancer, something I have not mentioned on this blog.

My grandfather is an amazingly strong man: when I was growing up, he was already in his sixties, and weekends found him “weaseling” in the woods, complete with a pipe and overalls, trundling in and out with wheelbarrows filled with branches and leaves. Now, he is in his eighties, and he has undergone severe chemotherapy and radiation as part of his cancer treatment. He has been lucky to keep his hair and to not suffer much from nausea as many people do. Mostly, his therapy just makes him tired, and he and my grandmother have taken to eating dinner in front of the television so that he can stay on the couch with a blanket.

This dish has tomatoes, legumes and onions and garlic, all of which are cancer-fighting foods. There is also no knife-and-fork action to deal with, which makes it easy to eat in front of the TV.

If you’d like to participate in this event, you have until April 29th to send in your entries. More information can be found at Mele Cotte.

Zucchini Moussaka (inspired by Almost Turkish)

1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, diced
1 can (800 g.) whole tomatoes
1 can (800 g.) chickpeas, drained
1 tsp. dried mint
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 zucchini, sliced into rounds
1 oz. feta cheese, crumbled
salt and pepper
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a large, heavy bottomed pot. Add the onion and a pinch of salt and cook 2-3 minutes, until soft. Add the garlic, and cook until fragrant, about one minute. Add the tomatoes and chickpeas and cook until the chickpeas have softened and the tomatoes are cooked down, about 20 minutes. Add the mint and oregano and cook another 5-10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

Pour the mixture into a baking pan and top with the zucchini and feta. Bake until the zucchini is cooked through, about 10-15 minutes, and then broil to melt the cheese and brown the top.

Note: I usually serve this as-is, but you can also serve it with whole wheat couscous (cancer-fighting whole grains) to make it more filling.

April 16, 2009

Spring Peas Two Ways

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Pasta, Side Dishes, Vegetarian Main Dishes — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 10:12 am

I used to be offended when market vendors tried to foist their deals on me.

I thought it was a reflection on my status as a foreigner, something I’ve always hated. I know that I have an accent, but I feel like a Parisian, and I expect to be treated as one, even though I know that that’s not always going to happen.

Recently, though, I realized that I may have misconstrued the way that I am being treated at the markets.

My aunt recently visited me for a bit more than a week, and while she was here, we traipsed all over Paris, including many of the daily markets. I watched as the women interacted with the vendors, and I realized something: the Parisian housewives, the ones with their little carriages for carrying their purchases home who could not be mistaken for anything besides locals were getting the exact same treatment as I was.

“One kilo of strawberries.”

“I can give you two for five!”

And here was the difference: where I was usually guilted into accepting the offer, these women knew what they wanted.

“No, one is enough.”

They didn’t see my Americanness before the question was asked, but after, after I had given my begrudging, “OK.” All I had to do was say, “no, thank you.”

I started at my local market a week later, setting off to buy peas for an Asparagus and Pea dish I had found on Epicurious.

“One kilo of peas, please.”

“I can give you two for eight,” was the answer. I almost spat out, “No,” right away, eager to test my new theory, but then I decided that it was a good price and decided to take them. Oh well, theories for another day, right? Until I realized I could buy my asparagus from the same stall.

“And a bundle of asparagus.”

Almost automatically, the vendor answered, “I can give you two for five!”

“No, one is fine.” I answered.

“Very good, miss.”

I paid, I left with my produce… and I felt Parisian.

I also, of course, had a lot of peas to contend with.

I started with the Asparagus and Pea dish. I really wanted to like it–the description sounded so enticing: fresh peas and asparagus, brought together with the taste of freshly picked basil and onions sautéed in butter. But alas, it was not to be: maybe it was my French-style white asparagus. Maybe it was the fact that spring asparagus here are much fatter around than the American ones. Maybe it would have been better with roasted asparagus, with a bit of pesto used to bind the vegetables a bit more… but something wasn’t right with this dish, as pretty as it was. It was fine, but it didn’t feel like quite the right way to celebrate fresh spring peas.

I had more peas to use up, and this time, I ventured forth without a recipe. I shelled a bunch of peas and cooked them in butter on the stovetop. I cooked some farfalle and mixed a bit of the starchy water with some pesto and the peas, adding salt and pepper. I tossed it all together, and Alex and I had it for lunch.

I hate to toot my own horn, but my invention was a much better use of these gorgeous peas than that asparagus dish was… not that I’m giving up on it yet. I know that my market vendor will be more than happy to sell me some more fresh spring veggies!

This is my submission to April’s round of Eating with the Seasons. Feel free to head over and send your own submissions until April 20th!

For more stories about my market adventures, feel free to check out my post about my local Place Monge market at my travel blog, Bordeaux and Palmiers!

Spring Pea Pasta

Because I just sort of threw this together, I don’t have a real recipe. It’s very easy to recreate at home, though!

First, measure out enough dry pasta for two people. Begin cooking it in boiling, salted water.

Next, measure out an equal amount of freshly shelled peas. Heat some butter in a skillet, and add the peas, stirring to coat. Add some salt and pepper. Cover the skillet and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for about eight minutes, or until the peas are cooked through.

Reserve a ladleful of pasta water and drain the rest of the pasta. Add it to the skillet with the peas, along with a few tablespoons of storebought pesto (use as much as you like.) Add as much pasta water as you need to thin out the sauce, and add salt and pepper to taste.

Remove the pasta from the skillet to a serving bowl, and tear some fresh basil leaves over the top. Serve with parmesan cheese if you like!

March 27, 2009

I Made My Own Roti!

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Bread, Curry — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 3:55 am

I have mentioned The English One on this blog before.

We met in college, and ever since, we have been best friends, even when he moved back to Wales and I kept living in Canada. Now he lives near London and I live in Paris, so we see each other a bit more often (still not enough). We do have some pretty good banter going on via iPhone/MSN, especially now that we’re in (nearly) the same time zone, and whenever I’m about to start making a new curry recipe (which, as you can see, is pretty often), he gets some sort of message.

“I’m making Indian food for dinner!”

Then, he translates whatever it is I say I’m making into Gujarati and tells me what his mom is making for dinner, which is invariably ten times better than what I’m making because a) She’s Indian, b) She has a spice pantry I would kill for, c) The woman makes her own yogurt, for chrissakes!

But I live in Paris, which may be famous for its duck à l’orange and blanquette de veau, but is definitely not famous for food of the spicy type, and so if I decide to venture into the world of curry, I must do so on my own.

I’ve gotten pretty comfortable with my flavor base after several tries, but then, of course, a challenge called, and I had to answer it.

Lavi at Home Cook’s Recipes is running this month’s RCI event, and the cuisine of choice is Lucknow. I didn’t think I knew what Lucknow cuisine was until I read up on it (read: wikipedia-ed it) and found out that most of the breads we eat at Indian restaurants like naan, paratha and roti are from this area.

I knew immediately what I wanted to do.

I had already bookmarked a simple lentil dish over at the Wednesday Chef. I checked the pantry and saw that I had green lentils, split peas and chickpeas–not quite five lentils, but close enough for someone who doesn’t shop at a lot of specialty stores, so I decided to make my very own roti to go with it.

I found a recipe for roomali roti online, and it seemed simple enough, although I was skeptical: I had seen chefs making naan in Indian restaurants, and it looked pretty hard. Plus, the recipe called for a sort of pan that I had never even heard of, much less bought to have around for roti emergencies.

Of course, I immediately notified the English One of my plans. (To protect his privacy [the British say it funny with a short "i"{I love having an excuse to use curly brackets}], I have changed his screen name for the purposes of this blog post.

emiglia: i’m making indian food tonight

emiglia: it’s very exciting

the english one: Ohh

the english one: What you gonna make?

emiglia: 5 lentil daal

the english one: My faaaave

the english one: Panch-kurki-dal <– this is where he tells me the Gujarati name!

emiglia: also this bread i’ve never made before

the english one: What bread?

emiglia: roomali roti

the english one: roomali?  <– this is where he has no idea what I’m making either.

Luckily for me, Google is well versed in many languages, and it kindly informed me of the fact that roomali means “hanky” as in handkerchief. As in, you’re supposed to fold the bread like a handkerchief.

Long story short, that didn’t happen. The roti was really easy to make though, I just don’t think I rolled it out thinly enough to fold it like a handkerchief. The only other trouble I had with it was an ingredient I had never heard of before: maida. Google helped me out again, and I learned that maida is a finely-milled flour and that US cake flour would be a good substitute. Since French all-purpose flour is more finely milled than American all-purpose, I figured that it would work out well.

Rolled-out dough, ready to be cooked!
Making roti was one of those kitchen experiences where I sit down to eat and am suddenly overcome by the strange feeling that someone else made what I’m eating. It’s not that it was at all complicated: I just never thought that I would be making the bread that I usually eat out of a tinfoil wrapper from Indian takeout restaurants at home, and the bread that I made with a few simple ingredients tasted exactly like what I’m used to.

I’m really glad that I participated in this challenge. I’ve never been a huge fan of rice, so I usually don’t make anything to accompany my Indian food. I’ll be making roti as often as I make curry from now on.

Rumali Roti (adapted from Indian Food Forever)

Note: This makes six small roti. Three is about enough for one person. Feel free to double the recipe as you see fit.

3/4 cup Whole Wheat Flour
3 tbsp. Maida
1/4 tsp Baking powder
1 tbsp oil
1 tsp. salt
Water

Combine the first three ingredients in a bowl. Mix in the oil. Add water by the tablespoon until the dough comes together. Form a smooth ball, and then leave to rest in a glass bowl covered with a damp cloth for at least half an hour.

When you’re ready to make the roti, heat a dry skillet over high heat. Separate the dough into six even pieces.

Roll each piece into a ball. Flour a surface and then roll out the roti as thinly as possible: you should be able to see through the dough. Place the dough in the hot skillet and allow to cook, about a minute per side. Keep warm under the same damp cloth in an oven. Serve as soon as possible.

Three Légume Stew (adapted from The Wednesday Chef)

Note: When I make curries and dals and the like, I like to have a lot of leftovers for my and Alex’s lunches during the week. This makes a LOT of dal. Feel free to cut down if you like.

Secondary note: As always with dishes like this, you should continue to taste throughout the cooking process to see if you need to add a bit more spice. I know that I added as it cooked, but I don’t know exactly how much. Taste, and you’ll know if it needs more of something.

Dal:
1 28 oz. can chickpeas, drained
1 cup green lentils
1 cup split peas
2 teaspoon curry powder
2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Spice blend:
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3 large onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon garam masala
1 whole cayenne pepper
1 and 1/2 28 oz. cans whole tomatoes
salt to taste

Rinse and pick over the lentils and split peas, and place in a pot with enough water to cover by about an inch. Bring the water to a boil, then turn off the heat and add the curry powder and cayenne pepper. Cover the pot and allow to sit until tender, about an hour.

Make the spice blend: sauté the onion in the oil until translucent, about three mintues. Add the garlic and spices, and cook until fragrant, about one minute. Add the tomatoes and salt to taste, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes have reduced, about fifteen minutes.

Add the chickpeas and the spice blend to the lentils. Cook together over medium-low heat for five to ten minutes to allow the flavors to come together. Taste for salt and seasoning. Serve hot.

March 25, 2009

My Legume Love Affair: Minestrone

Filed under: Appetizers, Beans and Legumes — Tags: , , , , — emiglia @ 7:52 am

When I lived alone, I was all about the legumes.

Canned chickpeas, white beans and brown lentils were the three that most frequently appeared in my pantry, and I never tired of ways of making them.

Now that I’m living with Alex and cooking for both of us, I aim to please, and those of you frequenting this site may have noticed a change from one-pot vegetarian meals to more traditional meat+2veg meals.

The truth is, sometimes I miss my stews, chilis and dals. And so, when Alex is at work, I spend my time putting together big, steamy pots of food that can be eaten out of a bowl with a spoon and hopefully take kindly to a few shakes of Tabasco sauce, which, as most people who have spent any significant amount of time with me know, is my favorite way to enjoy food.

Minestrone fits all three of these categories, and I made a huge pot of it last week to eat as lunch for a few days. Minestrone for me has a few characters that have a command performance: whole canned tomatoes, onions, cabbage, carrots, zucchini, white beans, ditalini and some sort of bacon. After I have assembled these ingredients, all bets are off: if I have extra veggies rolling around in the fridge, I toss them in. If I have a rind of parmesan cheese, that goes in too.

This is my entry for My Legume Love Affair: 9th helping, which is being hosted this month by Laurie at Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska celebrates some of my favorite foods… legumes! The event was started by Susan at the Well-Seasoned Cook, and you can read all about it on her blog.

Unfortunately, this time around, I guess I outdid myself with this version of minestrone: Alex, who always looks for steak for dinner, ended up finishing my pot of minestrone. *Sigh*… guess it’s time to make some more.

Minestrone

Note: I am posting a recipe for the version I made this time around, but really, you can use any combination of vegetables you like.

3-4 ounces (100 g.) bacon, lardons or pancetta, cubed
olive oil
1 branch celery, finely chopped
2 onions, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
4 carrots, cut into rounds
1 zucchini, cut into half-moons
1/2 green cabbage, chopped
1 28. oz. can tomatoes
1 tbsp. dried basil
1 tbsp. dried oregano
1 28 oz. can white beans
ditalini or other small pasta
4-5 leaves basil
salt and pepper

In a large heavy-bottomed pot, heat the bacon over medium heat until it begins to release grease and brown. Stir in the celery and onions, adding a pinch of salt. When the onions are soft, add the red pepper and carrots and turn the heat up to high. Stirring often, allow the vegetables to take on some color.

Add the zucchini and cabbage and stir. Cook about five minutes, stirring frequently. Add the canned tomatoes and a bit of water to get to the consistency that you like. Add the dried basil and oregano and allow to cook, stirring once in awhile, for a half-hour.

Right before serving, add the beans and a handful of pasta for each person who will be eating. Add a bit of water so that the pasta can cook, and simmer for five minutes, or until the pasta is cooked through. Taste for seasoning and then remove from the heat. Stir in the basil leaves and serve.

This soup keeps well as long as you don’t add the pasta and beans until you are ready to serve. I usually add beans and pasta to my serving and keep the rest of the beans in a tupperware to add as I continue to eat the soup throughout the week.

March 11, 2009

Chunky Dal

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Curry, Vegetarian Main Dishes — Tags: , — emiglia @ 5:56 am

I usually don’t think too much about garnishing in general.

Don’t get me wrong… if I didn’t care how my food looked, I wouldn’t be running a food blog, now would I? But when I arrange food for pictures, I usually think about how to make it look interesting and, more importantly, welcoming. My mother taught me that putting food in a bowl that is slightly too small makes it look plentiful, and I tend to work around this idea when taking my food pictures, making sure that it always looks bountiful.

That said, I think that garnishes can, occasionally, be done very well, but only if they serve a purpose. In other words, they have to add something to the food. This can be flavor-wise, or, even more interestingly, at least to me, it can tell the diner a story about the food.

I tend to make a lot of dishes that are rather stew-like: chilis, curries, soups etc. Sometimes, being handed a big bowl of something that is all vaguely one color (usually red: canned tomatoes will do that) is not terribly appetizing. That is why one of my favorite garnishing tips is to take a little bit of whatever made up the base of the soup, keep it raw, and serve it on top.

Food Fanatic is hosting an Indian food garnishing event, and I’m happy to participate with this trick. To illustrate, I’ve been inspired by a Chunky Dal Lentil Soup I found over at Running with Tweezers, something that Tami found in Cooking Light. Of course, I riffed my own version, and I’m not sure this even vaguely resembles what Tami made.

I used canned lentils instead of fresh, but where I really went crazy was with the base of the soup: I used this recipe as a way to clear out my produce drawer, adding a red pepper, a jalapeño and a carrot to the simple base of onion and garlic, and I also used it as a canvas to perk up the spices: I ended up adding a mix if curry powder, garam masala, cumin, coriander, cayenne pepper, paprika and ginger.

What surfaced was a bright red bowl of deliciousness, which I garnished with some reserved raw chopped red pepper, carrot and jalapeño (I love that mix of bright colors). I placed the aforementioned garnish on a dollop of yogurt so that it would stand out, and added a sprinkle of chopped cilantro. All of the elements of the garnish either hinted at what was in the soup (the trio of vegetables) or added to the final dish (yogurt and cilantro). This is definitely not a restaurant sprinkle of parsley: see? Garnishing can be fun!

To participate in this blogging event, head over to Food Fanatic for the details. You can enter your own dish until March 15th!

Chunky Dal Lentil Soup

Note: Although this recipe is advertised as a soup, I ended up eating it more as a curry with brown rice. To make it more soup-like, add some water or chicken stock when you add the legumes and tomatoes in order to get it to the consistency you like.

1 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 red pepper, chopped
1 carrot, diced
1 jalapeño, minced
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tsp. curry powder
2 tsp. cumin
2 tsp. coriander
2 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. garam masala
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 28 oz. can whole tomatoes
1 28 oz. can garbanzo beans
1 28 oz. can lentils
1 tsp. harissa
1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
cilantro, yogurt (optional)

Heat the vegetable oil over medium-high heat in a heavy-bottomed pot. Add the red pepper, carrot and onion, reserving a handful of pepper and carrot for the garnish. Cook until the onion becomes tender, about five minutes. Add the garlic, jalapeño and the spices, reserving a bit of the jalapeño. Stir until fragrant, about one minute, and then add the tomatoes, beans and lentils. Season with salt to taste.

Turn down the heat and allow to simmer on low for 30-minutes to an hour. When ready to serve, stir in the harissa and lemon juice, and garnish with yogurt, cilantro, and the reserved vegetables.

February 1, 2009

Chili

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Beef — Tags: , — emiglia @ 9:19 am

I have been a very bad blogger.

I apologize. Profusely. I don’t know why I do this… the second something starts to happen in my life, I drop everything, blog included.

You see, I recently came back to France and started my new job. I work at a television station, which somehow is the job I never knew I always wanted. I’m bored easily, but I love being good at things, and this job lets me always do new things, but at the same time get good at one thing: video editing. The news is always changing, so my job is always new and exciting, and yet I’m constantly editing video, getting better and better at using Final Cut (and becoming more and more of a geek in the process).

The problem with the news is that I get off work around seven or eight, so I have the energy to come home, make dinner, take pictures, and that’s about it. No more energy for blogging, reading blogs, or even creeping around Facebook, which used to be one of my favorite activities.

But now that I’ve finally gotten into the pattern of my evenings, I can share this incredible chili recipe with you. I found the recipe on Well Fed, a blog I have come to depend on for one-pot meals.

Because I do my shopping in the evenings before I come home, I make one stop, and so I wasn’t able to hit the butcher for brisket meat. Instead, I used stew meat, which didn’t fall apart like it was supposed to, so the next day, I took the cold meat out of the chili pot and cut it up before tossing it back into the pot.

I had been using the same chili recipe for years, but this one is truly incredible. I found myself using a bit more liquid than called for in the form of tomato purée and extra beer as this one cooked, but I’ve always found that chili-making is an approximate recipe.

The great thing about this recipe is that it’s even better the next day, which means that we can enjoy it on nights when I come home especially late and avoid dinners made up of boxed macaroni and cheese.

December 11, 2008

Lentil and Cumin Salad with Apples

Filed under: Beans and Legumes, Side Dishes, Vegetarian Main Dishes — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 9:44 am

When I was about fourteen years old, my mother got season tickets to the opera for my parents, my sister and me. We would get dressed up one Thursday a month, and we would head out to see some of the greatest operas ever written at the Met.

I loved the opera. I loved the fact that it was one of the only places left in the city where people actually got dressed up–really dressed up–to go out. I loved the man who stood at the stairs with chimes to announce that the intermission was over. And, of course, being me, I loved the fact that my mother always picked incredible places for us to eat beforehand.

Once, we went to the restaurant at the Met. I don’t remember much of it… I remember thinking that it was very sophisticated and special, although if I went back now, I don’t know what I would think.

I wanted to order lentil soup. My mother told me that lentils were an “acquired taste,” and that I should probably pick something else. That just made me want lentil soup even more. Luckily, when it arrived and I had my first taste, I fell in love with the earthiness. My mother knows by now that anything that most people regard as an “acquired taste” (truffles, coffee, red wine, mushrooms…) is probably something I will love.

I’ve been making a lot of lentils recently, mainly because they’re one of those things that is seen as a “specialty” food in America but that runs at about a euro at your average French supermarket. I’ve found a lot of my favorite new recipes, like this Lentil and Chestnut Soup over at the blog of another Parisian (this time a native): Chocolate and Zucchini.

I loved the simplicity of this salad. I changed the original recipe a bit: I avoid bouillon cubes whenever I can because the MSG gives me a headache, so I opted, instead, to flavor the water I used to cook the lentils with the flavors of the dressing: balsamic vinaigrette, cumin and garlic powder. Instead of tossing the final product in the dressing, I just added a little bit of olive oil.

If you can handle MSG, I recommend cooking the lentils in the bouillon, if only because boiling balsamic vinegar leaves an odd scent in your kitchen for several days. Tastewise, though, my changes made for a delicious lentil salad that brought out the earthy essence of the légume… the thing I fell in love with when I first tried lentils at the Metropolitan Opera House.

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