Meatless Mondays: March Forth for Mujaddara

 

March Forth!  Today is the only day of the year whose date is also a command, an exhortation, a rally cry.

There are many things I could march forth and do today--I did, in fact, march down to my compost pile, in snow boots but not in snow shoes, which is an improvement over a few weeks ago.  But I decided that I also needed to march forth and blog, and what I needed to blog about was mujaddara.

 It is hard, admittedly, to get very excited about cooking in early March.  The vegetables available are the same ones that have been available for months--i.e. vegetables in season in the southern hemisphere or those that can survive for months in a root cellar.  It's hard to cheer for chard or kale or even sweet potatoes in March.  March is that kind of month.

And it's still winter, of a sort.  I was skyping with my friend Sonia this morning, and she was exalting about the sun in Geneva and how she'd walked back to her house with no gloves on except when she was in a particularly shady bit.  I said that it was not not sunny here, and we agreed that was an improvement.  There are flashes of sun on this early March afternoon, and the sky is brighter than it's been in days.  But still, to get to the compost requires snow boots, and when I went for my Sunday run yesterday afternoon, I had to choose a route that avoided the bike path, which is still mostly snow-covered and slippery.  Then again, I didn't leave the house until almost 5 p.m., and that would have been unheard of even a month ago. So, spring is on its way, but it's most definitely not here yet.

And so, mujaddara--a 3 ingredient dish that is absolutely more than the sum of its parts.  It doesn't require any sad winter vegetables, although, of course, you could (and probably should) serve it with a vegetable on the side.  (I enjoyed mine last night with a bit of roasted sweet potato.)




I'm sure that there are as many versions of mujaddara as there are Middle Eastern grandmothers, but I have been making the Food 52 version for several years now and have found no reason yet to expand my horizons.  (The version in the new Ottalenghi Jerusalem cookbook might be that reason, but not quite yet.)  The ingredients are these: lentils, rice, onions.  There is also olive oil and butter, and there is salt, but that really is the sum total of the ingredients.  You boil the lentils, you cook the rice, you caramelize the onions and then you mix it all together and let it sit--for 15 minutes, for several hours, for a day.  What you will find is savory and a bit sweet from the onions and slightly salty and altogether delicious.  Rivka's Food 52 recipe adds a spiced yogurt, and many (though not all) of the commenters over there found that it made the dish for them.  Alas, it didn't for me.  I made the spiced yogurt the first time I made the dish but not since.  I may experiment with coming up with a spiced yogurt I like better, but in the meantime, I've been eating the mujaddara with plain yogurt from Side Hill Farm and enjoying every mouthful.



Last night, Alex and I were talking on the phone, and as soon as I said, "I made the mujaddara with caramelized onions," he said, "I'll be right over."  His reactions are not always that immediate.

What I love about this recipe is that it's simple--you can basically caramelize the onions while the lentils and rice are cooking, limiting your time at the stove--and delicious and easily adaptable.  If you or your guests are gluten-free, no problem.  Vegan--just swap out the butter with olive oil.  Vegetarian, easy.  Carnivorous--well, maybe then you'd serve it as a side, but still, it's a delicious one.

Soon enough, we'll be able to expand our winter repertoire to include  the earliest spring greens, asparagus, green garlic,  chives and more.  But in the meantime, as we wait March out (and entertain ourselves while doing so--it's Tournament of Books time again!), there is mujaddara, and that is at least some consolation. 

 

 Mujaddara (minus the spiced yogurt)

 (adapted from Rivka at Food 52)

Serves 4

• 3/4 cups Puy lentils (aka French lentils, the tiny dark brown ones)
• 1 teaspoon salt, divided
• 1 cup jasmine rice
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 6 cups onions (about 3 medium onions), halved and thinly sliced

1. Put lentils, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 4 cups water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer lentils until soft but not mushy, about 20 minutes. Drain lentils and set aside. 
2.  At the same time, add rice, the remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1 1/2 cups water to another pot, set over medium heat, and bring to a boil. Turn heat down and cover.  (My jasmine rice takes between 15-20 minutes to cook on very low heat.)  Remove lid and fluff with a fork. Set aside.
3. While rice and lentils are cooking, set a wide, deep saute pan over medium-low heat and add butter and 2 tablespoons olive oil. When butter has mostly melted, add onions and toss to incorporate with butter and oil.
4. After 5 minutes, onions will have softened slightly and started to release their liquid. Raise heat to medium and cook 10 to 12 minutes more, until onions are very soft and browned. Add water by the tablespoon if pan gets too dry or if onions start to stick. When onions are well browned, add last tablespoon of olive oil and raise heat to high. Cook another 3 to 4 minutes, until bottom layer of onions has charred and crisped; try not to stir too much, or onions won't crisp up. (Note: I never added the final tablespoon of oil, and it was still fine.)
5. Combine rice, lentils, and most of the onions in large serving bowl and let sit for at least 15 minutes, to marry the flavors together. (This dish definitely improves with age.) Taste, and add more onions if desired.
6. If mujaddara has cooled significantly, reheat in a low oven or even in the microwave for a couple minutes. To serve, plate a big scoop of mujaddara and top with a dollop of yogurt.

Eat More Kale Soup!

I think I'm going to skim right over how long it's been since I first started this post.  Let's just say that I believe it was in 2011.  That's right--not even last year, but the year before.  And then I'm also going to skim right over what a bad blogger I was in 2012.  It's a new year, 2013, and we're looking ahead.  So I'm going to first say Happy New Year to the five people who are still reading this, after my prolonged absence, and then I am going to tell you about one of the best ways to eat kale that I know of. (In the interests of honesty, I will also tell you that I made this linguine with kale and breadcrumbs from Food52 last night, and it was also delicious, but make the soup first!)

Remember Bo, the Eat More Kale guy?  He's the guy in Vermont selling "Eat More Kale" t-shirts who was told to cease and desist by Chik-fil-A because, according to them, "Eat more kale" trespassed on their copyright of "Eat Mor Chikin"?  This was in the news last winter--here's the New York Times story on it.  I googled to see what's been happening since, and one thing that's happened is that a documentary called "A Defiant Dude" is being made about Bo and his fight.

While I don't own my own Eat More Kale t-shirt, I have, in fact, been eating more kale, and that's because of this kale and potato soup.



Last fall, or perhaps the fall before that, a kale-growing colleague brought me a big bunch of kale.  I wasn't entirely sure what to do with it.  It's not that I don't like kale--it's more that I'd never cooked it regularly.  I poked around looking for recipes.  I was tempted by Molly's recipe at Orangette for Boiled Kale with a Fried Egg and Toast--I like almost anything if it includes an egg and toast--but it wasn't quite what I was in the mood for.  I decided, instead, to make kale soup.  I remembered that there is a Portuguese soup called caldo verde (green broth) with kale and potatoes in it, so I thought I'd make that.

Alas, I soon learned that traditional caldo verde also includes large quantities of pork sausage.  But since I had recently discovered that smoked paprika could add a nice smoky flavor to a vegetarian soup, I decided to experiment.  (Exhibit A in this category is the smoky minestrone with tortellini and parsley pesto, which remains a favorite.) I also had been making a lot of potato-leek soup, and I used that as another inspiration. 

I've made this soup over and over since then, and it's almost certainly true that I've never made it exactly the same way twice.  That's actually one of the great things about it--you can be flexible with the ingredients, and the soup will still be delicious.   As long as there is some kind of allium (onion, leek, shallot), some kind of potato, garlic, kale and smoked paprika, you will end up with delicious--and deliciously healthy--soup. 



You basically start as if you're making leek and potato soup, by sauteing leeks (and/or onions and/or shallots) in a bit of butter.  I usually put my first hit of smoked paprika in with the leeks or onions.  Then, you add diced, peeled potatoes and mix everything up.  Once the potatoes have had a few minutes to mix and meld with the leeks/onions, you add water.  Meanwhile, you're dealing with the kale. 



Kale can be kind of annoying to process--you need to cut out the tough stems and chop it thinly.  (In traditional caldo verde, the kale is sliced into ribbons, and the soup isn't pureed.  In my version, since I do puree it, it doesn't matter how thin the kale is sliced since it's all going to get ground up anyway in the blender. Still, thinner slices cook faster, so that's what I usually go with.) 



Then, you add the kale, which eventually cooks down. 



Once the potatoes and kale are both soft, you're basically done.  I like my kale and potato soup pureed, so at that point, I use my handy immersion blender and whirl it all up until it's a nice shade of green.  You could also put it through a food mill instead, if you were so inclined.




 At this point, you still have options.  I often add more smoked paprika, and I always season it with Maldon salt, which is another kitchen favorite.  (Really, I was never a believer in the power of good sea salt until I tried Maldon salt, and now I am never without it. It is especially good for finishing a dish and bringing the flavors out.)  Sometimes, I add a bit (maybe a few tablespoons) of half and half, which gives the soup a luxurious touch.  (It also mellows out the flavor of the kale in a nice way, which is especially helpful if you have kale-doubters at your table.) 

Last summer, for the first time, with this soup in mind, I decided to grow my own lacinato kale. (That's the dark kale, also called dino kale and Tuscan kale.)  Except, being the haphazard gardener that I am, I bought a six-pack of it in the spring, thinking I'd plant that so I'd have some while waiting for my seeds to grow.  But then, I didn't plant the six-pack or the seeds, and by late August, there was no kale at all in my garden.  But suddenly I discovered that the six-pack of kale was still alive.  Blessed, hearty kale.  So, I planted it in the garden, and it grew.  Not as huge as it would have been if I'd planted it earlier, but it still grew.  And at exactly the moment it was getting big enough to eat, tragedy struck.  I looked out my kitchen window one day in the fall to see how it was doing and learned that what it was doing was nourishing a deer.  The deer was gone by then, but so was the kale, every single last edible piece.

The thing with gardening, though, as it is with blogging, is that there is always another chance.  Summer will return, and hopefully before then, the urge to blog will return as well. (Maybe it even has already!)  And January, after all, is a good month for blogging and soup eating and dreaming of, if not exactly kale, then of gardens in which to plant it and deer who will find someone else's greens to munch on next summer.

Smoky Kale and Potato Soup

• 3 large leeks (or 2 onions or several shallots or some combination thereof)
• 2 large (or 3 small) cloves garlic, minced
• 1-1 1/2 pounds potatoes, peeled and diced
• 1 large bunch kale--I always use Lacinato, but other kinds should work
• 1-2 tbsps. butter
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika (or more to taste)
• 2-3 tbsp. half and half (optional)
• Sea salt

1. In a large soup pot, saute the white part of the leeks (and/or the onions or shallots) in the butter until soft but not brown.
2.  Once the leeks are soft, add the garlic and continue to stir.
3. Add 1 tsp. smoked paprika to the leeks and garlic and stir until coated.
4.  Meanwhile, while leeks are cooking, peel and dice the potatoes.  Add to the leeks and garlic and cook for several minutes.  If anything starts to stick, you can add a bit of water now.
5. Add approx. 2 quarts of water.
6. Bring to a boil and then lower to a simmer.
7. Take out the tough ribs of the kale and chop the kale leaves finely.  (I usually do it in ribbons, even if I'm pureeing the soup.)
8. Add the kale to the soup.
9. Cook for approximately 20 minutes or as long as it takes for the potatoes to be soft (they should break up when you mash them against the edge of the pot).
10. Puree the soup with an immersion blender or grind it up in a food mill (and return to the pot.)
11. Salt to taste, ideally with Maldon salt, and season with additional smoked paprika to taste
12. (Optional) Add several tablespoons of half and half (I never usually measure but use just a splash from the carton).
13. Eat more kale and enjoy!

Meatless Monday: Vegetarian Tortilla Pie

It began with the tortillas. One of my colleagues picked up a packet of corn tortillas from a local Mexican restaurant at lunch one day and brought them back to the office. The package was hefty, so she offered me some, which I took home, put in the fridge and half forgot about. But one day, a week or so later, I was thinking about what to make for dinner, and I remembered the tortillas. I had a yen for some sort of tortilla pie or casserole, with vegetables and beans and cheese, something warm and comforting, hearty and wholesome. I looked up recipes and found all manner of variations--with meat, without meat, with tomato sauce, with large quantities of salsa, etc.-- but I didn't find exactly what I was looking for.

No matter. This is the kind of dish where improvisation works fine. After all, how wrong can you go with tortillas, vegetables, beans and cheese? On one burner of the stove, I set to sauteing some onions and garlic, to which I added 2 cans of black beans and a package of frozen corn. On the next burner, I sauteed some spinach with a bit of garlic.

Then, I made what turned out to be a crucial decision. I had a little can of chipotle chilies in adobo sauce in the house. I pureed these and added a teaspoon to the bean/corn/onion mixture, which gave it a kick without excessive heat. (This meant I didn't have to dump in a whole jar of salsa later to avoid blandness.) Once everything was cooked, I began to layer. On the bottom of the dish went a layer of tortillas (3 or 4), overlapping. I covered these with half of the bean/corn mixture. Then I added about half of the spinach. Grated cheddar followed, along with dabs of salsa.

Another layer of tortillas followed, and then the beans and corn, spinach, cheese and salsa. You could add more salsa, tomato sauce or crushed tomatoes, if you wanted the mixture to be wetter. You could put other vegetables in with the beans and corn. I'm still wondering why I didn't think to add red peppers. You can skip the spinach, if that's not your thing, but it's an easy and delicious way to get some greens in painlessly (if you (or your children) are looking for painless ways to greens consumption). Don't skimp on the cheese, which is a mistake I made the second time I made this. (It was still good, but not quite as delicious as the first time.) Finally, add one more layer of tortillas across the top, and grate more cheese to finish it off.

These top tortillas will crisp up when you bake it, and they will add some nice crunch to the dish.

This is not the loveliest or most photogenic dish, admittedly. But it's filling and tasty and very easy to make. I recommend eating it with cubes of avocado and a bit of sour cream.

Not long ago, I went to the Mexican restaurant and bought my own hefty packet of Cinco de Mayo corn tortillas ($1.75 for at least 30 tortillas that are much more substantial than supermarket tortillas). With the weather seeming to have forgotten that it's actually late May, I suspect there will still be at least a few opportunities to use them!

Vegetarian Tortilla Pie

10-12 small corn tortillas, Cinco de Mayo or other quality brand if possible
olive oil for sauteeing
2 onions, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 cans black beans (or 1 cup dried beans, soaked and cooked)
10 oz. frozen corn (or corn from 3-4 ears, if in season)
1 tsp. pureed chipotle chilies
1 10 oz. bag of spinach leaves, washed
4-6 oz. sharp or extra sharp cheddar cheese, grated
salsa to taste
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 375

Saute the onions and 2 cloves of garlic in 1 tbsp. olive oil until the onions are soft but not brown. Add the black beans and corn. When mixture is warm, stir in the pureed chipotle chili, making sure that it's spread out through the mixture. Add salt and pepper to taste.

In a separate skillet, heat another teaspoon of olive oil and saute the third clove of garlic, briefly. Add the washed spinach and saute until spinach is wilted. Put into a colander and press to squeeze out any extra water. Chop finely.

In a casserole dish (I used an 8.5" x 12" Emile Henry lasagna pan), put a layer of tortillas across the bottom. It's fine if they overlap. Layer on half of the bean/corn mixture and half of the spinach. Add salsa to taste. Sprinkle not quite half of the cheese over the top. Repeat with another layer of tortillas, beans/corn, spinach, salsa and cheese. Top with a final layer of tortillas with the remaining cheese sprinkled on top.

Bake in 375 oven for approximately 20 minutes. Serve with chopped avocado, sour cream, more salsa, and any other garnish you wish.

Serves 4-6

Meatless Monday: Smoky Minestrone with Cheese Tortellini and Parsley Pesto

I love soup. I've often spoken on this blog of my love for Deborah Madison, soup genius, but I will take good soup wherever I can find it. This particular soup I found on Food 52. Food 52 is the new-ish food site created by Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs. When I first explored it, soon after it was created, I was a bit overwhelmed. There were contests to enter, recipes to test, prizes to be won. Not that I am opposed to any of those things--it just seemed a bit more involved than I was prepared for. Now, a year and more later, Food 52 is still all of those things--but it's also a source of really great recipes. All of those recipes that were entered in contests and tested by numerous readers and awarded prizes--they're all there. My explorations have been somewhat limited so far (there are a lot of recipes), but there's no question that this recipe, which was an Editor's Pick, is a winner. I read the recipe and it looked good, but I got even more intrigued as I started reading through the comments and saw one person after another saying, "This is the best soup I've ever had." Of course I had to give it a go.

The original recipe, submitted by WinnieAb, called for bacon to create the smoky flavor. I eliminated the bacon and added a teaspoon of smoked paprika to similar smoky (though not bacon-y) effect. I also used vegetable stock instead of chicken stock. What is lovely about this soup is that it is mostly vegetables . . .

and more vegetables . . .

and yet the soup doesn't taste abstemious in the least, thanks to the cheese tortellini and the lovely dollop of parsley pesto on top.

A few notes: Don't skip the parsley pesto! It adds a nice jolt of flavor to the soup. While I like the idea of hand-chopping pesto in theory, I like the ease of my mini-chopper more. I started with the parsley, then added the garlic, oil, pine nuts and finally cheese. It took just a few minutes and tasted delicious.

This is a generous recipe and makes a good 6-8 bowls. If you think you're not going to eat it all and would like to freeze some of it, then cook the tortellini separately and add as needed. Once the tortellini are in the soup, they continue to suck up broth, so your leftovers will be more stew-like than soup-like. They are still delicious--just perhaps not as photogenic.

I've now made this soup twice since I discovered the recipe just a month or so ago. And all of those comments about how good it is were totally spot on. I'm always hesitant to name something "the best soup ever," but even without that superlative, this is really delicious soup and absolutely worth having in your dinner rotation, whether it's a Meatless Monday or not.

Smoky Minestrone with Cheese Tortellini and Parsley Pesto

Adapted from WinnieAb's recipe on Food 52

Serves 6-8

Soup:

• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 large onion, peeled and chopped
• 2 cloves of garlic, minced
• 1 leek, trimmed and sliced thinly
• 1 tsp. smoked paprika
• 3 carrots, peeled and chopped
• 2 ribs of celery, chopped
• 1 zucchini, chopped
• 1 potato, peeled and chopped
  
• 1 quart of vegetable stock, homemade or not
  
• 1 15 oz. can of cooked chickpeas, preferably organic
• 1 28 oz. can of peeled San Marzano tomatoes, with juice
• salt, to taste
• 1 cup kale or Swiss chard, chopped fine
• 1 9-ounce package of high quality, all-natural cheese tortellini
• Grated Parmesan cheese for garnish-- optional but recommended

1. Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Ask a question about this step.
2. Add the chopped onion, garlic and leek. Cook, stirring occasionally, over medium heat until softened. Add the smoked paprika and cook another few minutes. Ask a question about this step.
3. Add the chopped carrot, celery, zucchini, potato and stir around for a minute or two. Ask a question about this step.
4. Add the stock, the chickpeas, and then the tomatoes, crushing them with your hands as you go. (You can also puree them, depending on your feelings about tomato pieces in your soup.) Add a few generous pinches of salt (be judicious if your stock is salted already). Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 30-40 minutes, until the potatoes are just tender. Ask a question about this step.
5. Add the kale or chard and the tortellini, and continue to cook over a simmer until both are tender and cooked through, 5 to 7 minutes. Taste and add more salt if necessary. Serve garnished with a spoonful of the pesto, a few drops of aged balsamic (if desired), and a generous sprinkling of grated Parmesan cheese. Ask a question about this step.

Parsley or Basil Pesto:

• 1 cup loosely packed basil or parsley
• 2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
• 2 cloves garlic, peeled
• 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 tablespoon olive

1. Chop, chop, and chop the basil or parsley some more by hand until it's very fine...when you do this, you'll reduce it down to about 1/4 cup. You can also do this step in a mini chopper. Ask a question about this step.
2. As you chop the parsley/basil, start to incorporate the other ingredients and chop them fine, too, until you have a lovely, finely chopped pesto. Ask a question about this step.
3. Transfer to a small bowl and stir in the olive oil. Use as a garnish for the minestrone.
   
4. Note: I did this whole thing in the mini-chopper, and it came out nicely. So, whatever is easier for you.
   

Meatless Monday: Deborah Madison's Chickpea and Spinach Soup

Yesterday, I went running on the bike path for the first time since December, when the first huge storm arrived, followed by many, many others. The path was 98% clear, with just a few snowy patches, easily navigated.

Today, it is all covered up again, the snow falling lightly but steadily. Welcome to spring.

The only way I ever get through March is by pretending that it's spring, and occasionally, that works, and most of the time, it doesn't. We were all fooled, this past week, with those temps in the 60s and that especially fat full moon sitting so low in the sky. But this week's forecast is for snow and rain and "unseasonable" chill. There is a fire in my wood stove as I write this and wool socks on my feet.

The upside--it's still soup season. That, at least, is something to be grateful for. As I have mentioned before, I think Deborah Madison is a soup genius, and this soup is an old favorite of mine, temporarily forgotten. I remembered it again because I just bought my very first pressure cooker, and I put it together over the weekend. I've always been scared of pressure cookers--that blowing the house up thing--but I came back from India determined to learn how to make good dal, and everyone I know who makes good dal in India uses a pressure cooker. Deborah Madison herself talks about the excellent texture of the beans she cooks for certain soups, not to mention their speedy cooking.

So, I bought a pressure cooker, and the first (and only, so far) thing I cooked was a pound of chickpeas. My pressure cooker report is this. On the one hand, the soaked beans cooked in 10 minutes, which is amazing. On the other, the knob on top that's supposed to jiggle didn't jiggle, so I was nervous the whole time they were cooking. I think it will take a bit of practice before I can use the pressure cooker without hovering (at a small distance), but I can see its good qualities already.

So, I had a pound of cooked chickpeas, and I saw this recipe for Chickpea Soup with Crisp Croutons up at The Wednesday Chef, and while it looked tempting, it also had meat in it, and rather than take the meat out, I remembered that I had a similar already vegetarian recipe in hand, one I'd enjoyed in the past. Plus, there was the spinach to break up the bland beigeness of pureed garbanzos, and it just so happened that I made it to the Saturday farmer's market with an hour to spare, and the nice young woman who sells fresh spinach (grown in Hadley, even in deep winter!) had some left and I bought a bag.

This soup is very simple--chickpeas, onions, garlic, thyme and oregano, spinach. You use the cooking and/or soaking water as stock, and you puree it partially, leaving some chickpeas whole, for texture. I decided to add some smoked paprika this time and did not regret it. I added it toward the end, but next time, I'll probably saute it with the onions and garlic.

I don't usually recommend monochromatic meals--except for the one entirely pink dinner I made some years ago. (Really--salmon, applesauce and mashed potatoes made from red-red potatoes that turn a lovely shade of pink when cooked and mashed. An odd combination, perhaps, but even if it hadn't tasted good (which it did), it would have been worth it for the fact of an entirely pink meal alone.) And it is true that our dinner last night did end up being a bit on the beige side. Still, when the beige food consists of chickpea soup, 8 grain bread from the Hungry Ghost and butterscotch pudding from a David Lebovitz recipe, it's hard to begrudge the color too much.

Deborah Madison strongly recommends NOT using canned chickpeas for this, and I second that. Even if you don't have a pressure cooker, it just means a bit of advance planning for soaking and cooking the chickpeas. Once they're soft, the rest of the soup comes together pretty quickly. Also, definitely hang on to the extra soaking/cooking liquid. This soup tends to get thick, and it's nice to have something on hand to thin it out with.

So, spring is here and not here. This is our challenge for the rest of March. At least there is soup to warm us as we await what is not here yet but must be soon. Enjoy.

Chickpea and Spinach Soup with Bread Crumbs
Adapted from Vegetarian Soups from Deborah Madison's Kitchen

The Chickpeas:
2 cups dried chickpeas, soaked
1 carrot, peeled
1 head of garlic, sliced crosswise in half
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
Handful of parsley sprigs, tied together with string (You can skip the string, but then you will have to pick limp pieces of soggy parsley out of the stock individually.)

The Soup:
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
4-5 Tablespoons fruity olive oil
2 onions, finely diced
2 teaspoon dried oregano, not Mexican
Good pinch of dried thyme or 1 fresh thyme sprig
3 garlic cloves, minced

1 tsp. smoked paprika (optional)
Big bunch of spinach, stems removed and leaves washed

Juice of 1 lemon, or to taste
1 cup coarse bread crumbs, moistened with 1 tablespoon olive oil (optional)
Good fruity olive oil for garnish

1. Drain and rinse the chickpeas and put them in a pot with the rest of the ingredients and 3 quarts water. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat, cover, and simmer until the chickpeas are tender but hold their shape. They shouldn't get as soft as canned chickpeas. (This can be done a day or two ahead of time.) Season with a teaspoon of salt and set aside. If you're inclined to, pinch the skins off the chickpeas and discard them.

2. Heat the oil in a second soup pot. Add the onions, oregano, thyme, smoked paprika (if using) and a few pinches of salt. Cook over medium-low heat until softened, about 15 minutes, occasionally giving them a stir. Add the garlic toward the end.

3. Using a strainer, lift the cooked chickpeas into the pot with the onions and discard the rest of the aromatics. Strain the liquid and add 6 cups, setting the rest aside for the moment. Add another teaspoon of salt, then cover and simmer for 25 minutes. Puree 2 cups of the chickpeas and return them to the pot. If the soup seems too thick, thin it with any remaining liquid. Taste for salt and season with pepper.

4. Wilt the spinach in a skillet in the water clinging to its leaves, then chop and add to the chickpeas. Cook for 2 to 3 minutes, then taste again and add lemon juice to bring up the flavor. Crisp the bread crumbs in the skillet. Ladle the soup into soup plates, scatter bread crumbs over each serving, drizzle with a little additional oil and serve.

Makes about 2 quarts.

Meatless Mondays: Easy Summer Tomato Soup

And this year, there were tomatoes.

Anyone who read my blog last summer knows this was not the case a year ago. (Exhibit A: Sauce for a Sad Tomato Season) But despite scattered reports of blight in the area, my garden escaped. And under the endless weeks of hot sun and too little water, the tomatoes produced and produced again. I have 16 plants this year, 12 at the community garden and 4 at home, 8 plum tomatoes and 8 regular tomatoes of mixed varieties. I grow no cherry tomatoes because, since I don't eat raw tomatoes, there's no point. For the past few weeks, I've been using tomatoes steadily and still giving them away generously without feeling any sense of panic. I think the bulk of the production may even still be to come, as the plum tomatoes at the garden have ripened more slowly than the others. (That might be wishful thinking, but there's no shortage of tomatoes at the farmers' market either, which is reassuring.)

Yesterday, a chilly, rainy night here, I made a double batch of my standard summer tomato soup. I discovered the recipe some years ago in Cooking Light. It was in the column where someone sends in a recipe that contains a pound of butter and a pint of heavy cream and asks for a lighter version. I don't remember what the original recipe called for, in terms of fat, but I know that the lighter version is delicious, with no cream or butter in it at all. (It does contain low fat cream cheese and milk; in case you were hoping that it's both virtuous and dairy-free, it's not.)

This was my second batch of soup this season. A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of entertaining my British cousin Mim, her husband Tim and their kids (who are named not Jim and Kim but rather Dan and Ros). They were here for lunch, and I wanted to make something kid-friendly that also used ample amounts of local produce. The menu I ended up with included this tomato soup, eggplant Parmesan and blueberry crumble bars. It is true that Ros consumed a large plate of blueberry crumble bars, ending up with blueberry on her nose and eyebrow, but I was even more pleased by how much Dan loved the soup, which he called "super" and complimented multiple times as he worked his way through his bowl. I was even more touched last week when I got an email from Mim--they're back home in London now--saying that Dan was interested in learning to cook, and for his first attempt, he wanted to make tomato soup and could I send the recipe. I'm not sure praise comes higher than that!


A few notes: If you have a food mill, this is the time to use it. (I have an old Foley one from my grandmother's house, and it is one of my favorite kitchen utensils, up there with my immersion blender.) Using a food mill means that you don't have to worry about peeling and seeding the tomatoes ahead of time. With sauce, I rarely peel and seed tomatoes, whether or not it's going through the food mill. But with soup, texture seems more of an issue--I'd rather not be spitting out bits of skin and seed from each sip. I also take the extra step of adding the basil after it's gone through the food mill and then using the immersion blender to chop it up, so that the soup will have bits of basil in it. (Not much basil is left, once it goes through the food mill.) It's an extra step, but since the soup is so easy to make, it seems worth it. The original recipe calls for 4 ounces--half a package--of 1/3-less-fat cream cheese. I've used less than that, and it still tastes good, so you can go lower if you'd like, though the original amount isn't excessive, by any means.

One last note--I discovered last year that this soup is also an excellent candidate for freezing. I've already frozen part of yesterday's large pot (without the milk--I'll add that once I defrost it), and I plan to freeze more. (I usually make a double batch since the recipe is easily multiplied.) This soup is a pleasure when the sun is hot and the days are long. It's even more so once fall or, especially, winter has arrived. And while I now have a dependable winter tomato soup recipe, I'm still partial to the summer version. What could be nicer than a bowl of soup that hearkens back to August days when the zinnias are in full bloom and the tomatoes bountiful and blight-free?

Tomato-Basil Soup
Adapted from Cooking Light, July 2000

Ingredients

• 4 cups chopped tomatoes (about 4 large), peeled and seeded if you're not going to use a food mill
  
• 4 cups tomato juice (I use whatever I can find, sometimes Campbell's, sometimes organic from Whole Foods. I usually don't use low-sodium juice, but you can.)
  
• 1/3 cup fresh basil leaves
• 1 cup 1% low-fat milk
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 2-4 ounces 1/3-less-fat cream cheese, softened
• Basil leaves, thinly sliced (optional)

Preparation

Bring tomatoes and juice to a boil in a large saucepan. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, 30 minutes.

If the tomatoes haven't been peeled and seeded, run tomato mixture through a food mill to get rid of skins and seeds. Return to pot, add basil, and use an immersion blender to process until smooth. (Obviously, you can do this in a regular blender or food processor as well; but in my role as an immersion blender evangelist, I'll say that it's much easier to do it right in the pot with the immersion blender, rather than transferring hot (red) liquid back and forth.) Add softened cream cheese, whisking for several minutes. Then add milk, salt, and pepper and cook over medium heat until thick (about 5 minutes). Ladle soup into individual bowls; garnish with sliced basil, if desired.

NOTE: Refrigerate remaining soup in an airtight container for up to 1 week. The soup can also be frozen. I freeze it after I've added the cream cheese but before I've added the milk. You can also freeze just the tomato/juice combo and add both dairy products once it's defrosted. Just make a note to yourself about what you have or haven't included.

Meatless Mondays: Height-of-Summer Ratatouille

A few years ago, I realized that I didn't have a go-to ratatouille recipe. So, I began to investigate, looking up recipes in cookbooks and food blogs. Many of the recipes I found called for cooking each vegetable individually, wiping the pan out in between. Others called for baking the ratatouille rather than making it on the stove. As I pored through the recipes, I began to realize that I didn't actually want a lightly cooked ratatouille, with each vegetable maintaining its texture and individual flavor (see Smitten Kitchen for a gorgeous example). I didn't really want to turn on my oven either. What I wanted, actually, was sludge.

Not literal sludge, of course, but I wanted a savory tomato-y stew, with the flavors melded into a medley of high summer. I wanted ratatouille that I could sprinkle with Parmesan and eat over cous cous or heap onto a slice of thick bread. I wanted ratatouille that could double as a thick pasta sauce, if necessary. With summer vegetables at their height of flavor and plentiful, to boot, I didn't really want to treat them delicately, at least not right then.

The one recipe I found that seemed suitable for my purposes was in Nigella Lawson's How to Eat. This is a cookbook I tend to look through more than cook from, but no matter. What I liked about her recipe was that it didn't call for any complicated procedures. It also referenced Elizabeth David, which seemed like a good sign.

In the years since, I've continued to use Nigella's recipe as a template, but I've remained flexible about exact amounts and cooking times. The one thing that's been consistent is that I've added the vegetables one at a time to the pot, starting with the onions and ending with the tomatoes. I also probably cook it longer than Nigella recommends, since after all what I'm aiming for is my delicious vegetable sludge, which tastes even better after it's sat for a day and given the flavors time to meld.

High summer is a fleeting time, I know, but I've decided that it's long enough for several different kinds of ratatouille. I'm tempted by Deborah Madison's version, which contains caramelized onions and roasted red peppers, and by Mark Bittman's baked version (from How to Cook Everything), especially once it cools down a bit and turning the oven on won't cause the kitchen to become an inferno. In the meantime, though, I have already stowed some of my sludgy version in the basement freezer. I know it will cheer me up immeasurably once the plentiful eggplants and tomatoes in my garden are only a sweet summery memory.

(I've noticed that ratatouille is much more photogenic in its raw form (above) than cooked. Ah well.)

Ratatouille
(loosely adapted from Nigella Lawson's How to Eat)

Please note that the amounts really are flexible, depending on your taste and what's available.

Ingredients:

• 2 medium onions, sliced
  
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
  
• 1 large or 2 medium globe eggplants, sliced or cubed
  
• 4- 5 smallish zucchini and/or yellow squash, halved and sliced
  
• 3 large sweet red peppers
• 4 large tomatoes
  
• 2-6 tbsps olive oil (Nigella recommends more, but I usually don't use more than a few tablespoons)
  
• 1/2 to 1 tsp ground coriander or coriander seed (I skipped this)
• fresh basil and/or fresh parsley

Instructions

• Slice the onions into thin half-moons
• Mince garlic
  
• Chop eggplant and zucchini into slices or small chunks
  
• Cut the peppers in half, remove cores & seeds, cut into thin strips
  
• Skin tomatoes by plunging into boiled water for a few minutes & then slipping the skins off. Halve them scoop out seeds & cut into chunks (I skipped this step and just chopped the tomatoes up.)
  
• Cook in this order: onions first, then eggplant, zucchini, garlic, peppers and finally tomatoes
• Heat the oil in a thick bottomed wide pan
• Cook the onions until soft but not brown
• Add the eggplant and cook several minutes until they start to shrink down and then add the squash,
• Continue on like this with the peppers and garlic (add more oil as needed)
• Cover the pan & cook gently for 40 mins, checking to make sure the bottom isn't sticking. Stir as needed.
  
• Add the tomatoes, coriander (if using), salt & pepper
• Cook for another 30-40 minutes until all vegetables are soft but not mushy
• Stir in the basil or parsley
• Eat, preferably at room temperature. Ratatouille keeps well in the fridge for up to 5 days; it also freezes well.
  

Meatless Mondays: Pasta with Creamed Chard and Spring Onions

I've long acknowledged my admiration and appreciation for Deb Perelman and her blog Smitten Kitchen. It's been the source for a number of excellent recipes that I've made over and over again. But even if I hadn't been grateful to her for leading me to an easy recipe for pretzel rolls or granola bars or the numerous other things I've made but haven't written about, I would be a fan forever for this single recipe for pasta with creamed chard and spring onions.

It's not that it's an extravagant recipe; the beauty is that it isn't. It's easy to make and delicious to eat. And it came from the kind of kitchen inspiration I aspire to. Occasionally, my fooling around will turn out a dish that goes into my regular rotation--see the early summer orzo (nearly in season again!) or my accidental eggplant Parmesan--but it's something I'd like to do more. Deb describes this as a recipe she invented based on what was in her refrigerator, though it's also based on her creamed spinach recipe. And the method is not unrelated to the cream of spinach soup I've been making for more than 20 years.

Basically, you wilt some chard (or spinach), saute some green onions and then make a roux. Add the chard to the roux, and the roux to the pasta, and you have dinner. What I love about this recipe--beyond its ease and deliciousness--is its flexibility. I've made it 3 times now, and each time, I've used a different combination of onions and garlic. When there were new green onions at the farmers market, I used those. When I only had a few left and wanted to make the pasta again, I added a couple of leeks I had in the fridge. Yesterday, I had to use supermarket leeks and scallions, but I had a bunch of green garlic from the farmers market, so I added some of that. The first 2 times, I used supermarket chard, and yesterday, I used the first chard of the season from the farmers market. Each combo has been equally tasty.

You can also be flexible with the dairy and make this as decadent or lean as you'd like. I cut the butter and flour in Deb's recipe down a bit (she used 3 tablespoons each, I used 1-2 tablespoons), but you could use the full amount without weighing the dish down. I've mostly used 2% milk, but you could go down to 1% or up to whole milk or half and half or even cream. The recipe is adaptable enough for any of this, so you don't have to stress about what you do or don't have at that moment in the fridge. As long as you have some kind of greens, some kind of green onions and some kind of dairy product, you're good to go.

And perhaps I'll give myself a summer challenge of cooking more based on what's available in the house (because of what struck me at the farmers market or because of what's ripe in the garden) rather than buying things specifically for a certain recipe. But in the meantime, I'm happy to take advantage of Deb's experimenting--I haven't yet been disappointed with the results.

Pasta with Creamed Chard and Spring Onions
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

1 1-pound bunch Swiss chard, thick stems removed and leaves sliced into ribbons

4-5 spring onions, leeks or green garlic, or some combination thereof, ends trimmed, white and some green parts sliced into thin coins

1 - 2 tablespoons butter

1 - 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 3/4 cups milk

1/4 cup grated Parmesan, plus more to taste

approx. 1/2 pound pasta--I like something on the shorter and chunkier side with this

Salt and pepper

Wash the chard and place it in a large pot over high heat. Cook, covered, with just the water clinging to leaves, stirring occasionally, until wilted, about 6 minutes.

Press or squeeze out the excess liquid. (I do this in a strainer with a spoon, though once it's cool enough, I also squeeze it by hand.)

Wipe out the large pot so you can use it again. Heat milk or cream--You can do this on the stove, but I usually just put the milk in a Pyrex measuring cup in the microwave for a few minutes. While it's heating, cook onion and garlic, if using, in butter in your wiped-out large pot over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about six minutes. Whisk in flour and cook roux, whisking, about three minutes. Add warm milk or cream in a slow stream, whisking constantly to prevent lumps, and simmer, whisking, until thickened, three to four minutes. Stir in 1/4 cup Parmesan. Stir in chard, then salt and pepper to taste and cook, stirring, until heated through.