The summertime chores ground me. To get the most out of the harvest I have to be in the rhythm of the earth; in tune with the seasons and the weather. It is something farmers know, but not us suburbanites. We normally do what we want when it suits us. To pick oregano when the bouquet is most fragrant, you have to do it just as it flowers. The peppermint needs to be picked in the early morning before the sun heats it and dries up its oil. If I don’t pick the blueberries when they just start turning blue the birds will enjoy every last one. If I don’t pick them when they are just ripe they will turn into hard kernels and drop off. These simple tasks, performed at the optimum time, keeps me in touch with the earth. It makes me feel connected to something bigger than myself.

A week ago I harvested my oregano. To harvest the plant, you simply cut the branches, leaving the flower heads, leaves, everything intact. You just snip them off 6″ up so you don’t hurt the plant. I put them loosely in two drying baskets (any big baskets will do) so they had room to breathe. Nothing fancy, just loosely dumped them in and left them for one week on the kitchen floor. I don’t put them in a dark place because I don’t find it is necessary; just baskets on the floor where you won’t trip on them will do.

Today, one week later, they are totally dry and fragrant beyond all belief. I wish I could put that bouquet in this blog post. You would love it. Ahhhhhhhh. Sorry, got carried away. There is something so essential about the smell of fresh oregano. It just goes up your throat and gives you such a rush of pure, aromatic pleasure. You should grow Greek oregano, if you don’t, just to be able to smell it.

To keep the oregano smelling fragrant you need to remove the leaves from the branches and store it in an airtight bottle. The leaves are ready when they are brittle; not leathery. If leathery, wait a few days. When they’re ready to be picked, I sit down at the table with Ramani or Priscilla with some cookie sheets spread out among us. We pick up a branch and slide our hand from the bottom to the top. The leaves easily crumble onto the cookie sheet. When we get to the flower end we lift our hands off, as we don’t really want the flowers. Easy peasy. When we are finished removing all the oregano, we store it in an airtight glass bottles. Harvesting two huge bottles, enough for us for one year, took Ramani and I sitting and chatting, exactly thirty-five minutes this evening. We enjoy our oregano freely on pizza, salads, and basically anything Italian. Oregano goes well with thyme and basil, with garlic and onions and black pepper. The dried herb actually has more flavor than the fresh, so if you choose to use it fresh, multiply the quantity times three. -Weezie

A Little History of my Favorite Herb
Oregano was first used by the Greeks. The word oregano actually derives from a Greek phrase meaning “joy of the mountain.” Oregano gradually made its way around the world over the ages, the way these things do. But it didn’t make it to the US until after WWII, when it was brought back by American soldiers involved in the Italian campaign. It is loaded with vitamins A and C, and calcium, manganese and iron. Oregano has been used in different cultures for its myriad of medicinal attributes, including antiseptic, anti-bacterial and high antioxidant properties. This time of year I use it constantly, as it goes so well with the vegetables I can harvest from my garden in July and August. I am including the recipe for a simple summertime favorite with summer squash and zucchini.

Summer Squash and Zucchini with Oregano and Parmesan Serves 4
When the squash and zucchini are ready to pick, they just keep on coming. We make this dish quite often and just don’t seem to tire. it is so simple and so tasty with the sweetness of the squash and onions, the earthiness of the oregano and the slight bite of the pepper. The parmesan gives it body.

Ingredients
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 Vidalia, cut in 1 1/2 inch long slivers
2 6 inch yellow crookneck summer squash, cut in 1/4 inch coins (you can use any yellow
summer squash)
2 8 inch zucchini, cut in 1/4 inch coins
20 grinds of black pepper, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons of fresh oregano or 1 tablespoon dried
1/4 cup freshly grated parmesan

Heat a large frying pan to medium low. Add the olive oil and the onion. Fry until the onion starts to soften. Add the squash and zucchini, black pepper and salt. Stir to combine. Let it fry for 5 minutes and then after that, keep flipping it every 5 minutes, try not to in between unless it is burning. If you resist the temptation to stir it all the time it will brown beautifully, caramelizing and sweetening. After 15 minutes, or when quite tender, add the oregano. Cook for 3 minutes more. Turn the heat off, add the parmesan on top and then put a lid on it. The parmesan will melt and look beautiful against the squash.

Note: I used a 15 inch cast iron frying pan, huge, which I use when I am frying something that needs room to brown. If you crowd the squash into more than one layer it will steam rather than brown. You can use any frying pan so long as you give the squash room to fry in a single layer.

Rocky Durham said in a cooking class we took with him back in Santa Fe, if you put grilled in front of just about anything, people will buy it. Seeing as this Santa Fean chef launched a series of successful restaurants, all called Santa Fe with exactly this premise in mind, let’s give it a try. Salad. Grilled salad. Watermelon. Grilled watermelon. Pizza. Grilled pizza. Springer spaniel. Grilled springer spaniel. Well, you get the idea.

When it comes to cooking, you have basically three options - wet heat, dry heat, or no heat. Of those, Rocky theorized, the most desirable is always dry heat. Now I wouldn’t necessarily agree, but this was Santa Fe. The weather is always dry. In summer, the temperature soars up into heights that surely make the inhabitants feel like drippings on the underbelly of a good piece of pork, sizzling on a grill. And of course, in Santa Fe, if it had grilled in the title or Rocky was cooking it, I would most certainly sign up.

I also will agree that grilling during twilight, with a cool breeze blowing, is one of the most satisfying ways to wind down a summer day. In my book, if you like something but you know you shouldn’t have it often, make sure to honor and savor those meals when you do. So while I don’t eat pork often, add grilled in front of a good pork chop on a breezy summer night in July and I’m there. I suggest you get there this weekend.

This recipe is dead simple. I wanted to use the same ingredients for the brine as with the marinade, so they went in whole into the brine and roasted and ground into the marinade. This helps to keep things simple to do but with a complex flavor. The brine helped juicify our cuts into incredibly tender chops. The garlic, rosemary and spices grounded the flavor, and the smokiness, well, all humans swoon when we encounter that essence of flame. And the onions helped bring out that bit of sweetness. Since there’s never a good reason to waste a good flame, we grilled some market zucchini and summer squash alongside. I paired it in simple Italian style - garlic, basil, balsamic, and oil. So how bout it, eh? Grilled pork chops w/ caramelized onions and Grilled zucchini and summer squash w/ garlic, basil, and balsamic. How can you resist?

Grilled pork

Brine
4 cups water
4 tablespoons coarse salt
3 1/2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons fennel seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons coriander seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons szechuan or black peppercorns, depending on heat preference

2 3/4 lb pork loin center cuts (chops), thoroughly rinsed

In a heavy-bottomed sauce pan, heat the brine solution until sugar and salt are dissolved. Let cool. Place the pork in a bowl and cover with the brine. Weight down the pork with a plate, cover the bowl, and place in the fridge overnight or up to 24 hours. Drain, rinse, and pat dry.

Garlic rosemary marinade
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons rosemary, minced
1 teaspoon spice blend (fennel, coriander, and cumin)
20 grinds black pepper
2 teaspoons olive oil

Mix the above ingredients in a small bowl. Rub all over the pork. Heat the grill so you have an area where it’s max temp (about 500F) and another area of indirect heat at about 400F. At the max temp of your grill, sear the pork on both sides, about 1 1/2 minutes each side. Move to the 400F zone and cook covered, turning once, about 8-12 minutes, until internal temp registers 160F. Remove from grill and let rest for 5 minutes. Slice and serve with caramelized onions. Enjoy!

Grilled zucchini and summer squash w/ garlic, balsamic, and basil
Extra virgin olive oil
3-4 combo of zucchini and summer squash, sliced 1/2″ lengths
2 cloves garlic, minced
Handful basil leaves, washed and chiffonade
Balsamic vinegar
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Smoky paprika or red pepper flakes (depending on pref)

Cover the zucchini and summer squash in olive oil. Put on the grill at 400, flipping once, until, about 5-8 minutes. Remove. Put one layer of zucchini and squash on your platter, add some of the garlic, drizzle balsamic and olive oil, and then top with a sprinkle of paprika and basil. Repeat with the remaining zucchini and squash. Let marinade for 15 minutes or so, until pork is ready.

Caramelized onions
A pat of butter
1 red onion, sliced
2 teaspoons balsamic

Melt butter in a sauce pan on medium. Once hot, add onion and cook until tender and starting to brown, about 20 minutes. Deglaze with balsamic, stir and let cook until completely soft, about 8 more minutes. Add salt and pepper and remove from heat. Plate next to pork.

Tip: Resist the urge to over stir or they won’t caramelize. If the onions are browning, the heat is too high.

The other day it was easy and breezy in Portland and I was missing steamy NY. This is the yin and yang of the journey. As I get farther away from where I’ve been, I am closer to realizing what matters to me. This Portland summer is altogether wonderfully mild… and sometimes that makes me feel complacent and underwhelmed. We’re about to take a plunge and attempt to live in the woods OFF THE GRID for a few months by ourselves. While this is something I have been dreaming about, here I am missing the most urban place on the planet.

But I was. I was jealous of the heat wave that everyone else is having. Yes, you heard me. I was wishing my face was melting off along with everyone else’s across the country. But I was especially missing NY, kind of how a widower would miss his deceased wife. You know, like missing her farts or the drool on the pillow or the way she always made a funny clicking sound with her false teeth when she was nervous. Those endearing little human things.

NY, I miss… the grimy foot “tan” that covers everything except my sandal strap from all the muck and grit you put on me; the throngs of half naked people strewn across your Great Lawn, each as white as the underbelly of a ginormous whale; the sweaty mesh of bodies in various states of dress narrowly missing each other as they travel your sidewalk; your rudeness and briskness on a weekday morning; your nonstop energy; your surging beat, overflowing with so many emotions and desires and untapped creativity; your ridiculously over- or under- priced food and those bad hot dog smells. New York, you are not the easiest place to be in the summer, but I do remember fondly how good it feels to be surviving together with millions, in your hot, stinking, beautiful loins.

So there, I said it. I miss NY. I miss my family and friends. I miss that luscious garden of my mother’s, out there in the boondocks in Connecticut. I miss all y’all.

Like I said, I was feeling sad. I think it was partially because of these blueberry and apricot bars. Baking is incredible. Despite all sorts of unknowable factors, when you bake, you try to be precise and consistent. You will yourself to pay attention… to measuring, to texture, to viscosity, to spreading out the layers just so, to letting it bake until it’s just golden. You spend all this energy attempting to be totally meticulous. But ultimately, when you put the pan in the oven, you feel you’re leaving it all to chance. In this meditative madness, things tend to just flow. And well, sometimes, you can get all emotional in the midst of baking a batch of cookies. Thankfully with baking, if it proves to be the cause of your woes, when that timer beeps you have also found a good cure all.

The inspiration for making these oat bars came from this awesome bakery in Portland called Nuvrei (still waiting on the recipe for their oat currant bar) and the base recipe came loosely from the date oat bars in Breakfast, Lunch, Tea. I wanted a bar with a chewy bottom and a crunchy top but that didn’t require a lot of extra work, and one that could hold the softer fruit filling. This recipe is dead simple.

These oat bars have a good structure but they’re also begging to fall apart into chewy little gobs (or be toasted for breakfast!); their sweetness is magnified by a good, tart berry; they start off wholesome but lend themselves to a little overindulgence. They may look like granola, but that oat gives way to a toasted richness with a hint of molasses. They’re full of sunshine and summer, but they’re also just a tad bit blue.

Even though you say you’re tough, NY, I know you’re just a Stay Puft Marshmallow Man inside. Just like me. So here, NY and all its inhabitants, I baked these especially FOR YOU.

Blueberry and apricot oat bars
These were chewy on the bottom and a little crunchy on top. The original recipe called for golden syrup and was probably more like a flapjack, but I used brown rice syrup. You could also try them with agave or maple syrup. Each of these sweeteners will have a slight affect on the texture of the overall cookie. Omitting the egg will make the bottom less caky. So experiment and suit yourself!

Filling
1 pint blueberries, washed
1 pint fresh apricots, washed, pitted and sliced
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon cardamom
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons raw sugar

Oats
2 2/3 cup rolled oats (not quick oats!)
1 cup whole wheat flour
Pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

2/3 cup unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing
2/3 cup raw sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons molasses
2 tablespoons brown rice syrup (agave, maple syrup, or if you must, corn syrup would all work, but result in varying textures; experiment!)
1 egg

Preheat the oven to 350F. Butter a 9×9 pan and line it with parchment.

Put the blueberries, apricots, and 2 tablespoons raw sugar in a medium heavy-bottomed sauce pan and turn on to medium-low. Cook until the apricots are tender, about 10 minutes. If the mixture looks decidedly wet, add in 1-2 tablespoons whole wheat flour. You want the mixture to hold together but not be stiff, like a thin paste. Remove from heat and add in the vanilla, cardamom, and lemon juice. Stir and set aside.

In a bowl, mix the flour, salt, oats, and baking soda.

Heat the butter, sugar, molasses, and brown rice syrup in a medium heavy-bottomed sauce pan on medium-low until melted, about 5 minutes. Stir often to prevent from sticking. Put this over the oat mixture and mix until crumbly.

Split the oat mixture in half. In one half crack in the egg and mix around until just coasted. Press this egg + oat mixture into the bottom of a pan with a wooden spatula, making sure to coat evenly.

Spread the fruit mixture on top. Sprinkle and lightly press in the other 2nd half of the oat mixture until evenly covered.

Bake in the oven until golden brown, about 30 minutes. Remove and let cool, then cut into rectangles and enjoy!

In the early 70s I was a weaver and a member of the Philadelphia Guild of Hand Weavers. I didn’t just want to weave. I wanted to card my own wool, spin it into my own yarn and make my own dyes. I even had fantasies of raising my own sheep. Well, I’m the same way with cooking. Anjuli and I always want to get back to the basics. We make our own ghee. We love it. Recently Anjuli said, “wouldn’t it be great if we made our own butter so that we know what kind we’re using for our ghee?”

That, of course, played around in my mind. I am in Iowa now, Fairfield to be exact. It’s the home of Maharishi University of Management, a small university of consciousness-based education founded about 40 years ago by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Austin did his bachelors and masters here and we have a sweet little cottage in the community that surrounds the campus.

Maharishi’s primary goal was to bring meditation to the West. He also helped to popularize Ayurveda, the holistic system of health and wellness. The university has a large farming operation which supplies all the students with Organic food, and there are a number of sustainable programs and green buildings on campus. We come here for peace and meditation and this unique community amidst these flat cornfields of Iowa. Suffice to say, this is a good place to look for milk!

When you’re going the extra mile to produce butter, it’s important to use clean, flavorful milk that is free of rBST, antibiotics, pesticides, and other chemicals. If you start with good milk, the sky is the limit. From luscious whole, pasteurized unhomogenized milk I can easily make butter, ghee, cream cheese, creme fraiche, yogurt, or kefir. Add in some sugar and I can convert these fats and proteins into an array of delicious Indian sweets; add a few yolks to that and I have emulsions, sauces, and ice creams.

Well here in Fairfield there is a dairy that supplies milk for the university, local grocery stores and restaurants called Radiance Dairy. Owned and operated by Frances Thicke and his wife Susan, this small dairy produces the best milk products I have personally ever tasted or seen. Frances and Susan play music for their cows. Each of the 65 Jerseys has names like Delila or Lolita. These farmers respect their cows, and it shows. It shows in the quality of the milk and the pride felt in the local community. If loves makes a difference, that is the reason these cows produce such good milk.

This was my second visit to Radiance Dairy. I went about 7 years ago when Austin first started going to MUM. That first time I saw the cows out to pasture on these deep, rolling hills smelling of summertime. This time I came for the milking. Before each cow was hooked up, they carefully washed each teat with hydrogen peroxide. While they milked they gave the cows a supplemental feeding of organic soy and barley. After the cows were finished, they received a little affectionate pat on the rump to let them know they were free to go back to the barnyard. You know that wonderful feeling you get when you see people doing this right? That’s the feeling I got visiting Radiance Dairy.

If I was going to make my own butter, what better milk than from Radiance Dairy? I had a blast making this butter. I love exploring in my kitchen. It energizes me to make foods I can cherish daily from the best and simplest ingredients I can find.

Making butter is a very simple process. You take whole milk or cream, agitate it until the butterfat and proteins begin to clump together and the liquid whey separates. You strain the whey and rinse the butter and pound it into a manageable shape. And voila! But from those easy steps, there are many different opinions on how best and most flavorfully to approach butter making.

Back when dairy farms were small in the US, cream would be gathered over a few days and allowed to sit and ferment on the counter top before churning it, with wooden paddles, into butter. This produced a “cultured butter,” or one where the milk has been allowed to ferment briefly with friendly bacteria. Culturing the cream naturally preserved the butterfat. Another way of preserving butter was to add salt after the butter curds had formed. Now that we have refrigeration, these distinctions are more a matter of taste than anything else. In the supermarket today you’ll find mostly “sweet cream butter,” which means the cream is fresh, not cultured.

In home kitchens all over India, even today, the day’s yield of milk is heated to a boil, then turned into yogurt by adding a few spoonfuls saved from the previous day. From there it is churned into butter, the whey is separated, and the resulting butter is cooked until the water evaporates and the milk solids sink and brown. The resulting rich, caramel, sunlight-yellow liquid is ghee.

For my butter, I wanted to keep it simple and also make it similarly to how they do in India. I started with heavy cream (around 36% butterfat, see breakdown of cream butterfat), so I would have a concentrated amount of butterfat and therefore produce more butter. I took two quarts of Radiance Dairy’s thick, thick cream and added some of their yogurt to cream yogurt. Then I put the yogurt in my Kitchen Aid Mixer and split it into butter and buttermilk. It was fantastic. The buttermilk was right out of my childhood; nothing like the buttermilk you can buy in the supermarket, which is just thickened skim milk. It was creamy white with a very clean taste and silky texture. True buttermilk has no fat in it. The fat is all in the butter. Yum.

Two quarts of Radiance Dairy Cream made 4 cups of buttermilk and 3 1/2 cups of golden butter. I refrigerated the buttermilk, and cooked the butter down to ghee. The ghee was so golden and sweet it took our breath away. To make ghee you can look at Anjuli’s excellent blog post. For those crazy, adventuresome people who would like to try, I have reproduced how I made the butter. It will take you longer to read this post than to make butter, so don’t be intimidated. I’ve just included enough information to make sure you first time is a success!

Notes on cream: The cream you choose will determine much of the outcome of both taste and texture. A richer diet of grass vs. hay or feed will produce a yellower butter (due to the carotene). The flavor is also affected by the type of cows, how they’re fed, where they live, and what season it is. Culturing your butter will also give it a tangier flavor and obviously salting your butter will affect its taste. So seek out those excellent local farmers nearby and experiment!

Homemade cultured butter
Heavy cream (if using heavy cream, roughly 35-38% butterfat; from my 2 quarts I had over 3 cups of butter)
Room temperature yogurt (ratio 1:16 of cream to yogurt; so for my 2 quarts of cream, I used 1/2 cup yogurt)

Make the yogurt. In a heavy-bottomed sauce pan, heat the cream gently on low to 110F, stirring often, about 10 minutes. Pour the cream into a large bowl. Add the yogurt and stir to combine. Place a plate on the bowl and put it in a cold oven with the oven light on, overnight. Check the yogurt in the morning to see if it is yogurt. If it is not quite done, give it a little more time but not more than 10 hours altogether. Because you started with cream, the texture of the yogurt will be a little different than if you had made it with milk, but it will still have that somewhat jelled look of yogurt.

Note on cultured vs. sweet cream butter: Cultured butter has a tangier taste and it contains live, good bacteria that helps to preserve the butter. Butter was originally made from yogurt in times without refrigeration. If you want to try an uncultured butter, in the US called sweet cream butter, skip this step, eliminate the yogurt, and go on to making your butter!

Make the butter in a mixer. Put the cream in the bowl of a mixer and turn it to the highest setting, as if you were whipping cream. Let it go for about 10 minutes or until it splits. What you have now is butter and buttermilk, even though it may not look like it.

-or-

Make butter in a jar. If you’re not working with a large amount, you can always place the cream in a jar and shake it up. For a pint this takes about 5-10 minutes of shaking. Not vigorous, just jostling the cream back and forth. If you shake it up and down, make sure to also jostle it around in a circle every so often. You’ll notice the cream gets thicker, then starts to separate, and finally turns into a thick mass with a watery substance splashing around in there. Those are the curds of butter!

Strain the butter. Put a large strainer over a large bowl and pour the butter/buttermilk into the strainer. Leave it for a few minutes to strain. What you are left with in the strainer is butter. What you have in the bowl is buttermilk. Store the buttermilk in the fridge. Make sure you try some, although I personally did enjoy it more when it was cool.

Rinse the butter. Put the butter back in your mixer or jar and the equivalent of half your whey in water. Mix for 10 seconds, then strain this watery liquid down the drain. Return the butter to the jar or mixer and repeat 3 or 4 times until the liquid runs clear. This will eliminate any of the excess whey and help keep your butter from going rancid.

Note: If you choose to salt your butter, you can do so at this time. We don’t salt ours so I can’t give you recommendations on quantity.

Prepare the butter to keep. (For ghee-goers, skip this step.) Place the butter on a work surface or atop wax paper. Using a wooden spoon or spatula, fold the butter back and forth, kind of like kneading, until it’s in the shape you want. Or, you can pack it into a vessel to store for later. This steps makes a smooth texture and also removes any excess moisture.

Tip: If you find the butter is too soft to work with, you can stick it in the fridge for 5-10 minutes before handling.

Make ghee. Now you are ready to make the world’s best ghee. If you are not familiar with the process of making ghee, check out Anjuli’s blog post on ghee.

Note: Some of the creams we have experimented with were very frothy in the pan, all the way up until the milk solids sunk to the bottom and began to brown. If you find this happens to you, don’t panic. It’s all good!

A couple months ago Matt and I stopped ingesting large sums of caffeine. For people who spend a lot of time at their computers - programming and writing respectively - this is sort of professional suicide. We cut out basically everything except chocolate. And I’m not saying we swapped it out for some English Breakfast or Mate (which, BTW, is NOT coffee, but a bitter tonic that makes you feel like your chest is in a vice grip). For people who know us, this was a huge red flag - not the first indication that we’d gone off the deep end. They assumed we were half way to converting to Jainism and wearing bug nets in front of faces so we didn’t, perchance, swallow an unsuspecting fly, and that our cussing had been reduced to references to sweet snacks. Naaah, we’re still us, just not artificially pepped up like jackhammers. Really, my body needed a break. The caffeine wasn’t working anymore. Part of me also assumed I’d be like all the other 20-somethings out there who look back fondly and sheepishly at that one glorious year after college when they attempted to get off the juice. Or that it would be like the time we went on THE MASTER CLEANSE. We subjected ourselves to a few days of eating lemons, grade A maple syrup and cayenne pepper before we broke down, partially because we could barely concentrate enough to remember to drink the stuff, and raced around Manhattan looking for maple sugar candy leaves or a maple tree to tap. This is before we realized Manhattan is not in New England.

But to stop drinking coffee was nothing like this. It started as a haze and was followed by some serious tiredness; tiredness like it’s a disease. We could feel a huge sigh from our bodies, as in “thanks a f*cking lot.” And then it more or less disappeared. Yes, I have trouble concentrating sometimes. Yes, I get seriously tired sometimes. But I can sense my body’s level of energy more, anticipate what I need more. I generally feel less like a zombie and more alive. And yes, I still each chocolate, so I can’t say I am 100% scrubbed clean.

So what, pray tell, could this possibly have to do with a delicious, salty, smoky salsa? Well I’ll tell you, it’s all in the chips. See when the caffeine stopped flowing, we found ourselves gravitating towards natural, physical stimulants: like the age-old chips and salsa. It sounds totally ridiculous, but there is no better wake-up call when driving than a delicious handful of a couple crispy fried tortilla chips. Prove me right or prove me wrong.

This recipe came about while we were in chip and salsa mecca: Santa Fe. Poblanos have a wonderful smoky sweetness when you roast them, which is what you should always do with chiles. The heat of the salsa and the crisp, exploding chip in your mouth reminds you of the power of food - to enliven, enhance, and stimulate the senses. Sometimes this can be taken overboard. But right now, boy, tortilla chips and homemade salsa, I am so happy to have found you again.

Roasted poblano salsa with tomatoes, onions, and black olives
4 poblano chiles
1-2 jalapeño chiles (depending on heat and preference)
3 medium-sized tomatoes, diced, about 1 1/2 cups
1/2 large large sweet onion, peeled
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin seeds, dry roasted in a frying pan and ground
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 handful salt-cured black olives, pitted and chopped coarsely
Fresh squeeze of lime juice
A handful of cilantro leaves, washed, and minced

Get a few plastic bags or a bowl and some saran wrap ready. Roast the poblanos and jalapeño(s). With a pair of tongs over a gas stove, place the peppers in the center of the flame and turn up to high. Allow each side to char completely before turning over with the tongs. If the pepper is too long you may need to move the chile to the edge of the burner to get the tip charred. Once each chile is evenly charred, place it into the ziploc or bowl and allow to steam for 10 minutes.

Once cool, remove the chiles and holding the stem in one hand, run your thumb and forefinger down the length of each poblano to remove the charred skin. If it doesn’t all come off, take a paring knife and scrape the excess. Do not run the chile under cold water. De-stem, seed, and dice the chiles. Remove the skin from the jalapeño(s). De-stem and de-seed (if desired), then chop the chile(s).

Take the peeled and halved onion and place, outside down onto the burner. Once turning soft and charred on the outside, remove from the heat and remove the outside layer. Don’t do this with the skin on, as it will burn too quickly and make a ashy mess. Dice the onion.

Assemble all ingredients in a bowl. Adjust seasoning. Allow to sit for 10-20 minutes for the flavors to meld. Serve with your favorite tortilla chips.

Selecting a chip
We ate our fair share of tortilla chips in Santa Fe and, well, I guess I have opinions about tortilla chips, now, don’t I? While they’re not the most healthful of maize products, nor are they traditionally Mexican, they are a lesser evil that I love. Here’s some of the skinny (and the fat) on your options. Once I buckle down and learn to make soft corn tortillas, I will be frying them up pronto.

Like many other foods in history, the tortilla was “discovered” by arrogant, greedy, blood-gold-and-spice-lusting Europeans, who came across a native food in their search for wealth, named it in their own language, then massacred the people and incorporated the food into their own diet. In this case the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortez and his men observed the flat corn bread, known in the native Nahuatl language as tlaxcalli (from the Aztecs or Mayans), named it the tortilla (after the Spanish rounded cakes of that name) and then killed off both cultures and destroyed much of their very un-Christian knowledge.

The original tlaxcalli was probably made by combining maize with ash from the fire and water. This process allowed the maize to be more easily ground and liberated proteins and vitamins for digestion, namely the B-vitamin niacin. Failing to recognize this technique, many of the first Europeans of the New World developed the deficiency disease pellegra. Today limewater (the mineral, not the fruit) is used, and the process is called nixtamalization. After adding the alkaline solution, the maize is cooked, steeped, and washed. At this stage it is referred to as nixtamal. Then it is either ground and used as masa (wet dough), or dried for masa harina (dry flour). The wet dough can be turned directly into tortillas, while the dry needs to be reconstituted with water. Bob’s Red Mill has a good masa harina.

The frying and shape of the tortilla chip came as late as the mid-20th century as a lucrative byproduct of our industrial food system. In the 50s, El Zarape Tortilla Factory in California revolutionized the tortilla making process with the first industrial machine, producing tortillas a dozen times faster than could be done by hand. At first the machines also produced many misshapen tortillas. These were discarded until company president Rebecca Carranza thought to fry them up in oil. The resulting “Tort Chips” became the business’ primary product, which sold for a dollar and ultimately developed into an industry that names Doritos among its biggest sellers.

We look for Organic chips with minimal ingredients that aren’t too greasy and have a good crunch. Outside of good Mexican restaurants, we’ve been enjoying Que Pasa, made from Organic blue corn and non-GMO canola oil (Organic Blue Corn), Garden of Eatin (Organic Blue Chips and Red Hot Blues) and Xochitl (Totopos de Maiz).

While we really enjoy the taste of Food Should Taste Good’s Chocolate, Lime, and The Works, they don’t offer an organic corn chip. Next to soy, corn is the most highly processed ingredient in our food system. For us, eating non-organic GMO corn and its products is something that, regardless of taste, we avoid at all costs. While Organic foods are not the cleanest, most nutritious, most cared-for, or least processed foods in general, when it comes to foods like corn, the Organic label at least indicates that the food has not been genetically modified. And as I find with virtually all foods, the deeper the color, the richer the taste. So I generally buy blues, baby.

Ok ok, so I didn’t make this pizza. It’s from HUB (that’s Hopworks Urban Brewery) here in Portland. They have good beers, burgers, and pizza. Amen. This one was topped with feta, mozzarella, spinach, black olives, and garlic. I can’t make any claims to its deliciousness other than the fact we had the foresight to pack up after 4 slices last night and bring the rest home to reheat for lunch today in the toaster oven. Oh, and I may have slipped a few sardines in there. This was an excellent pizza yesterday. But today, that feta toasted beautifully, all golden and bubbling; those black olives developed little crispy edges and oh… let’s just say I closed my eyes while eating this slice. But the real secret is that almost burnt outer crust with its earthy goodness (and obviously carcinogenic badness, so don’t eat the totally charred bits) and golden, flaky layers which give way to a decidedly chewy center. I think the following day it’s more pie than pizza. Anything good about a pizza pie can only be enhanced in the toaster oven. Few foods can lay claim to being reborn. Pizza, well, few foods are pizza for sure.

My mom likes to freeze her pizza and then reheat it. She’s the Queen of burnt toasty bits and crusty edges. I know it’s a loaded question, but where do you find yourself on the subject of crusts? Do you sneak them to the corner of the plate and hide them under the napkin, do you eat them indiscriminately along with the rest of the slice, or do you save them for last to linger over? Not like I would call you out or anything, but for anyone (ahem) who sneaks those crusts away and pretends to have eaten them, where are your manners? Besides, that is what the slippery inside pieces of a large pizza are for. Seriously, you’re NOT going to eat that?

So the next time you go out for pizza, remember, while those two beers and two slices haven’t entirely filled you up, what do you think you’ll enjoy more? Stuffing your face now, or relishing that little delight tomorrow?

For homemade pizza inspiration, here’s a good one for ya.

Is there anything sexier than a perfectly fried egg? Is there anything more arousing than that shockingly orange and plumped yolk, quivering and barely peeking through the white as you prick it ever so lightly with your fork? I think not. The delicious mess of ooey, gooey sunny yolk spilling forth all over your dinner is just about the best thing that could happen to anything. So why can’t restaurants, or diners for that matter, see the egg as anything other than a cheap, rubbery substitute for dinner?

I’m not a complicated eater. A good PB&J makes me whimper. I love toast, bitter greens, sausage, pickles, miso, grapefruits, ice cream, and anything edible I can scrounge up in a local field. While I used to eat out a lot, I rarely find restaurants meals as satisfying as I would like them to be anymore. Sometimes Matt and I go out for Japanese (or Chinese or Korean) or a pizza or when there’s grilling and fire involved. In these moments, I relish letting another person be in control and guide me through their idea of good food. But generally, restaurants and chefs don’t deserve that kind of power. And until the buttery haze of restaurant kitchens can slow down and cook something simple, like a fried egg in a bowl of rice, I’ll make it myself, thankyouverymuch.

The more I cook, the simpler things become. The more I cook, the more I want to explore the ingredients I love and see how far we can go together. Recipes, agendas, and entertaining myself by finding the next complicated and titillating recipe I will try just don’t compare to a good bowl of rice. This is kind of a revelation for me. I felt it prudent to qualify dishes that have filled the homepage of this blog in the last few weeks. See, I am starting to really love to cook for myself. It’s true. When Matt and I first stopped eating out so much, I was enchanted by the kitchen but needed to entice myself with *newness.* I would say to myself today, Anjuli, you’re going to make the sh*t out of some tacos. And off I would go… to market after market, amassing a whole mess of ingredients, spending hours in the kitchen and then BAM, stuff those tacos in my mouth in a matter of seconds. Many people start cooking by making a big ‘ole elaborate meal once in a while. While I love this kind of exhilarating cooking, it doesn’t have a beat I can dance to.

Donburi, simply, a bowl. A bowl of rice, brown for me. A bowl of rice is as delicious a model for a good meal as any I can think of. That is a beat I can dance to any day. Lately I sit around and think about rice, chicken, eggs, greens. I tinker with salty, sweet, sour, bitter, and pungent. I taste, tinker, taste, tinker. It may not sound fancy or glamorous or decadent or what not, but it makes me happier than I can remember. I used to look at a bowl of food, and brown rice food at that, as the most heinous form of macrobiotic torture imaginable. Times a changing. A good bowl stuffed with rice and perfectly suited to fit in the palm of your hand can be topped with just about anything. How about it?

If you don’t cook on a regular basis, start here: take a half cup of brown rice, soak overnight in enough liquid to cover by 2″, drain the following day; simmer in 1 1/2 cups of liquid for twenty minutes, lid cocked, let sit covered, heat off, for 10 minutes. You could probably spend the rest of your life, happily, making donburi. Here are a few places to start.

Donburi (serves 2)

1 cup brown rice
3 cups of water
Dollop of ghee or butter

Wash the rice. Soak overnight in enough water to cover by 2″.

Drain. Place in a medium sauce pan with water. Bring to a boil. Turn down to simmer, lid cocked, for 20 minutes. Make sure it’s simmering, not boiling. You’ll know it’s done when the rice is tender and the water has cooked off. Turn off, add the ghee, give it a stir with a fork, making sure not to mash the rice, and let sit 10 minutes.

Variations (from simplest to most complex):

w/ fried EGG and FURIKAKE - Fry an egg in butter with salt and pepper; when ready to eat, add the rice to the bowl, sprinkle on furikake, and top with an egg.

w/ fried EGG and sauteed SPRING ONIONS - Wash and slice a few spring onions; saute in 1 teaspoon ghee or butter w/ salt and pepper; add to rice while it’s setting in place of ghee when the heat is turned off. Fry an egg in butter and add salt and pepper. Add to top.

w/ SAUSAGE, BROCCOLI RABE, TOMATOES, and GARLIC

w/ fried EGG and wilted ARUGULA in a MISO sauce -
Clean 3 shiitake with paper towels and slice thinly. Wash 1 bunch arugula. Slice 1 spring onion thinly. Combine 1 tablespoon miso and 3 tablespoons hot water in a small bowl and mash and stir with the back of a spoon until the miso is disintegrated. Heat 1 teaspoon ghee in a saute pan on medium. Add the miso and stir. Add in the shiitake. Allow to cook on medium until reduces by half, about 5 minutes. Add in 1 teaspoon balsamic and cook for 1 minute. Add in the arugula. Cover and wilt, about 3 minutes. Remove the lid and cook off any remaining water. Remove from heat.

When the rice is done cooking, mix in the arugula and the scallion and allow the rice to sit for 10 minutes. When you’re about ready, fry your egg, spoon the rice into a bowl and top with the egg.

w/ CHICKEN and BROCCOLI w/ MISO sauce - Cook rice, using 1 cup chicken stock and 2 cups water. Slice a scallion and add in along with ghee while rice is setting, after the heat has been turned off.

Mix 1 teaspoon miso + 1/4 cup hot chicken stock in a small bowl. Clean and cut 1 head broccoli into florets, and steam for 5 minutes. Rinse. Heat 1/2 tablespoon butter on medium low. Add in the broccoli and saute for a minute. Add in the miso and chicken broth mixture and saute a minute more. Grind in some pepper and add a pinch of paprika. Add in 1 cup cooked, shredded or cubed chicken and cook until heated through. Serve atop rice.

w/ GREEN rice w/ CHICKEN and TOMATOES
Pulse 1 bunch dark, leafy greens (mizuna, spinach, collard, arugula), 1 cup chicken stock, and 1 bunch scallions scallion in a food processor or a blender until bits but not pureed. Add to rice along with 2 cups water. Saute for a couple of minutes. Add 2 cups water. Cook rice as per usual, adding ghee, and letting rice set for 10 minutes covered off heat.

Meanwhile… dice 1/2 sweet onion and 2 tomatoes. Roast 1/2 teaspoon each of cumin, coriander, and fennel on medium until toasted. Grind. Heat 1 teaspoon ghee in a heavy-bottomed pan on medium. Add onion and saute until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add in spice blend and a pinch of paprika and saute 30 seconds more. Add in tomatoes and saute until softening, about 5 minutes. Add a few grinds of fresh black pepper. Add in 1 cup cooked shredded or cubed chicken and a handful of minced, fresh cilantro and cook for a couple of minutes until heated through. Serve over the rice.

Anjuli’s grandmother, my mom, was born in 1910.  She did not cook much until she married in 1940, as far as I know.  She went through WWII as a wartime bride, exposed to rationing and culinary marvels like Scrapple and Spam. I was a baby boomer, born in ’47, so for me her cooking style was a product of the 50s. She delighted in post-war conveniences: plastic bags, frozen vegetables, cold soda, Tastykakes and Entenmann’s, en masse condiments like mayonnaise and ketchup, and keeping leftovers in the fridge (sometimes too long in my opinion).  And she loved iceberg. Salads at home were invariably iceberg, tomatoes, carrots, onions and one of ten kinds of bottled dressing. The only exception to this rule was her wilted endive salad. She’d even make her own dressing. We always ate it as a main course because of the ample bacon and hard boiled eggs. I loved this salad for its heartiness, the texture of the curly, wilted endive, the sweet and sour tones of the dressing, and the lovely, crispy bacon. It satisfied all the tastes.  It stood alone beautifully. 

But I thought that the recipe was lost. I knew I didn’t have it and my dear mommy has been dead for over twenty years. Last fall I was visiting my brother Eric in Vermont and I told him how I was missing this salad. It had played a big role in my culinary memories of childhood, as it was the only really good salad she made.  Helen, my sister-in-law, looked up and said, “Weez, I have her handwritten copy of the recipe.  Do you want it?”  “Yes, Yes Yes.” I toothily grinned and batted my eyes at Helen, hoping to look fetching and praying she would not change her mind. These family recipes are much sought after in my little clan.  She handed it to me. There nestled in my hand lay an index card written in my Mom’s handwriting, whose script I remembered like it was yesterday. I was really quite moved. I started tearing up. I have been thinking about this recipe for about five years. I really had no clue what she actually did in a way where I could reasonably hope for success in reproducing it. To see that card, without even looking at the ingredients, brought her back to me. It brought me back to that cherished feeling of family, with the kitchen at the center of it all; her little kitchen with its icebox and porcelain sink and its black phone with a party line. 

As it turns out, the card is more rough notes than a recipe. Still, it was a place to start. In January I decided to plant endive expressly so I could make this salad. And once it grew, I played around a little until I had the taste I remember from fifty plus years ago. -Weezie

Notes on ingredients:  Mom would have used Gulden’s mustard and she would have used apple cider vinegar.  I tried the apple cider vinegar and found it a little sharp but feel free to experiment; I did.

Mom would have used nitrite-free bacon and free range eggs not by choice, but because that’s what she could get. I did go out of my way to find these ingredients, and would suggest for you to try and do the same.

Wilted curly endive salad Serves 2
8 strips bacon cut into 1″ dice
4 hard boiled eggs, peeled
2 small heads of curly endive, 4 - 5 cups coarsely chopped (endive is neither escarole nor frisée , but frisée works just as well!)
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar (or combination of apple cider and balsamic 3:1)
Water
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon raw sugar
2 teaspoons Dijon-type mustard

Fry the bacon. Heat a medium-sized frying pan to medium-low.  Fry the bacon to a medium brown and crispy.  Drain on paper towels and set aside. Drain almost all of the bacon fat but leave enough to cover the bottom of the skillet.  

Assemble the ingredients. Slice the hard boiled eggs in half; reserve the yolks for the dressing.  Slice the whites and set aside.  Cut the ends off the endive heads, wash, spin dry in a salad spinner and chop coarsely.  Put the endive in a glass bowl.  Add the egg whites.  Cover with a plate. 

Make the dressing. In a small bowl crush the egg yolks.  Dilute the balsamic to 1/2 cup with water.  Add to the yolks with the salt, sugar and mustard.  Whisk until smooth.  Add this mixture to the skillet and simmer for 5 minutes until reduced by half.  Remove the plate from the bowl. 

Toss, marinate, eat. Add the dressing and the bacon and replace the plate.  Leave plated for 15 minutes, then remove the plate and toss.  Eat immediately. 

Last year was a bad year for peas in Simsbury. There was too much rain and the peas did nothing. Maybe I got one meal out of them. As the snow fell in January, Priscilla and I sat by the fire with a cup of tea and a basket full of seed catalogs. We browsed through the seed write-ups, dreaming about next year’s garden. We tried to imagine which peas, peppers, brussels sprouts, lettuces, or onions would do well in our Connecticut soil. We strategized on how to rotate our crops this year to defy the squash borers or the cabbage moths without using poison. We tried to guess how much of each vegetable our family would want to eat in 2010. Priscilla lives five minutes away and like me she has an organic garden. She spends every available moment during the school year and all summer amidst her tomatoes, raspberries, blueberries and her 1000 heads of garlic. She and I often plant different vegetables or different varieties and then share our harvests.

No matter how we try to plan and prepare, we never know how it will all work out. Anyone who actually thinks they have a leg up on Mother Nature is in serious denial. Last year’s peas were a no go for either one of us. But this year the vines - both snow and sugar snap - are spectacular. They’re strong and healthy with their fanciful, curling tendrils supporting bunches of crisp, sweet, shockingly green peas.

The snow peas were in a perfect state to pick last Thursday night when I stole up to the garden to have a peek. They were big enough to have a satisfying crunch, yet small enough to be sweet and tender. I was leaving for a wedding in Philadelphia Friday at noon. Dilemma. Could I cook them? Could I eat them? I knew I could not ignore them; they were too provocative, too beautiful.

“I’ll make an early lunch. It won’t be too much of a push and we can enjoy them before we hit the road,” I mused. I felt at peace. I took my gathering basket and picked three cups of gorgeous pea pods. I decided to honor them in the best way I know how to honor a pea. I would make Matar Paneer, the North Indian dish made with paneer (homemade cheese), onions, tomatoes, and of course, peas.

In a rare moment it was 8pm and the house was totally quiet. The silence was sensual, enveloping, soft and pregnant with possibility; nothing to disturb my focus or creativity. I imagined my Matar Paneer and what I would need. In my mind I could see the pea pods, floating in their savory sauce of onions and tomatoes alongside those golden cubes of paneer, all sizzling gently in the pan. I checked the pantry: milk and limes for the paneer – yes; tomatoes – yes; fresh ginger – yes; and a special plus, Anjuli’s garam masala.

Anjuli is in Portland now. Before she left Connecticut she made garam masala while I was away traveling in Peru. It touched me to come home and find her ground and roasted spices smelling sweet and fresh and a little astringent all at the same time. I breathed them in, thinking of the matar paneer and how she would have loved to have picked those peas. I felt as if she were there cooking with me.

I washed, stemmed and strung the glistening, emerald-green peas. I got out a big pot, put a little water in the bottom to prevent the milk from burning, poured in half a gallon of whole milk and put in on to boil, thinking about how it would magically separate when I added the lime juice. After it separated into paneer and whey I strung it up in cheese cloth and set the cheese over a bowl to catch the whey. And after it drained I put the paneer, peas, and whey in the fridge in anticipation of making the dish Friday morning. With half the work already done, I felt I could pack in peace and cook the following morning without feeling rushed. I can’t always get it together to celebrate life with gusto. When I can, I always feel proud that I have been able to honor life the way I feel it deserves, just as I honored my peas. -Weezie

Paneer

1/4 cup water

1/2 gallon whole milk

Juice of 1 – 2 limes

Boil the milk. Pour water into a large pot. Add the milk. Bring to a boil over medium low, about 10 minutes. Stir occasionally to prevent sticking.

Separate curds from whey. Once it comes to a boil, add the juice of 1 lime. Stir. If the milk does not completely separate, add the juice of 1/2 of the second lime. Stir. If it does not completely separate into light green whey and curds, add the juice of remaining 1/2 lime. You need enough lime juice to split the milk, but not more or it will taste too much of lime.

	Meanwhile, place a double thickness of cheesecloth over a good-sized strainer which is set over a stainless steel pot or large glass bowl. Note: I also find you can use a piece a cloth on top of the cheesecloth, seen in the photos. Strain the curds. Once the curds have separated, strain the curds, catching the whey in the bowl.
	Hang the curds. Tie up your cheese cloth and then tie it to your faucet and let it drip for 1 hour, catching the whey through the strainer into the bowl.
	Note: Reserve the whey in the fridge. We use it for soaking whole grain, but you will also need some of it for the matar paneer.
	Press the curds and refrigerate them. After the paneer has drained for 1 hour, cut it down and put it a plate, still wrapped in cheesecloth, weighted with another plate on top to flatten it. Make sure there is room on the plate for any remaining moisture to pool. Here I used a cast iron frying pan with 2 quarry tiles as the weight. After 1 hour, unwrap the cheese and put it in a closed container in the fridge until you’re ready to use it.

Matar Paneer Serves 6
Fresh peas or pea pods will be infinitely better than frozen for this dish. Their crunch and sweetness in contrast to the rich, savory paneer is the highlight of Matar Paneer.

4 tablespoons ghee
1 teaspoon fennel seed
Paneer from 1/2 gallon whole milk
1 Vidalia onion, 1/4 inch dice
1 1/2 tablespoons fresh ginger, grated
2 medium tomatoes, 1/2 inch dice
2 teaspoons ground roasted coriander seed
20 grinds of black pepper (or to taste)
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 cup reserved whey
1 teaspoon turmeric
3 cups of fresh shelled peas or pea pods, or frozen peas
2 teaspoons of Anjuli’s garam masala (recipe below)
2 tablespoons fresh coriander, minced

Note: If using pea pods, you must remove the stems and string them.

	Fry the paneer. Remove the paneer from the fridge and cut into 1 inch cubes. Heat a large frying pan to medium low. Add 3 tablespoons of ghee and then the fennel seeds. Fry for 30 seconds. Add the paneer and fry until golden brown, 3 minutes, then turn the cubes and fry the other side for 3 minutes. Salt and pepper to taste. Remove and set aside.
	Fry the remaining ingredients. Remove any burnt bits from the frying pan. Add 1 more tablespoon of ghee. Add the onions. Fry until soft, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the ginger. Fry for 30 seconds. Add the tomatoes, coriander seed, black pepper, salt. Fry for 2 minutes.

Assemble the dish. Add the whey and turmeric and stir until well combined. Pour into the frying pan. Add the peas or pea pods and garam masala. Let simmer until the peas are tender but still have some crunch. Add the fresh coriander.

Serve. This can be served with fresh chapattis or basmati rice, white or brown. Enjoy!

Anjuli’s garam masala
1/4 cup coriander seed
1/4 cup cumin seed
1/4 cup fennel seed
1 tablespoon chipotle

All the spices should be dry roasted in a frying pan on medium low until aromatic and then finely ground. We use a coffee mill that is designated for spices.

PDX, Stumptown, Beertown. In broad strokes (ahem, I’ve been here for a week and a half) Portland feels like Brooklyn on half-time. In place of Manhattan you have monstrous sequoias, pine trees, rivers, bikes, b*tches and beer. The people here are very vocal about putting their money where their mouth is. The city has become a nexus for organic eateries, gluten-free bakeries, and vegan and vegetarian everything (cookies, condoms, leather and lollipops). I’m not particularly prone to labels and imitations - on my food or otherwise, but it’s damn refreshing to be in a place where quality and conscientiousness are part of the baseline.

Until a few days ago I had nothing to say about Portland. Other than it’s raining again, there’s a housing shortage, and we’re homeless in a city with adorable homes. We were living out of our car, roaming the tree-lined streets and admittedly peeping in people’s houses. Of course our intentions were completely harmless, i.e. “Can we live with you?”

The residential neighborhoods here are full of candy-colored victorians and colonials and lawns exploding with plants. In Portland landscaping seems to mean “I planted this here and it grew.” Zoning and plots allow people to communicate in a neighborly fashion, “if your newly renovated garage falls on my property can we share the driveway?” With these more relaxed expectations for neighborhood feel, all sorts of edible weeds and plants flourish on sidewalks, lawns, in cul-de-sacs, and on people’s porches.

We searched high and low for houses, but Craigslist was a total wash. We were still determined to stay within the city of Portland. After days of search and a few weeks of road tripping and living out of our car, we were feeling grubby and disillusioned. We started teasing each other about our accidental vagrancy. “You might be a vagrant, if you….” smell like cat piss and to mask the smell you simply don more clothes… you spend time dreaming of what it would be like to live in other people’s houses… you sleep on the ground and keep yourself warm with lots of extra clothing… you find yourself squatting and cooking in a zone where dogs relieve themselves… you cook your breakfast in a parking lot… you worry that others might question whether or not you are a vagrant.

I am happy to report, although it is still raining, we are no longer vagrants. In this makeshift city where people apparently work it out and live happily and communally, we have an apartment! We’re living with an awesome couple - friends of a good friend of ours - and their three adorable dogs. There is a movie theater in the basement (shhh! I’m not joking).

All good stories end with food, so here it is: our christening meal. I mean seriously, if you want to make a place smell like home, just cook a good sausage and some garlic. Works like a charm.

Hot Andouille with broccoli rabe and tomatoes on brown rice
This is a common recipe seen over pasta, but I much prefer using comfy brown rice with a little dollop of ghee.

1 Andouille or other raw sausage of choice
A bunch of rapini (broccoli rabe), about 10 stalks, washed and cut once or twice
1 clove garlic, sliced thinly
Ghee
1 tomato, diced

1/2 cup brown rice, rinsed and soaked overnight in water covered by 2″ (if possible)
1 1/2 cups water
1 tablespoon ghee

Place the rice in a pot with the water and bring to a boil. Turn down to simmer and cook, lid cocked for 20 minutes. Turn off, cover completely and let sit 10 minutes. Fluff with a fork and stir in the ghee.

Turn a pan onto medium and cook the sausage, turning twice, about 8 minutes each side. Remove from pan, reserving the fat. Let sit on a plate for 5 minutes, so the juices settle. Cut into 1/2 inch rounds. Meanwhile, steam the rapini for 5 minutes until al dente. Strain.

Add a bit of olive oil, ghee, or butter to the sausage fat and turn on to medium. Saute the garlic for a few minutes, add the tomato and saute a few minutes more until it’s softening and letting out some of the juice. Add the rapini and sausage and cook a couple minutes more. Season with salt and pepper. Serve over rice, making sure to get some of the tomato and fat juice into the rice. Mmmm.