I am a hoarder. Or, to use a more endearing term, a pack rat. Living in Minneapolis (ie with lots of space and a kitchen all to my own) has only encouraged this habit. All I can say is, if the Apocalypse (or a really big snow storm) comes, I’ve got plenty of sugar and flour. And toothpaste. For some reason, lots of toothpaste.

What I realized today, though, as I was spinning handful after handful of basil leaves into golden pesto, was that these days there is one socially acceptable (in fact, socially encouraged/deified) form of hoarding. I’m talking, of course, about canning/preserving.

If you haven’t heard that canning/preserving is in, then you must somehow be in the midst of an Apocalypse yourself. It’s everywhere, and was last summer too, but as the media catches up to the Great Recession, it’s really everywhere this summer. And as I surveyed my bounty (thus far) this afternoon, I felt an uncontrollable satisfaction, somewhat like the Ant must have felt. Two quarts of corn chowder tucked away in the freezer, two pints of somewhat ungelled but properly sealed strawberry preserves, one quart of dilly beans/carrots, and two quarts of “sunshine pickles” (recipe forthcoming). And now, four half-pints of pesto in the freezer, and a bunch more frozen basil on top of that.

So, today I’m going to talk about the basil/pesto, because freezing is by far the most approachable method of preserving (no hot water baths or fears of botulism), and freezing pesto is serious bang for your buck. Today at the farmer’s market, I bought three absolutely extravagantly enormous bunches of basil for $1 each. Additionally, I used probably 1/3 lb. of walnuts, at $5 a lb. (for about $2, rounding up). And then a good dribble of extra virgin olive oil, about 1/3 bottle from TJ’s (I can’t remember how much that was, but cheap). Traditionally one uses pine nuts rather than walnuts; however, pine nuts cost $32 a lb. (six times the price of walnuts!), and also, I wasn’t sure how well their more delicate flavor would survive freezing. Also, you leave out the cheese — usually Parmesan, but you could also use pecorino or asiago — when freezing, and add it in later, when you’ve thawed the pesto and are ready to serve.

Which is all to say, that making your own pesto, during the summer when basil is at its peak, is super cheap. Making your own pesto in the winter is another story. And buying pre-made pesto is yet another story entirely. So, make your own pesto!

Not to mention that making pesto is terrifically easy, assuming you have a food processor or blender. If you’re mortar and pestling this stuff, then maybe you won’t want to be working in bulk. But if you’re looking for quantity to last through the winter, then doing it all in one go is the best, for one simple reason: one-time clean-up.

I used Elise’s pesto recipe from Simply Recipes as a basic guide, more or less hewing to it, but I’m sure proportions were slightly different each time. David’s post from almost two years ago (two years ago!) really emphasizes how fungible the proportions are.

Oh! And to make this post even longer: What about the pure frozen basil, you ask? Well, it wasn’t just basil; it was basil whizzed with olive oil (no measurements, just dribbled in until the whole things cohered) and then spooned into an ice cube tray. Then, when it’s frozen, you can pop your basil/oil “ice cubes” out and freeze them in a ziploc, with them still staying separate. And then, whenever the mood strikes, you’ll have approximately a tablespoon of basil (with a little oil, but you’d almost always be using olive oil with basil anyway) at the ready. I’m not sure what I’m going to use my basil cubes for yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. (Warning: I found these little buggers a little tricky to get out of the ice cube tray; if you have one of those flexible trays — as pictured above — I’d use that, and maybe give it a spray with olive oil cooking spray, if you have some handy.)

Basil-Walnut Pesto

Makes about 1/2 pint of pesto

Adapted from Simply Recipes

Ingredients

- 2 cups (packed) fresh basil leaves

- 1/3 cup walnuts, chopped and toasted

- 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

- 3 cloves of garlic

- salt, to taste (about 1/4 tsp.)

- freshly ground black pepper, to taste

- 1/2 cup grated Parmesan, or other cheese (leave out if freezing, or, if you’re vegan — this is pretty great sans cheese)

1. Whiz basil, nuts, and garlic in food processor til they form a thick/slightly chunky paste. (Scrape down any leaves.)

2. With food processor on, add olive oil in a steady stream. The pesto should now be a more coherent paste.

3. (Add cheese here if you’re not freezing, with food processor going.)

4. Add salt and pepper to taste, pulse one more time to combine.

5. Spoon into a half-pint container (I just ask the nice employees at the deli counter of the nearest supermarket for empty ones). Freeze. Enjoy in the thick of January, when you have all but forgotten the taste of freshness.

Salmorejo with scallops and gulas

For the second installation of Cooking Con Carlos, we were given a real treat: an introduction to salmorejo, a cold soup from Carlos’ native Andalucía, Spain’s hot, haunting southernmost region.  Gazpacho, salmorejo’s more famous cousin, has been known to come out of my blender on several occasions (thanks for the recipe, Grandma!), so I was pumped to learn a new variation.

Salmorejo is quite straightforward to make – essentially, just keep blending! — and is a lively, refreshing mix of Spain’s classic favors.  Salmorejo is often served over or with country bread or baguette, garnished with jamón Serrano and/or bits of boiled egg, in a bowl or on a plate.  When we made it, Carlos put it in bowls, as if it were soup, with gulas, or baby eels, mixed in and scallops on top.  Below is the recipe for just the creamy soup itself – you can serve it however you want.  Salmorejo makes a delicious summer appetizer or light lunch when the heat hits.

Ingredients:

1 kilo of  tomatoes, a little more than two pounds or about 6-8 large vine tomatoes.  Quarter them for easy blending.  Some recipes call for the tomatoes to be peeled, but Carlos does not.

1 clove of garlic, sliced lengthwise and with the central green core removed.

1 baguette, soaked in water until tender and then subsequently broken into large chunks.

1 egg, boiled and peeled.

1 cup olive oil

Sea salt

Sherry vinegar

To make:

1.  Add large chunks of bread and tomato and garlic to blender.  Finely blend.  Depending on the size of your blender, you may have to do this in stages, adding in some of the olive oil after each stage (see instruction below).

2.  Add cup of olive oil to the blended mix.  Continue to blend.

3.  Add 2 pinches of sea salt, blend well.

4.  Add egg to mix and blend in.

5.  Add several sprinkles of sherry vinegar to the mix and blend.

6.  Garnish with extra version olive oil to taste.

Serves 6.  Serve at room temperature or a bit cooler.

Here at Food Junta, we mention the Minimalist a fair amount. But in all my minimalist reading, I don’t think I’ve ever seen MBittz wax quite as poetic as he did over this ginger fried rice, adapted from his friend and cookbook collaborator (and majorly fancy pants chef) Jean-Georges Vongerichten. Rarely do I read a recipe that I feel a need to make quite as immediately as this, but between Bittman’s effusive praise, the short list of ingredients, and the quick prep time, I was sold.

As Bittman also says, don’t let the multiple steps here daunt you. They each only take a few minutes, and the whole thing can be done with just two pans (one for the rice and accoutrement, one for frying the eggs). The result is — if not as mindblowing as Bittman makes it sound — pretty darn good, particularly for a dish that is composed mostly of leftover rice that would otherwise sit in my fridge for a week before meeting its maker in the trash can. I used leftover brown rice, JGV recommends Jasmine, Bittsy recommends leftover white rice from Chinese takeout. Choose your poison.

The whole dish comes together in twenty minutes, tops; the bits of leek are like little jewels in a sea of rice, reborn, swimming in luscious egg yolk; all topped off with garlic and ginger crunchies, to boot. If you make nothing else from this recipe, do try the garlic and ginger crunchies. You could use them to top just about anything, and when has fried garlic ever made a dish less tasty?

One other note: the Minimalist serves this as a dish unto itself. While it would make a fine supper, I like something a little more vegetable-y and a little less carbohydrate-y for my main meal, so I served this on the side of a tofu-veggie stir-fry. Again, up to you.

Ginger Fried Rice

Adapted from Mark Bittman/Jean-Georges Vongerichten, NYT

Serves 4, but if you’re me, you’d prefer it as a side dish

Ingredients

- 1/2 cup peanut oil

- 2 tablespoons minced garlic

- 2 tablespoons minced ginger

- Salt

- 2 cups thinly sliced leeks, white and light green parts only, rinsed and dried

- 4 cups day-old cooked rice, at room temperature (I used brown rice)

- 4 large eggs

- 2 teaspoons sesame oil

- 4 teaspoons soy sauce.

1. In a large skillet, heat 1/4 cup oil over medium heat. Add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp and brown. With a slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels and salt lightly.

2. Reduce heat under skillet to medium-low and add 2 tablespoons oil and leeks. Cook about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until very tender but not browned. Season lightly with salt.

3. Raise heat to medium and add rice. Cook, stirring well, until heated through. Season to taste with salt.

4. In a nonstick skillet, fry eggs in remaining oil, sunny-side-up, until edges are set but yolk is still runny.

5. Divide rice among four dishes. Top each with an egg and drizzle with 1/2 teaspoon sesame oil and 1 teaspoon soy sauce. Sprinkle crisped garlic and ginger over everything and serve.

Hummus: A Middle Eastern dip or spread made from mashed chickpeas. Delicious, cheap, and easy, typically purchased in supermarkets (a flaw that is to be remedied today). Most commonly spelled in Turkish as humus, though this spelling is to be avoided in English for fear of confusion.

Humus: The degraded organic material in soil, sometimes causing the layers of soil to be different colors (brown or black). Of the earth.

These two words, only an ‘m’ apart from each other, are not so very far apart at all. What is a more elemental, more earthy, more organic (not in the vs. conventional sense) food than hummus? For whatever reason, to me, making hummus feels like a deeply primeval act, and I am not alone: much folklore names hummus as one of the first prepared foods in history, dating back to at least the 12th century. Even then, they realized what so many of us ignore today as we buy our containers of Sabra (if you must buy hummus, you must buy Sabra): hummus is easy, it’s inexpensive, it’s infinitely customizable (if you make it yourself), it’s filling, and — despite its relative healthiness (debate the merits of good vs. bad fats here) — it feels disproportionately luxurious, considering its main ingredient is chickpeas.

As with almost all things, homemade hummus is infinitely better than store-bought. You can’t even imagine how much better, unless you’ve had really really excellent hummus at a Middle Eastern restaurant and wondered how theirs was so good. In all likelihood, there was no special trick, it was just because they made it themselves. And you can, too. In about 5 minutes, plus 2 minutes to clean the food processor after.

This recipe comes from Elise at Simply Recipes. I was going to use dried chickpeas, but she said that she has used both dried and canned and actually liked the texture of the canned much better. Since I’m nobody to argue with Elise, and since she was actually recommending the considerably more convenient option, I quickly gave up my plan. (Someday I will test this on my own and get back to you.) As for the other ingredients, you want them to be good, particularly the tahini. I got mine in bulk at the local co-op and told the woman next to me that I was making hummus for the first time while I scooped it into my jar. “Oh,” she said to me approvingly. “You’ve made the right choice. This is the only tahini I ever use. It makes such a difference.” Again, as I am in no position to argue, having never made hummus before, I would advise you to follow this co-op stranger’s wisdom. The tahini I bought there tasted richly of sesame and was a beautiful dark brown color, nothing like what I saw in the jars. In a pinch, however, I’m sure the jars will do. As for olive oil, I just used my same old TJ’s extra-virgin. I don’t think you need to go too gourmet on that.

This recipe makes a decently garlicky hummus; you may want to taste it when it’s all blended together before adding more. (I love garlic as much — probably more — than the next girl, but this was enough for me.) You could also add any number of other flavors: roasted red pepper and basil are two that I see a lot in the supermarket, but use your imagination.

As for the texture, I wanted mine to be on the lighter, fluffier side (this is the joy of making homemade hummus after all), and ended up adding more water and olive oil than the recipe stated. I’ve left the basic recipe below, though, so you can decide for yourself. If you do want to thin it, it’s not an exact science; just don’t put in too much (no more than 1/4 cup) of either olive oil or water at a time before whizzing it again and checking out the results.

Serve with tabbouleh, or any number of other dishes. Or, and this homemade version is good enough, you may just find yourself eating a spoonful of it plain.

Note: this recipe makes A LOT of hummus. Like, hummus out your ears. You may want to halve it, though the googles say that you can freeze hummus fine, so I may try that next time around (and report back, as well).

Hummus

Adapted from Simply Recipes

Makes about 3 cups

Ingredients

• 4 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 28-oz cans of garbanzo beans (chickpeas), drained and rinsed
• 2/3 cup of tahini (roasted, not raw)
• 1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1/2 cup water (or more)
• 1/4 cup olive oil (or more)
• 1/2 teaspoon of salt
• Optional garnishes: Pine nuts (toasted or untoasted), olive oil (drizzled over), za’atar (sprinkled over)

1.  In a food processor, combine the garlic, garbanzo beans, tahini, lemon juice, 1/2 cup water, and olive oil. Process until smooth. Add salt, starting at a half a teaspoon, to taste. Add more water and/or olive oil to achieve desired texture.

2. Spoon into serving dish and add any or all garnishes (other options abound, as well). Will keep in a tupperware in the fridge for…well, now going on two weeks. So two weeks, at least.

I am back in Minnesota, land of snow and ice, for my second semester of writer school. My first week back was a bit of a downer: all ice and no snow (and strangely balmy 40 degree temperatures). But now we’re back to the way I like it here during the winter, with a fresh layer of snow and an 8 degree chill. I must be going native, because I hardly notice the 8 degrees anymore (that, weather gods, is not an invitation for 20 below). But really, I’m being sincere, I like the little jump it gives me when I walk out my door, and I like the feeling of hibernation in my apartment doing my writerly (and non-writerly) things, and I like the whole feeling of winter wonderland that I think is really a uniquely midwestern phenomenon.

But as much as I like my world of snow, I was in Mexico for a week over winter break, and that was even better. Banish all images of beaches from your mind; this was cold Mexico, the Mexico of the mountains, and still, it was glorious, because how could a vacation with friends and food and fireplaces not be? I would like to be there…now.

In the meantime, however, I have this stew. Have the loyal readers among you been noticing a trend in my posts lately? Mexican chocolate cake, tortilla chips, ceviche…all from my Mexican Christmas feast. As is this, from the pages of Gourmet, rather than some hideaway authentic Mexican cooking school (recipes from there to come). But, you know what, I had posole twice while in Mexico itself and this one is right on up there with the source.

It probably helps this recipe’s case that 26 garlic cloves are involved (pick some good music to listen to while prepping this baby). Also long-stewed meat. And also a topping of cotija cheese, which never hurt anyone or anything. To simplify matters, when I served this, I just made a simple little slaw on the side of cabbage and radish with a cilantro-lime dressing. If you want to be more authentic about it, however, you’d serve all those components separately (cabbage, radish, cilantro, lime), plus maybe chopped red onion and chile powder.

Assembling the ingredients for this may take you a little longer than your usual grocery shopping, but you will be forever grateful to know where to buy dried chiles and hominy. Other than peeling the garlic cloves, the rest of this recipe moves by surprisingly fast, especially once you start tasting how incredibly it’s going after just the second step of cooking the pork.

I think the superior of the two Mexican posoles was actually a green chile posole, so that’s next on my list. And also this similar version from Bon Appetit. (I can never get enough posole.) And also, a hot tip: if you live in San Francisco and want to try this, but don’t want to, say, invest the effort in peeling 26 cloves of garlic before you know what the pay-off is, you can try a very similar version at Little Chihuahua, which just added posole to its menu (but maybe as a special? not sure).

Posole Rojo (Pork and Hominy Stew)

Serves 8-10

From Gourmet

Ingredients

- 1 bunch mint (1 ounce)
- 1 bunch cilantro (1 ounce)
- 4 pound country-style pork ribs (not lean)
- 10 cups water
- 26 garlic cloves (about 1 1/2 heads), peeled, divided
- 1 (1/2-pound) white onion, quartered, plus 1/2 cup, chopped
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano (preferably Mexican)
- 5 whole black peppercorns
- 2 ounces dried guajillo or New Mexico chiles (6 to 9), wiped clean
- 1 1/2 ounces dried ancho chiles (2 to 4), wiped clean
- 1 whole clove
- 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
- 3 (15-ounce) cans hominy (also called pozole), rinsed and drained

Accompaniments: diced avocado; crema; queso fresco; thinly sliced iceberg or romaine lettuce; chopped white onion; sliced radishes; fried tortilla strips or chips; lime wedges; dried oregano; dried hot red-pepper flake

1. Tie together mint and cilantro with kitchen string.

2. Bring pork and water to a boil in a large pot, skimming froth, then reduce heat to a simmer. Add tied herbs, 20 garlic cloves, quartered onion, oregano, peppercorns, and 2 teaspoons salt and gently simmer, uncovered, until pork is very tender, about 2 hours.

3. Strain broth through a large sieve into a large heatproof bowl. Return broth to pot. Discard mint and cilantro.

4. Transfer cooked onion and garlic to a blender with 1 1/2 cups broth and purée until smooth (use caution when blending hot liquids). Add purée to broth. Discard bones and coarsely shred pork into broth.

5. Meanwhile, slit chiles lengthwise, then stem and seed. Heat a large cast-iron skillet (or heavy skillet) over medium heat until hot, then toast chiles in batches, opened flat, turning and pressing with tongs, until more pliable and slightly changed in color, about 30 seconds per batch. Transfer to a bowl and pour 2 1/2 cups boiling water over chiles. Soak, covered, until softened, about 30 minutes.

6. Purée chiles with 1 1/2 cups soaking liquid, chopped onion, remaining 6 garlic cloves, clove, and 3/4 teaspoon salt in cleaned blender until a smooth paste forms, about 2 minutes.

7. Heat oil in cast-iron skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, then add chile paste (it will spatter) and cook, stirring occasionally, until slightly thickened, 5 minutes.

8. Add chile paste and hominy and simmer 5 minutes. Season with salt.

Extra garlic + extra cheese = extra love + extra happiness. This is a pretty simple equation. The cheese variable may have its limits (I think the 2 1/2 pounds of mozzarella used in this recipe comes pretty close), but as much garlic as you can stand to peel and mince will probably always do you well (this is assuming that, like me, you reach your limit at, max, one head of garlic).

I was just a sous chef on this eggplant parmesan enterprise, which I think taught both the executive chef and me that it really is important to read a recipe all the way through. Or, who knows, maybe not, because this turned out great regardless. The extra cheese here was a mistake (a great one), the extra garlic was not (but was also great). We also cut a couple corners labor-wise because, one, we were in a cabin in northern Minnesota with 16 hungry writers waiting on us, and, two, because who really wants to wait around for two hours for eggplant slices to drain?

I just read about a different — healthier, easier — method of prepping the eggplant on Bitten, but this — my first attempt at eggplant parmesan — is the classic, complete with breaded, fried slices of eggplant. The original recipe had us dipping the eggplant in flour and then in egg, which didn’t make much sense to me and produced a kind of scrambled egg-eggplan hybrid; reversing the order of dipping fixed all problems.

This is not a quick dish to make, but it’s not a particularly hard one, either. And you will be a hero to all who eat it.

Eggplant Parmesan
Adapted from Simply Recipes
Serves 8 as a main course

Ingredients
- 2 lbs (about 2 large) eggplants
- Kosher salt
- 1 28-oz can whole peeled tomatoes
- 5 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
- Olive oil
- Freshly ground black pepper
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup fine dry breadcrumbs
- 4 large eggs, beaten
- 2 1/2 lbs of fresh mozzarella cheese, sliced into 1/4 inch rounds
- 1 cup grated high quality Parmesan cheese
- 1 packed cup fresh basil leaves

1. Cut eggplants lengthwise into ¼ inch slices. Arrange one layer in the bottom of a large colander and sprinkle evenly with salt. Repeat with remaining eggplant, salting, until all eggplant is in the colander. Weigh down the slices with a couple of plates and let drain for, ideally, 2 hours (we drained it for about 45 minutes, with some results). The purpose of this step is to have the eggplant release some of its moisture before cooking, and also some of its bitter flavor.

2. While the eggplant is draining, prepare tomato sauce. Chop up tomatoes as best you can (reserving the liquid); combine chopped tomatoes, liquid, garlic, and 1/3 cup olive oil (or put the whole thing in a food processor). Season with salt and pepper to tasted and set aside.

3. When eggplant has drained, press down on it to remove excess water, wipe off the excess salt, and lay the slices out on paper towels to remove all the moisture.

4. In a wide, shallow bowl, combine flour and breadcrumbs. Mix well. Pour beaten eggs into another wide shallow bowl. Place a large, deep skillet over medium heat, and pour in a half inch of olive oil. When oil is shimmering, dredge the eggplant slices first in the beaten egg, then in the flour mixture. Working in batches, slide coated eggplant into hot oil and fry until golden brown on both sides, turning once. Drain on paper towels.

5. Preheat the oven to 350°F. In the bottom of a 10×15 inch glass baking dish, spread 1 cup of tomato sauce. Top with one third of the eggplant slices. Top eggplant with half of the mozzarella slices. Sprinkle with one third of the Parmesan and half of the basil leaves.

6. Make a second layer of eggplant slices, topped by 1 cup of sauce, remaining mozzarella, half the remaining Parmesan, and all of the remaining basil. Add remaining eggplant, and top with the remaining tomato sauce and Parmesan.

7. Bake until cheese has melted and the top is slightly brown, about 30 minutes. Allow to rest at room temperature for about 10 minutes before serving.

Every two weeks, the Yale Sustainable Food Project tell us what is at its peak on the Yale farm, and we cook something fresh and fantastic using the New York version of their produce. For the recipe for this delicious, velvety, luscious custard made out of — of all things — the lowly cauliflower (and my thoughts on the sexiest overlooked vegetable), check out my guest post on cauliflower on the Yale Sustainable Food Project Blog.

Every 18-year-old is sent away to college with one great pearl of family wisdom echoing in their ears, a mantra to hover over their shoulder, cartoon angel-like, and guide them through the rest of their lives. Laertes got “to thine own self be true.” My roommate’s was “never funnel hard liquor.” And mine was this:

Dry vermouth can take the place of white wine in any recipe.

Um… no applause? Nothing? Ow, a tumbleweed.

Though I’ll admit it seems lacking in profundity, this little piece of advice has made my life in the kitchen much easier. Why, you ask? Because nobody likes a wet martini, that’s why.* Even if you pound martinis like Nick and Nora Charles, a bottle of vermouth is liable to stick around your kitchen for weeks, if not months: it won’t get used up, and it won’t go bad. White wine on the other hand only keeps for a few days after you’ve popped the cork. Granted it has probably been drunk by then, but the fact remains: to cook any of the million recipes that call for white wine you will have to run out and buy a new bottle. Does your apartment have a wine cellar? Mine neither. So give yourself a break: keep a bottle of vermouth at your side and you’ll always be ready.

Now perhaps you are still skeptical about the taste, and about the ramifications of replacing wine with liquor. Well don’t take my word for it. On page 31 of an ancient copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, noted chef/secret agent Julia Child writes: “White wine for cooking should be strong and dry… As the right white wine is not as reasonable to acquire in America, we have found that a good, dry, white vermouth is an excellent substitute, and much better than the wrong kind of white wine.” After all, vermouth is white wine that has been infused with herbs, fortified with brandy and given a screw top. Julia makes another important point too: this only works with dry, white vermouth. Apparently some mixological tastemakers are already tired of absinthe and have anointed vermouth the next It-booze, so beware of the flood of the sweet, sour, red,  pink, orange and otherwise exotic vermouths coming to bars near you. Stick to the basics for cooking. Martini & Rossi, Cinzano, and Noilly Prat are the most common brands of dry white vermouth, and none of them will set you back more than $10.

So give me your tired, your poor, your lazy home-chefs, yearning to eat well. When you stumble home from work to a barren kitchen with nothing but a few chicken breasts in the fridge, some garlic on the counter,  and an overwhelming urge not to go back outside, let vermouth be your savior. The case study is a quick,  simple recipe that usually calls for white wine, but is just as good, more convenient, and maybe even cheaper after our experimental booze transplant.

Pollo al ajillo

(Adapted from The Moro Cookbook, by Samantha and Samuel Clark)

Ingredients:

- 3 chicken breasts
- 3 bay leaves
- A whole bulb of garlic
- 1 cup white wine dry vermouth
- ½ cup water
- Olive oil
- Flour
- Salt’n’pepper

1.    Heat about 4 Tbsp olive oil in a large frying pan.
2.    Separate the cloves of garlic and fry in the olive oil, with skin on, until light brown. Remove and set aside.
3.    Dredge chicken breasts in flour and season with salt and pepper. Brown in pan, about 3 min. per side.
4.    Add vermouth, shaking the pan so it emulsifies with the oil
5.    Simmer for a few minutes to burn off alcohol,  then add ½ cup water. Cover and simmer for 5-10 minutes.

As a final note, some have pointed out that one of the perks of cooking with wine is that you get to pop the cork and drink while you cook, and that using vermouth robs you of this pleasure. Nuts to that. It sounds to me like what you just got yourself an excuse to mix a stiffer drink. Bottoms up.

* Apparently Fareed Zakaria likes wet martinis, but I trust the free market will expose the error of his liberal attitudes towards vermouth.

I have since developed a more interactive relationship with scapes. And so, recipe from the same NYT article that Claire referred to in her post on garlic scapes at hand, I recently settled in on a particularly anti-social Friday night with my roommate’s food processor, a favorite jam or two, and a tangle of scapes. The aim? To provide an appetizer for a barbeque the next day. The result? Scape-tastic!

White Bean and Garlic Scape Dip

Adapted from the New York Times

Ingredients:

2/3 cup sliced garlic scapes (~7 scapes) – I used far more scapes than the NYT recipe called for, particularly since I didn’t add any herbs to my beans when I simmered them (see below).

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice, more to taste – I didn’t go too crazy with the juice, especially because it would’ve created a weird color mixing with the green scapes.

1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt, more to taste

Ground black pepper to taste – if there is one thing I like almost as much as garlic, it’s black pepper. Load it up.

1 can (15 ounces) cannellini beans, rinsed and drained- I didn’t really follow this instruction. I purchased raw cannellini beans from the Park Slope Food Coop (I couldn’t really find the canned beans, because sometimes I have a hard time finding things there generally, plus I just love that aisle with the giant tubs of beans and oats and pepitas). I soaked them in cool water in my refrigerator overnight and then simmered them over low heat on the stove. I kept my beans a little bit al dente to add a bit more texture to the dip. As alluded to above, you can add some subtle flavor by tossing a bundle of herbs into the beans while simmering; I did not.

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, more for drizzling. I didn’t drizzle either.

Process (punny):
1. In a food processor, process garlic scapes with lemon juice, salt and pepper until finely chopped. Add cannellini beans and process to a rough purée. This can be a bit of a pain – the scapes tend to bunch up near the top of the processor away from the blade. I repeatedly stopped and spooned them back to within chopping range.

2. With motor running, slowly drizzle olive oil through feed tube and process until fairly smooth. Pulse in 2 or 3 tablespoons water, or more, until mixture is the consistency of a dip. Add more salt, pepper and/or lemon juice, if desired.

3. On a tip from Junta honcho Claire, I diced cherry tomatoes and added them to the top of the dip for some visual variety.

I served this dip with a fresh baguette. It was gone in about 5 minutes.