Evan loves these. He claims not to like potatoes, but he devours latkes. There’s something about the grated potatoes in them that gives these meat patties a delicate texture. Last time, I made them with a cup of parsley, as in the original recipe. This time, I used chard leaves instead. They’re absolutely delicious either way, and last for at least a few meals, if not more. The original recipe claims the recipe produces 20 patties. I make them about the size of small burgers, and I think the original recipe calls for smaller patties. I like them with matbukha, tahini sauce, or tzatziki, and always with a squeeze of lemon. Serve them in pita bread stuffed with Israeli style chopped salad, pickles, and hot sauce. Or hold the hot sauce for those who don’t care for it.
Iraqi meat latkes
Translated and adapted from Ashtidakh: the Iraqi Cookbook, by Shoshi Oren and Lauren Ravid, published by Lunch Box
1 large potato, or 2 medium potatoes
1 cup finely chopped chard, leaves only, or parsley
1 onion, finely chopped
3 eggs
1 lb ground beef, or other ground meat
salt and pepper
matzo meal or breadcrumbs
olive oil
Grate the potato into a sieve over a bowl. Let the grated potatoes drain while you prepare the rest of the items for the latkes.
Combine the chard, onions, eggs, and ground meat in a large bowl. Add the drained grated potato.
Season to taste with salt and pepper, and mix the ingredients well with your hands.
If the mixture is too wet, add a handful or two of matzo meal or breadcrumbs and mix well. The breadcrumbs or matzo meal acts as a binder.
Place a large skillet or pan on medium heat. Pour in enough olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan.
Cook a tiny amount of batter (perhaps a teaspoon) and taste it. Adjust the seasoning as needed.
Wet your hands with cold water, and scoop up a handful of latke batter. Form it into a loose ball and gently flatten it. Place the latke in the hot pan. Repeat until the pan is full, but not crowded.
Cook until golden brown on each side, perhaps 8 minutes.
Serve in pita bread with a squeeze of lemon and tahini sauce, or matbukha.
First, choose a beautiful pomelo that feels a little heavy for its size. If it’s heavy, it’s juicy, and your fingers, chin, and the corners of your mouth will be dripping with its sticky-sweet acid dew.
Next, cut the cupola off the top of the fruit, being careful not to pierce the flesh too much. Use the pomelo top as a cat yarmulka, or your dog’s bark mitzvah. Alternatively, put it on your own damn head if you don’t have a pet, or prefer not to be clawed and bloody before gorging on citrus.
Now, score the pomelo. Ten! Ten! Tens across the board!
With a knife, doofus. A small paring knife. Score it at the halfway mark, as if you’re about to cut it in half, but think better of it. Then score it the other way, so you have quarters.
Pry the peel off the fruit by shoving your fingers greedily into the thick white pith and pull. Use the scores in the peel to guide you in each section. When that’s off, you can yank the segments apart in large chunks. Focus on exposing the citrusy flesh of each segment, ripping off as much membrane as you can. The membrane is bitter as hell. If you pull the flesh out in just the right way, the corpuscles detach from the membrane just so.
I like to rip out small handfuls of fleshy citrus and toss them into a bowl, like some sort of brutal citrus fruit serial killer. I’ll eat you, my little pretty, and your little dog too!
When you’ve extracted every corpuscle of pomelo goodness, grab a spoon, or use your hands, and sit your ass down on your sofa and get very comfortable.
Try to eat perhaps half the fruit, so as not to spike your blood sugar. Then fail miserably. Twenty minutes later, regard the carnage left behind, and marvel at your stamina and gluttony.
One of my Facebook friends made an elaborate and beautiful fideo, which inspired me to throw together this very simplified imitation with whatever I had in the refrigerator. (It’s not really fideo, more like “in the style of”.) The goal was to create a side dish featuring string beans, that my seven year old would likely eat.
I like the taste of pasta browned in olive oil, which features here, and in dishes such as Egyptian koshari. Browning the pasta gives the dish an earthy, almost nutty flavor that I quite enjoy.
This is a great vegetarian or vegan side dish, or main dish. Leave out the cheese to keep it vegan. You can also add rehydrated dried porcini, in which case, I’d recommend using the leftover porcini water for the not-fideo instead of plain water. Oh, and this pasta is cooked almost like risotto, so no need to boil it first, as long as you’re using fideo, vermicelli, or capellini.
Serve with your protein of choice.
This recipe is one of a series promoting the Greatest Tomatoes From Europe. I’m taking part in this campaign because I genuinely love canned San Marzano tomatoes from Naples, and their versatility. They’re full of flavor and aroma, and perfect for cooking Mediterranean recipes, and much more.
not fideo
olive oil
4oz capellini, angel hair, or fideo pasta
1 clove garlic, or small amount of other allium
1/2 tsp sweet paprika
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp hot paprika (optional)
salt and pepper
1 1/2 cups European passata, or tomato purée
1 cup water
5 1/2 oz trimmed and halved string beans
pecorino Romano, or other flavorful cheese (optional)
Pour enough olive oil to cover the bottom of a saucepan or pot, and place on on medium heat.
If using long pasta, break into smaller pieces and brown in the hot olive oil.
Season with perhaps a 1/2 tsp salt.
When pasta is brown, add the garlic and cook for a minute, then add passata.
Add water and mix. Cover and cook for a few minutes, until the mixture begins to simmer.
Remove the lid, add the green beans, and stir to combine.
Continue simmering, uncovered.
Cook for about 15 minutes, stirring frequently so that it doesn’t stick to the bottom.
Reduce liquid as desired—you can go for a dry, or more soupy consistency.
Taste and correct seasoning.
Optional. Grate some pecorino Romano into the dish, mixing well.
So I ordered a bunch of groceries in bulk from Cheetah, a wholesale shop for restaurants that recently opened their virtual doors to ordinary citizens. I like using half and half to make the occasional hot chocolate or decaffeinated chai. Honestly, though, I didn’t need an entire half gallon. So I drank what I could, and used six cups of half and half to make Smitten Kitchen’s homemade ricotta recipe. This produced about 4 cups of ricotta or so, I think. If I could eat more carbs at a sitting, I’d have saved the remaining whey to make oatmeal, or something, which you can certainly do.
My celery is still in its toddler stage, so I couldn’t use any for the sauce. But I did have a beautiful massive bulb of fennel, most of which I pickled, except for a celery stalk’s worth, which I chopped and added as a fragrant base for the sauce. Mushrooms add a meaty texture, although your seven year old will likely scrape most of the sauce off the top of his slice of lasagne. I didn’t bother hiding any chard in the ricotta this time.
I generally use no-cook lasagne noodles, and a medium baking dish that holds three lasagne noodles placed horizontally across the length of the baking dish. So more the size of a brownie pan than a lasagne dish.
It’s a pretty simple dish, and not terribly time-consuming, particularly if you have ricotta on hand. Makes enough for a couple of dinners, and lunches too. Tinker with it. Enjoy.
This recipe is one of a series promoting the Greatest Tomatoes From Europe. I’m taking part in this campaign because I genuinely love canned San Marzano tomatoes from Naples, and their versatility. They’re full of flavor and aroma, and perfect for cooking Mediterranean recipes, and much more.
quarantine vegetarian lasagne
olive oil
1/2 large onion, finely chopped
1 large carrot, finely chopped
1 stalk celery, or about the same size of fennel, chopped
4 oz mushrooms
28 oz peeled European canned tomatoes
2 sprigs thyme, or lemon thyme, or other herb
wine
lemon juice
2 oz parmigiano Reggiano cheese, grated or pulverized, plus more for sauce
4 cups ricotta cheese
8 oz fresh mozzarella, any kind
salt and pepper to taste
Cover the bottom of a large pan with olive oil, and place on medium-low heat.
When hot, add the onions, carrots, and fennel or celery, and sauté.
Rinse the mushrooms and finely chop them. Add them to the vegetables in the pan.
When the vegetables have softened and begin to change color, add the can of tomatoes, mashing the tomatoes with a wooden spoon.
Add in the sprigs of lemon thyme, or other herb, and let simmer, stirring on occasion.
When the sauce has condensed somewhat, and looks nearly ready, grate in some parmigiano cheese, and season to taste with salt and pepper. (This is in addition to the 2 oz.)
Pour in a splash of wine and cook the sauce for a few more minutes. Taste. If the sauce is too sweet, add lemon juice. If it’s too acidic, add a pinch of sugar.
Take the sauce off the flame when it tastes done. Remove the herb sprigs.
Ladle half the sauce in the bottom of a baking dish. Place three sheets of lasagna noodles on the sauce.
Mix the ricotta in a large bowl with half the 2 oz of parmigiano cheese, and salt and pepper to taste.
Spoon half the ricotta mixture on the first layer of pasta.
Rip apart the mozzarella ball and distribute half of it evenly on the ricotta mixture.
Put 3 lasagna noodles on the mozzarella ricotta mixture. Spoon the remaining half of the ricotta mixture on the pasta, then cover with three more sheets of lasagna.
Pour the remaining sauce on the top layer of pasta, then sprinkle the remaining ounce of parmigiano on top. Dot the sauce with the remaining bits of mozzarella.
Bake in a preheated oven at 375 for 45 minutes, covered for 30 minutes, uncovered for 15.
On a broken sheet of everything matza from The Matzo Project
My son doesn’t care for artichokes. I love them. They’re in season now, and I had one in the fridge, so I decided today is the day I’m going to eat that artichoke. I trimmed it, gave it a lemon juice bath, and steamed it in a pot earlier this afternoon. As you can see, it’s gorgeous. And better to eat it now while it’s still bordering on fresh. But what to go with?
I’m a bit low on fresh protein at the moment, such that last night’s hard-boiled Seder egg seemed an obvious choice. Egg salad for one? With one egg? I briefly entertained the thought of crumbling in some cheddar, when I realized a tin of tuna would transform my egg salad into a texturally interesting tuna salad. I rummaged around for the last two stalks of celery, and tore off some green onion and parsley from the bouquets that adorn my kitchen. (I’m regrowing the celery, but the stalks are currently rather small.)
Herbal kitchen rainforest.
Something herbal, something green. What else? Aha! That lemon I cut open earlier to bathe the artichoke would go very nicely with tuna in olive oil, and herbal greens. A few squeezes of lemon juice, and what the hell, why not some thinly sliced lemon rind too? Yes, rind. What’s that face you’re making? Zest? Fuck zest. It’s in there with the rind. Use the whole thing! Some lemon rinds are sweeter than others, but they’re all delicious. I know, because I eat them. I’m a freak.
In go the spices—cumin, black pepper, smoked paprikas, both sweet and spicy. Some ground coriander. And a little diced red onion, from the leftover half onion I’ve been steadily nursing, that lives in the fridge.
Mix well, add some decent mayonnaise (I like the kind with the monocled dude with a top hat on the label—I’ve grown shockingly dependent on high quality mayonnaise, as yogurt is scarce), and put it all on a garlicky poppyseed laden everything matza, which I feel must have been invented for a dinner just like this. I cut the stem off the artichoke and sliced it thinly. This serves as the photogenic—and crunchy—topping for my open-faced sandwich. A few more paper-thin slices of lemon rind too. Oh, man. I’m so ready to eat. If I’m lucky, I’ll have enough left over for brunch tomorrow.
tuna salad borne of leftovers
1 hard-boiled egg left over from your Seder or Easter preparations or, just, you know, boil an egg
1 can tuna in olive oil or water, whatever you’ve got
some parsley leaves, finely chopped
a sprig of green onion, finely chopped
2 small stalks celery, finely chopped, leaves too! (they impart so much flavor)
a few thin slices of a red onion, minced, or any onion you half used and put in the fridge
1 generous tablespoon of good mayonnaise, or whatever binding agent you like
a quarter of a lemon you cut open earlier, a small piece of the rind sliced into paper thin slices
ground cumin
black pepper
smoked paprikas—-hot and sweet
ground coriander seed
salt, only if the tuna is unsalted
matza, crackers, bread, whatever ya got
cooked artichoke (optional)
Peel and coarsely chop the egg, and place it in a small bowl.
Add the can of tuna, with the olive oil. If you’re using tuna canned in water, drain the water.
Add all the other ingredients, except the lemon, artichoke, and carbohydrate base. Mix well to combine. Use your judgment with the spices. You know what you like.
Squeeze some lemon into the salad. Finely chop some of the paper thin lemon rind and mix it into the salad. Taste and correct seasoning. More lemon juice? Why not?
Put a generous helping of tuna salad on your carbohydrate of choice. If you have an artichoke you cooked earlier, peel off the fibrous part of the stem, cut the stem off, then slice it into thin sticks. Place the artichoke sticks and thinly sliced lemon rind on top of your tuna salad, so you can pretend you’re eating a leisurely meal at a good restaurant.
Don’t write up the recipe for your blog and take photos with circles and arrows on the back of each one, as you want your matza to stay crisp and nubile.
This morning, I ate a couple rashers of bacon with a mashed half avocado on toast with a sunny side up egg. Evan smelled the bacon, and remarked that he liked the small, and could he please have some for lunch? Sure, I replied, and my mind began to wander to the packet of fresh shelled peas in the fridge from Trader Joe’s. I recall having read about an Italian pasta dish with pancetta and red onion, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it’s called. Nor, frankly, do I have the time and inclination to research it, at the moment.
No matter, as this pasta dish is intended to showcase whatever you’ve got. If you don’t have any bacon, or you don’t dine on swine, replace the chazzer with tempeh bacon, or dried porcini mushrooms you’ve soaked in hot water for twenty minutes, or sliced shiitake or button mushrooms, or nothing at all. If you don’t have a red onion, use a yellow, or white, or vidalia onion. Or use a shallot. If you want to fill out the protein content of this dish, poach a couple of eggs and serve one atop each serving of pasta. Or a tin of sardines or kippers on the side. If you prefer to go vegan, replace the grated cheese with nutritional yeast, and add in a little more olive oil.
I rather like the parsley in this dish. It adds an herbal dimension that pleases the palate. It might not, however, please your seven year old, in which case, leave it out, or serve it on the side, or tell your kid to pick out the offending bits themselves. Whatever works. I didn’t have any white wine on hand, so I didn’t use any, but I think a hint of astringency wouldn’t be out of place.
The best part is you can work while the water boils, and the rest of the dish cooks up fairly quickly. There’s enough to serve two for lunch and dinner, with something on the side.
spaghetti with bacon and peas
7oz spaghetti (or linguine, or fettuccine)
olive oil
4 rashers bacon, coarsely chopped into large bite-size pieces
1/2 red onion, or any onion, thinly sliced
3oz shelled peas, fresh or frozen
splash of white wine (optional)
1-2 handfuls grated pecorino or parmigiano
1 handful parsley, coarsely chopped
salt and pepper to taste
Cook spaghetti per package directions, minus two minutes. Drain pasta, retaining a cup of the cooking liquid.
Place the pasta pot on medium heat. Add in a few fatty pieces of bacon, and add a little olive oil. Sauté the bacon, and let it render its fat until it begins to brown.
Sauté the onions in the fat, stirring frequently until it softens and begins to turn golden. Add in the rest of the bacon and continue sautéing.
When the bacon has cooked for a few minutes, add in the peas and stir.
When the peas turn bright green, add in the spaghetti and toss thoroughly with all the ingredients. Pour in a little of the reserved pasta water, just to loosen it a bit.
Add in the grated cheese and thoroughly toss. Add in another splash or two of reserved pasta water to loosen the spaghetti and add a little creaminess. Alternatively, add in a splash of white wine instead of the reserved water, and cook off the alcohol for a minute or two.
Add the parsley and ground black pepper, toss the pasta, and turn off the heat.
I’m rather amazed at what I put together with $3.67 worth of ground pork from Mitsuwa market, and odds and ends from Trader Joe’s. I bought the pork a few days ago, towards the beginning of the lockdown, not quite knowing what I’d make with it. The price was right, and it’s a protein, so I bought it.
The thought of homemade wontons danced in my head like a sugar plum fairy, but I don’t have any wonton skins, am running out of flour, and I wanted to use the food I already have on hand, such as the challah bread I made on Friday. Reduce, re-use, recycle, as my 7 year old says.
The soup I’ll make this week will be vaguely Asian, as I bought Japanese aromatics from Mitsuwa, a bamboo shoot, and bean sprouts. And I have more bags of udon, soba, and somen than I can shake a daikon radish at. So a Greek-themed dinner appealed, particularly as I have lemons on hand.
These Greek-ish burgers are nothing more than flattened lemony meatballs. I was very much inspired by Marlena Spieler’s fantastic little lemony meatballs, from her lovely book A Taste of Naples (https://www.amazon.com/dp/1442251255/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i_Qe7DEbJKPGYQD). These burgers are quite similar, just bigger, and served on challah bread with tzatziki on top.
The tzatziki is simple to make. If you have a small container of yogurt, a cucumber, a clove of garlic, and some herbs, that’s all you need. You can save the remainder of it for other meals, using it as a vegetable dip, or simply spreading some on a slice of toasted bread for breakfast.
The steamed vegetables served alongside the burgers and tzatziki are half a package of Trader Joe’s broccoli and cauliflower stir-fry with carrots. The vegetables were quite fresh, and I appreciate the prep work that went into chopping the cruciferous veg and peeling the carrots. Saves time, particularly when your child requests a ham sandwich as a snack at a quarter to 5 in the evening, and you know that the snack will be his dinner if you don’t get dinner on the table quickish. There’s a packet of croutons and dubious-looking dressing that’s packaged with the broccoli. I tossed them both, as I know neither one of us will eat them, but feel free to keep the dressing and croutons for your next salad.
Those carrots, though. So sweet and tender. You’ll find them at Trader Joe’s under the name Les Petites Carrots of Many Colors, as though TJ’s marketing guru is Fiona Apple. I’m going to use them in the soup I’m making today.
Finally, if you have some decent olives lying around, serve them along side. I used Trader Joe’s oil-cured kalamata olives from Greece.
Oh, and a word about Trader Joe’s. Even when a deadly virus isn’t devastating people all over the planet, I love Trader Joe’s for their excellent reasonably priced imported wines and cheeses, and all around focus on high quality food at relatively low prices. I love them even more now because they’re treating their hardworking employees with dignity and grace, offering them hazard pay and bonuses during these strange times when such things are needed more than ever. I also appreciate their polite, rational implementation of social distancing during shopping hours—one customer invited in at a time, with an offering of hand sanitizer, and a gentle reminder to please buy no more than two of a given item. Here’s to them, and here’s to us. May we all have enough to eat right now.
lemony Greek burgers
Inspired, or perhaps adapted from the excellent recipe for little lemony meatballs in Marlena Spieler’s delightful book, A Taste of Naples.
1 lb ground pork, or any other ground meat
2 stalks spring onion, green part only
1 small handful parsley
lemon thyme, or regular thyme
3 cloves garlic
zest of one Meyer or regular lemon
1 large egg
1/4 cup flour
salt and pepper
olive oil
Slice the spring onion in half lengthwise, then slice each half in half.
Mince the herbs, except the thyme. Pull the leaves off 3-5 stalks of thyme.
Grate the garlic on a Japanese ginger grater, or mince it.
Combine meat with herbs and garlic. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Add enough flour to bind, and mix with your hands.
Cover a large skillet with olive oil and place on medium heat. Cook a tiny ball of the ground meat and taste. Correct seasoning.
Lightly form a palm-sized ball of meat and gently flatten it. Continue until you have made patties out of all the meat.
Fry the patties until golden brown on one side, then turn over and repeat. Lower the flame, cover the skillet, and continue cooking for about 5-7 more minutes, until cooked through, but not dry.
Turn off heat, squeeze half a lemon over the burgers, and serve with tzatziki.
tzatziki
5oz high fat Greek style yogurt
1 clove garlic
1 small Persian cucumber, julienned
lemon thyme, or mint if you have any, or parsley
half a lemon (the one you zested for the burgers)
salt and pepper
Grate the garlic on a Japanese ginger grater, or crush it with a garlic press.
In a bowl, mix the yogurt with the garlic and cucumber.
Rip the leaves off a stall or two of lemon thyme and mix into the Tzatziki. If you have mint or parsley, rip up the leaves and mix them in.
Add enough lemon juice to loosen the yogurt to the consistency of a thick sauce.
Season to taste with salt and pepper.
buttered crucifers and carrots
water
salt
3-4 carrots—purple, orange, and yellow, from Trader Joe’s Les Petites Carrots of Many Colors, sliced into coins, or any carrots
1/2 package Trader Joe’s broccoli and cauliflower stir fry
1 TBS butter
1/2 lemon, optional
chili pepper flakes, optional
In a covered saucepan, pour water to cover the bottom of the pot. Add salt to taste.
Place on medium-low heat.
Into the simmering water, place the carrot coins and cover the saucepan.
Simmer carrots for about 5-7 minutes, or until almost tender.
Then add the half package of broccoli and cauliflower.
Simmer until the broccoli is bright green, then remove from heat and drain water.
Place into a serving bowl and toss with butter.
Squeeze a little lemon juice over the top, if your kids will let you. Optionally, season your own serving with chili pepper flakes.
Posted inthoughts|Taggeddinner, mediterranean, quarantine dinner|Comments Off on Greek-ish lemony burgers with tzatziki and buttered vegetables, or dinner in the time of corona
Evan eating chicken soup with European tomatoes and alphabet pasta.
My seven year old had a mild form of the plague recently. OK, fine, not the plague, just one of those awful viruses that’s been going around. Not that one. So I set to work making him the best chicken soup I could, with All the Vegetables in the Crisper Drawer, anything to increase the level of antioxidants in his blood. That’s got to be good for a cold, no? Whatever viruses get up to, I’m sure oxidizing something important is one of their favorite pastimes, surely anti-oxidants counteract the nefarious effects of a sociopathic virus oxidizing the hell out of one’s seven year old.
I thought I’d add some color, flavor, and lycopene by popping in a can of European tomatoes. The seven year old wanted alphabet pasta to go with, so in went the alphabet soup. He practically licked the bowl, and I was pleased to have snuck what I imagine to be the equivalent of a Flintstones chewable vitamin into my sick little boy by simply feeding him dinner. He won’t eat those elderberry gummies that have been clinically tested and found to clinically eliminate all traces of rhinovirus through the magic of molecular throwing stars, or something. Even I like those elderberry gummies. If he won’t eat them, at least he’ll eat this.
Took a few days, but he got over his cold and went back to school. I’m certain this chicken and tomato soup helped.
This recipe is one of a series promoting the Greatest Tomatoes From Europe. I’m taking part in this campaign because I genuinely love canned San Marzano tomatoes from Naples, and their versatility. They’re full of flavor and aroma, and perfect for cooking Mediterranean recipes, and much more.
chicken soup with tomatoes
4 chicken legs, cleaned with half a lemon
olive oil
salt and pepper
1 onion, chopped
3 celery stalks, chopped
3 small carrots, sliced into half moons
1 small bunch Italian kale, stalks removed, cut into coarse ribbons
1 small handful each celery leaves and Italian parsley, minced
32 oz chicken stock
8 oz canned European tomatoes, with juice
Pour some olive oil into a medium sized heavy pot, and place on a medium flame.
Season the chicken legs with salt and pepper, and add to the pot. Brown on both sides, then remove to a plate.
Add more olive oil to the pot as needed, then sweat the onion, celery, and carrots.
When the vegetables have softened, place the chicken legs on top. Then add the kale. Season with a little salt and pepper.
Pour in the chicken stock, then mash the tomatoes with your fingers and pour into the pot.
Add the parsley and celery.
Cover and bring to the boil. When boiling, turn the flame down to a simmer and continue cooking for about an hour.
Serve with any of the following, cooked in a separate pot: orzo, alphabet pasta, capellini, egg noodles, lo mien noodles, cheese tortellini, or even wide rice noodles.
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I tend to have a lot of leftovers. I cook for my son and myself, and I never know whether he’ll happily eat what I’ve made, or stare at it and me rather suspiciously, declaring that he doesn’t want any, and may he please have a salami sandwich instead. Sometimes, if I ask, he’ll agree to try the tiniest bite, just to see what he thinks, so as not to simply reject a dish out of hand. He ate perhaps 2 millimeters of the pizza ‘scarole I made a month ago (a sort of rustic pizza stuffed with greens, olives, and anchovies), and declared that he didn’t like it, which meant I ate pizza ‘scarole for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a week. It was delicious, but the whole endeavor to eat the food I had made specifically to avoid wasting any beautiful raw ingredients morphed into a marathon eating contest pitting my appetite and blood sugar against the pizza ‘scarole in a bloodthirsty battle to the death. I guess I won? Who can tell.
Other times, he surprises me, my adventurous boy. He dismissed on sight the artichoke lasagne I recently made, but agreed to taste a generous forkful. Much to his delight—and mine—he rather liked it, and devoured the small piece I put on his plate. Except for the artichoke. “This is the only part I don’t like, Mama. This thing,” he said, as he placed the hunk of marinated artichoke on my plate with his fork. “That’s OK. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I replied. To which he responded with the same thing he always says about my cooking: “Mama’s the best cooker in the world!” I usually respond with a thank you, but, listing some of the cooks I love and admire. Lately, I’ve decided to graciously accept a compliment when given one, particularly when my child is listening.
“Thank you, sweety. I enjoy cooking for us, and eating together.”
He declares himself full, and runs off to play or watch TV. Then comes the dance of the plate-clearing (Can’t you do it Mama? No, I’ve cleared my plate. Please clear yours. Thank you!) and hand-washing (Why do I need to wash my hands? That’s what we do, we wash our hands before and after we eat.).
I took a risk with this pasta and chickpea dish, as he has declared more than once his dislike for beans. This, despite his penchant for legumes in his toddlerhood and preschool years, and his continuing love of edamame. I’ve already eaten half of it for three warm, umami-rich meals. More for me if he won’t eat it. And there’s plenty of salami and bread.
This recipe is one of a series promoting the Greatest Tomatoes From Europe. I’m taking part in this campaign because I genuinely love canned San Marzano tomatoes from Naples, and their versatility. They’re full of flavor and aroma, and perfect for cooking Mediterranean recipes, and much more.
pasta with chickpeas and tomato sauce (essentially my riff on pasta e cece)
I used the leftover canned tomato juices and two tomatoes from the 28 ounce can of European San Marzano tomatoes I used to make shakshuka, and the fresh lasagne noodles left over from the artichoke lasagne. As you can see, I’m getting a lot of mileage from the package of aromatic lemon thyme I got from Lunardi’s.
1 shallot, minced olive oil 1 can chickpeas, drained (15.5oz) 14 oz leftover canned tomato juices and tomatoes (about 2 small tomatoes) salt and pepper 1 piece parmigiano rind, about 2 square inches 2 leftover fresh lasagna noodles lemon thyme, or thyme parmigiano chili flakes (optional)
Pour a tablespoon or two of olive oil in a saucepan on medium low heat.
When the oil is hot, sweat the shallots.
Mix in the chickpeas and season to taste with salt and pepper.
Pour in tomato juice and tomatoes and bring to a bubbly simmer. Add in the cheese rind.
Simmer uncovered for 15 minutes. Taste and correct seasoning.
Chop the lasagne noodles into bite-size pieces and add them to the saucepan.
Cover, and simmer on low heat for 5 minutes.
Remove cover, stir, and see if the pasta is ready. If not, add 1 cup water, cover, and simmer for another 20 minutes. (My lasagne noodles were quite thick.)
Run your thumb and forefinger down a few thyme twigs over the saucepan. Taste and correct seasoning.
Grate as much parmigiano or pecorino as you like over the top and mix it in. Serve with a drizzle of olive oil, more cheese, and even a small ball of mozzarella or two on top, or on the side.
Posted incookme, one dish meal, pasta|Comments Off on pasta with chickpeas and tomato sauce, a festival of leftovers
Like many people—assuming people think about such things while at the bank or getting their nails done, or whatever—I have a platonic ideal of shakshuka, the North African and pan-Middle Eastern tomato stew with poached eggs. This platonic ideal does not include: spinach, feta, Gorgonzola, ham, potatoes, Gruyere, eggplant, or goddamn chipotles. Not that I’m irritated when clicking a recipe for shakshuka that includes one of these as an ingredient, but—OK fine, I am. I’m irritated. It irritates the hell out of me. Ham and even eggplant might have their place in a breakfast dish featuring some permutation of eggs and tomatoes, but for the love of Hera, just don’t call it shakshuka.
Anyway. Back to my platonic ideal. Shakshuka, in my mind, will always be garlic, peppers, tomato, and eggs, with maybe some parsley, cooked in a small Teflon skillet for one with a large hunk of crusty “worker’s bread” made of soft wheat. It’s served piping hot on a trivet at a small workers’ restaurant by the sweaty, irritable chef, who always has a smile for customers, or his motherly, put-upon, bespectacled wife with the delicately sweet face. But not on Tuesdays, because Tuesday is always couscous day, and you’d be a fool to pass that up, even for shakshuka.
My shakshuka is a time capsule of Or Yehuda, Israel, in the late 90s. I try to evoke the simple, satisfying flavors of Effie’s Tunisian style shakshuka, which he served daily at his family run restaurant The Tunisian Sandwich (known by everyone in the neighborhood as, simply, Effie’s).
You can leave out the hot pepper if you prefer yours mild. You can even switch out onions for the garlic, if you must. If you find your tomatoes too acidic, you can throw in a dash of sugar, I suppose, although I do think the sweet peppers provide enough balance on their own. And what do we call it if we add all sorts of weird crap that doesn’t belong? That’s right. Not-shakshuka. Because it isn’t.
This recipe is the first in a series promoting the Greatest Tomatoes From Europe. I’m taking part in this campaign because I genuinely love canned San Marzano tomatoes from Naples, and their versatility. They’re great for Mediterranean recipes and beyond.
My platonic ideal of shakshuka
Olive oil
2-3 cloves garlic, peeled
1 red bell pepper
1 Fresno hot pepper
1/4 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp sweet paprika
Small handful of parsley
28oz can whole Italian tomatoes
Salt and pepper to taste
2-4 eggs
Slice the garlic cloves into thin slices, and chop the bell pepper into bite-sized chunks.
Coarsely chop the parsley.
Seed the hot pepper and slice it into rings.
Pull out most of the tomatoes from the can, chop them coarsely, and put them in a bowl. Add the tomato juices from the cutting board to the bowl. You’ll have about half a can of tomato juice and a couple of tomatoes leftover. Reserve these for another recipe.
In a small skillet (I used a 6 inch skillet with a lid), pour in enough olive oil to generously cover the bottom of the pan. Place the skillet over low heat.
When the oil is hot and viscous, add the garlic slices.
When the garlic slices have softened and are turning golden, add the sweet and hot peppers. Turn up heat to medium low, and cook the peppers until they begin to glisten.
Add in the cumin and paprikas, and stir to distribute. Cook for a minute or two.
Add in the tomatoes and parsley, and cook for about 5 minutes.
Season to taste with salt and pepper. Taste a piece of bell pepper—it should still have some crunch.
Gently crack an egg into different areas of the skillet. Depending on the size of your skillet, you can probably use 2-4 eggs.
Lower the heat to a gentle simmer and cover the skillet. Cook, covered, about 4-6 minutes, depending on how runny you like your eggs.
