The Dinner Files

Yes, zucchini blossoms are better fried. But I can’t sit around frying things all day. And, I need more than “Fried Zucchini Blossoms” to populate the “Zucchini Blossoms” category on Local Foods. So zucchini blossom omelet it is. And you know what? It was pretty damn good, especially considering that it was so hot out that all I wanted was a nice big bowl of ice for dinner.

Plus, Ernie chopped the zucchini blossoms. He did not, however, care much for the omelet. What he liked were the Italian sausages I bought from Boccalone* and cooked up to put in his lunch. He liked those a lot. He actually sat on the kitchen floor near the stove to just be there and smell them cooking. And that is how he understood and described his own actions. “Mama,” he said, “I just want to sit here and smell this delicious smell.”

Fair enough.

*Boccalone has a salami CSA, which is pretty awesome. But you know what is really awesome? They sell “salumi cones” at Ferry Plaza–large slices of mortadella and pate formed into a cone and filled with slices of salami. Um, yeah. I thought so too: That’s genius.

I had coffee with a friend yesterday. She, too, is part of the food world–writing away and developing recipes and whatnot. We spent a moment–just a moment, mind you!–bemoaning the fresh, simple, ingredient-driven, Italy/Southern France-inspired cuisine that dominates our fair city of San Francisco. It’s all great, of course, but once in awhile you want someone to dazzle you with something you’ve never seen before, and I don’t mean yet another variety of Mediterranean green. I want something weird. Something not a variety of something else. Something I’ve never dreamed of. Something amazing.

And yet, between the two of us, I don’t think you could find more “simply prepared asparagus and peas” (as she so deftly put it) if you tried.

And after all my yackety-yack, what did I cook? Well, see for yourself:

Yep, those are some late-spring, early-summer vegetables. Simply “braised” in olive oil and water (water! of all things simple!) with some fresh herbs (let’s not get too cliché… oh wait, it’s way too late for that) and served on polenta. What is it? 1985? But you know, it was just right for a Thursday on a sunny day that had turned into a clear-but-windy night in San Francisco. It was also fast. It’s such a crowd-pleaser I already posted the recipe (such as it is) over at local foods.

p.s. The carrot cupcakes were a hit (although they had a bit of that metallic thing chemically-risen baked goods can get–I’ll play with the proportions a bit). Cooking with 16 4- and 5-year olds is insane. They really like to stir. A lot. Next time I’m just bringing bowls of flour and water for them to work on. They also like to stick their fingers in their noses and mouths. A lot. More than once did I say “Calum/Serafina/Shai/Jacob/Vaughn, go wash your hands” and then 30 seconds later look over and say it all over again.

Does that ever happen to you? Once in a moon-so-blue-it’s-turquoise does it happen to me. I ate some stuff–mainly “sportler brot” (“fitness bread”! it says so on the label!) from Ester’s German Bakery via our neighborhood co-op and some goat gouda cheese (remind me to tell you about the time my French exchange family took me to Holland and we went to Gouda–oh, the fun we had!)–but not any dinner. Instead I was busy developing a dairy-free, egg-free carrot cake to turn into cupcakes today with Ernie’s preschool class.

Dairy-free and egg-free because that’s how things roll these days. Between allergies and politics, cooking and other people’s kids is a tricky business.

Carrot cake because they planted and grew carrots in their garden and they’ve already prepared them every other way anyone can think of.

Me because I volunteered to come in and do a baking project because otherwise I am a very bad parent who doesn’t contribute to the school (except, of course, for the substantial check I write them every month) and selfishly pursues her own career during the time I pay other people to keep my child out of traffic–oh, I mean stimulate his mind, enliven his curiosity, smooth over not-fully-socialized-and-thus-painfully-honest peer interactions, and strengthen his body–all day.

These cupcakes are tasty. Basic and tasty. Cream cheese frosting would set them up just right, but I don’t want the teachers to hate me, which I think they might if I left them with a room full of sugar-fueled pre-schoolers just as “quiet time” rolled around….

Dairy-free, egg-free tender carrot spice cupcakes

1 1/2 cup grated carrot
2 Tbsp. lemon juice
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/4 cup flour
3/4 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 cup cold water
5 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 350°. Prepare 18 muffin/cupcake cups (spray with oil, butter, or line with paper).

2. In a small bowl, combine carrots, lemon juice, and salt. Set aside (by letting this sit just a bit the acid in the lemon juice and the salt start to break down and soften the carrot).

3. In a large bowl, combine flour, whole wheat pastry flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and nutmeg. If you’re cooking with kids, let them use a whisk to stir until the mixture looks homogeneous (in kid-speak: all the same)–I’ve found it’s a big hit. Set aside.

4. In a small bowl or measuring cup, combine water, oil, and vanilla. (Have the kid/s smell the vanilla–they’ll love you for it.)

5. Pour oil mixture into flour mixture. Whisk to combine thoroughly (since there isn’t any egg here you don’t need to worry about over-mixing the batter and having tough cupcakes, so let the little monsters/darlings stir away!). Stir in carrot mixture (again, let them revel in the joy of mixing!).

6. Divide mixture evenly among prepared cups. Bake 10 minutes, switch pan positions, bake until puffed, golden, and a clean toothpick inserted in the center of a cupcake emerges clean, about 15 minutes. Let sit on a wire rack until cool.

I wish I didn’t need to say it (isn’t it obvious?), but: © 2008 Molly Watson, just like everything else you see here.

Strange, cleaning-out-the-fridge dinner last night. I had a shockingly large portion of beet greens and yogurt. Okay, I’ll admit it, I ate all of it. The whole recipe. My dashing husband enjoyed an extra-large “health salad”–I used to make fun of this name he had for tomato, onion, sometimes cucumber and sometimes with greens/sometimes without concoction. Then we were in New York at some deli and there it was: health salad. So designated in the case. Last night he threw some roasted beet in it because, well, we found ourselves awash in roasted beets.

Ernie wanted to help, so I put him to work re-washing the lettuce. Why not? Sure, we end up picking a fair number of lettuce leaves off the floor. But those greens get clean. And dry! He spins them within an inch of their lives.

Plus, while he’s busy cleaning salad he’s much less likely to ask reflexively and obsessively and annoyingly “Is dinner ready?”

See how to clean your own greens like a pro here.

I’ve always been a lone cook. Happy in the kitchen by myself, doing my thing. The modern trend towards group cooking and having scads of people in the kitchen has never appealed to me. Once in awhile I team up with a similarly food-obsessed friend and enjoy making (and eating) some amazing meals, but it’s definitely the exception to the rule.

Last night, as we came in the door from school, Ernie sweetly asked, “Mama, can I help you make dinner?”

There may be no sweeter words to my maternal ears.

So I put him to work sorting (that is, separating out the baby spinach from the salad mix) and washing the spinach:

Then he cut the tofu and some snap peas:

To make this light spring dinner for yourself, heat a large saute pan. Add 2 tsp. grapeseed oil and 1 finely chopped spring onion. Cook, stirring, until onion is soft. Add 5 chopped cloves garlic, about a tablespoon of finely grated fresh ginger, and about 2 tablespoons salted Chinese black beans. Stir as everything comes to a sizzle. Pour in 1/2 cup rice wine, sake, or dry white wine (I used some vino verde we had open–worked fine) and a teaspoon of tamari. Cook until liquid evaporates. Add 1/2 pound snap peas you’ve cut into bite-size pieces; cover and cook until just barely tender (about 3 minutes). Add 12 ounces tofu you’ve also cut into bite-size pieces, gently mix in, cover, and cook until heated through. Serve with rice and garnish with chopped cilantro, if you like (I do). We had some sautéed spinach on the side. Ernie had what seemed like an awful lot of tamari on top. My dashing husband used not one but two hot sauces. He is a bold man.

There was more clean-up to do than when I cook alone (I don’t tend to strew many spinach leaves on the floor), but the spinach was fully and totally grit-free thanks to Ernie’s diligent washing and the unevenly cut snap peas were the best I’ve ever tasted.

Last night we enjoyed the rest of our faux bubble-squeak creation. As you might have guessed, it was even better the second day–everything got a bit browner and crunchier. Along with it we gorged on a cheese plate (Humbolt Fog, Point Reyes Blue, and some French muenster–it had been a long time since I’d had muenster and MAN did it taste good) and this lovely creation:

Recipe by me, cooked by my new lovely intern. I’d been thinking about setting up an internship for awhile (when I finished cooking school it was restaurant internships or nothing, I went with nothing but would have loved to see recipe work and food writing up close and personal) and my broken-hand syndrome forced the issue.

But the real story here happened before dinner, when Ernie baked cupcakes for his preschool to celebrate his birthday, TODAY! He is five. Five, it ends up, is old enough to pretty much bake cupcakes by yourself–as long as you have someone to deal with the oven and even out the batter in the cups. Oh, and read the “instructions” as Ernie calls them. In terms of batter-licking, though, he required absolutely no help whatsoever.

With some direction, he measured and mixed the dry ingredients, poured in the wet, and mixed it up. He also measured and mixed the chocolatey royal icing we used as a glaze to help the sprinkles adhere and, of course, applied the sprinkles: “two kinds, Mama, I want two kinds of sprinkles.” Ask, my son, and you shall receive.

They turned out pretty darn cute, if I do say so myself.

If you want to make some egg- and dairy-free chocolate cupcakes that are super-moist and yummy, use the batter for this Amazon cake (bake them 20-25 minutes). It just may be the easiest cake to make in the world and I get raves every time I serve it. I stopped telling people how easy it is years ago and started just saying “thanks, yeah, isn’t it great?” We mixed up a triple batch and ended up with 45 cupcakes. We could have gotten to 48 with a bit more planning and measuring, but we only needed 42 (38 for school plus 4 for tonight–more on that tomorrow).

We work well together, our family of three. Two pieces of evidence support this claim. First and foremost is our Christmas card last year, a joint effort of creativity and production if ever there was one. My dashing husband had the idea, we refined it together, I ran the camera, we staged it as a team, Ernie helped with important costume decisions for me and created his own look for the shoot, husband and I designed the final product. Second and more recently was last night’s dinner: a potato leek gratin of perfect tenderness and crispy top, with the subtle sweetness of leeks and piquant saltiness of cheese. With my broken hand, I couldn’t have made it alone.

While Dashing Husband could have just made the whole thing after getting home from work, with prep time and cooking time that would have meant we wouldn’t have eaten until 8 (something, I realize, we used to do regularly before Ernie’s bedtime and our love of family dinners pushed our dinner hour to 7 at the latest). So, before heading to work, he prepped the ingredients, leaving sliced potatoes, chopped and cooked leeks, and grated cheese ready to be assembled later in the day.

After school Ernie assembled the dish with some direction from yours truly. He buttered the pan; layered the potatoes, leeks, and cheese; and sprinkled salt from on-high for good distribution like a pro:

Like any good cook, he ate some cheese along the way and proudly got the dish ready for the oven:

It’s a magical age–this four-to-five span–they want desperately to help and can actually do stuff. Did we need to sweep the floor when he was done? Yes. Did he eat a whole mess of potato-leek gratin with no fuss or discussion and ask politely for more? Yes.

With a green salad and followed by a simple citrus salad for dessert, it was a good dinner.

Food writer tired. Food writer drank too. much. wine. Food writer had fun.

Two happy occurrences converged last night. First, the “farm box,” as my son calls it, arrived full of just the best produce I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know what they’re doing out there in Winters, CA but it’s working. In it were “farm carrots,” “farm cabbage,” and many other fruits and vegetables now saddled with “farm” as an adjective in our house. Why do we speak this way? Because Ernie will eat anything that’s “farm.” He is all about the farm and the farm box and the big bowl of farm kiwis sitting on the counter.

Speaking of, that bowl of kiwis is part of what I’m absolutely loving about the whole CSA thing. I never buy kiwis. They’re often not so good and, to be honest, even when they’re good they’re just okay in my opinion. That promising emerald green hue never really pays off with an equally “wow” flavor, am I wrong? But a big batch of them arrived in the farm box and Ernie downed two as a pre-dinner snack. He loves kiwis. Correction: he loves farm kiwis.

But I digress. The second happy occurrence was a visit from a friend’s cousin who, through regular visits to San Francisco over the years, has herself become a friend. She visits from Providence, RI (where she “teaches business majors enough philosophy to be able to chat at cocktail parties”) and finds the Bay Area to be a sort of paradise. Especially in March. The comparison, I’m led to believe, having never been to Providence, is quite striking.

So she loves this city and she also loves to eat. She finds food and meals a source of great pleasure and satisfaction, and so she is a delight to cook for. We put out some Carmondy cheese from Bellwether Farms, farm cauliflower (so sweet you just want to eat it plain–and by “you” I mean “I”), and peeled stems from the farm broccoli drizzled with tamari to nibble while I cooked. We sat down to a gratin of farm yellow finn potatoes with Italian fontina and a bit of prosciutto, the tiniest florettes of farm broccoli sautéed with garlic, and a salad of farm spinach and farm radicchio with backyard Meyer lemon dressing (made with juice from a lemon Ernie picked for me on command and the last bit of chopped preserved lemon I made from last year’s crop–this year’s batch is curing on the counter). We finished up with a dessert made of sliced oranges drizzled with a syrup made from their own zest, a bit of prosecco poured on top, and garnished with chopped bits of said semi-candied zest.

Could the dinner have used a steak? Yes and no. Yes, it would have been good. But no, we were pretty happy with the farm and agreed we didn’t miss the steak at all. Well, husband and guest agreed. Me, I would have liked just a bite or two of rib-eye. It might have off-set the wine a bit.

The other night finding something from which to make dinner was a bit of a scavenger hunt (hell, it took me into the yard!). Last night was the opposite problem. We picked up our CSA box last night. The bounty! We switched from the “medium” to the “large” box and were justly rewarded for our additional investment in Terra Firma Farms. Green garlic! Beets with greens attached! Our old friends the “farm carrots”! Oranges! Kiwis! Red cabbage! Cauliflower! Broccoli! Grapefruit! Sweet potatoes! Yellow Finn potatoes! Red kale! Rainbow chard! Frisée escarole! Baby spinach leaves! A giant leek! Really, it was all I had dreamed about. And more.I had never dreamed of red cabbage. I’d somehow forgotten about red cabbage. And rainbow chard. I prefer regular old green or “Swiss” chard, but when it shows up in a box unannounced, rainbow chard is very exciting.

But what to make? Well, the utter lack of pasta observed on Tuesday had led to the brief thought of risotto, with which I was too tired to deal. But the seed was planted. Green garlic and leek risotto it was–

with a side of braised beet greens.

Ernie ate three bowls of risotto because, as he never tires of informing me, “I like white rice, not brown rice. Mama, I don’t like brown rice. At school we have white rice. Why do we have brown rice at home? I like white rice.” Arg. Damn school and their damn lunches I don’t have to make but of which I vaguely disapprove.

In fairness to the tyke, however, he did grate the parmesan for the risotto. With tiny hands and a lack of true grating skill (dude, you need to press the cheese against the grater a bit, not just move it), grating the 1/2 cup+ needed took the lad awhile, but he stuck with it. He did, however, keep my expectations nice and low by warning me several times during the process, “I might not finish it all.” And at one point proclaimed, “I’m going to take a little break and have a glass of ice-cold water.” (We recently moved some non-glass cups to the open shelf under the “island”–read: Ikea movable counter–so he can get his own water now. His is now superlatively hydrated.)

Last night, after I whipped up a little broccoli and walnut pasta with plenty of garlic and pecorino, we sat down to dinner. Ernie, my four-year-old, pulled a thin sliver of garlic out of his dish.

“Mama, what’s this?”

“That’s a piece of garlic, sweetie.”

Piece of garlic goes into young lad’s mouth. Young lad chews and swallows with determination.

“I like garlic,” he proclaims proudly and with the pointed enthusiasm of discovery , “I’m a garlic man.”