I think the pictures say it all today. The garden was full of green tomatoes that ran out of time to ripen. 20+ lb. of tomatoes. Which meant only one thing: time for a fried green tomato party. What you need: fried green tomatoes, a big pot of red beans, a pan of cornbread, a big ol’ tub of sour cream, 2 kinds of hot sauce (Tapatío and Louisiana), and, optionally, some preserves. Plus, booze and friends willing to bring more food and more booze. And some good tunes, of course.

Still so many green tomatoes — for salsa, for jam, for green tomato tart. Any other green tomato ideas?

Recipe for fried green tomatoes after the jump!

Fried Green Tomatoes

For 6 people as a side dish or brunch; more people if it’s a party and everyone’s having just a couple (though you may still want to increase the recipe)

Adapted from the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, by Matt and Ted Lee

Ingredients

-       3 lb. green tomatoes (about 6-8 medium tomatoes), washed and sliced into 1/4 – inch slices (Lee bros. say to core them, but I just sliced them vertically through the core, and didn’t notice a thing once they were fried)

-       3 large eggs, beaten

-       ¾ cup whole milk (I used low-fat because it was what I had, and it was fine)

-       1 ½ c. all-purpose flour

-       ½ c. plus 1 Tbsp. stone-ground cornmeal (polenta works well here – you want the coarser grain for crunch)

-       2 Tbsp. salt

-       4 ½ tsp. finely ground black pepper

-       oil for frying (the Lee bros. recommend peanut oil, but I had vegetable oil on hand, and it worked well, plus it’s cheaper)

-       Optional, to sprinkle over: Salt, torn basil leaves, hot sauce (Tapatío or Louisiana style)

1. Whisk egg and milk together in a shallow bowl.
2. Mix flour, cornmeal, salt, and black pepper together in another shallow bowl to make the dredge.
3. Pour about a ½ inch of oil in a skillet (I used a cast-iron pan). Heat over medium-high heat.
4. To fry tomatoes: Dip one slice of tomato in dredge, make sure both sides are covered. Then, dip in egg/milk mixture, so both sides are covered. Then, dip back in dredge, again making sure both sides are covered. Place in oil.
5. You can test the heat of the oil by putting a slice of the dredged tomato on. The oil should sizzle around it. If it doesn’t, just leave that one tomato on until the oil starts going. If the oil does sizzle, then get dredging, until you’ve filled (but not crowded) the pan.
6. Flip the tomatoes once they’re golden brown on one side, about 2 minutes. Cook the other side until golden brown (about 2 minutes more), adding more oil as needed. Remove the fried tomatoes with a spatula to a platter lined with paper towel. Sprinkle with salt or basil, if desired.
7. Serve immediately, and repeat!

There’s a lot of pressure, whether single or not single, to do something special on Valentine’s Day. Because, it’s Valentine’s Day, and either you’re in love or you’re not, and either way, you deserve something special to celebrate that! Also, this Valentine’s Day, the class I teach was canceled (unrelated to Cupid, but a nice coincidence), and so instead of spending Valentine’s night with 20 undergrads writing poetry (though how perfect would that have been?), I was free to create an elaborate feast. Plus, there was a nice bottle of wine involved.

Except, I was tired. I didn’t feel like elaboration or feasting, not particularly. I did feel like drinking the nice bottle of wine, but not putting in much more effort than that. And that’s how we ended up with this recipe, which was oh-so-simple and oh-so-delicious, and yet still somehow felt special, both because it brought a breath of vaguely summery feeling into the icy depths of February (via canned tomatoes) and also because we made the pasta from scratch, which turns out to be not that hard, and also doesn’t actually require a pasta machine (though I don’t mind thick pasta). And, also, how often do you bake ricotta?

The baked ricotta, simply put, was a marvel. We used a big, 1 lb. hunk of ricotta salata cut in half, slathered with olive oil, oregano, chili flakes, salt and pepper (almost certainly more than the recipe states). Then I put it in the preheated oven, set the timer for 20 minutes, didn’t hear the timer, let the cheese stay in probably 10 minutes longer, panicked a little, and retrieved some beautifully browned and crispy (not burned) ricotta. I think the cheese was the better for it — the browned corners were the tastiest morsels — so if you can stay on top of it, you might want to try pushng the cheese a little past 20 minutes, until it’s really browned on the edges.

The ricotta adds so much zing to this pasta, and served in big chunks it’s absolutely gorgeous. The leftover chunk can be used in just about anything, but I think my favorite use so far has been on a toasted everything bagel, with pesto hoarded in the freezer from the summer. Divine.

Pasta with Sweet Tomato Sauce and Baked Ricotta

Serves 4

Adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Jamie’s Dinners

Ingredients

-       1 lb. piece of ricotta salata (you only need about ½ lb. for the pasta, but the leftover baked ricotta is supremely delicious – you’ll be happy to have it around)

-       1 tsp. dried oregano (or more)

-       ½ a dried chili, crumbled, or ½ – 1 tsp. crushed red pepper

-       1 onion, peeled and chopped

-       2 cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped

-       1 – 28 oz. can plum tomatoes

-       3 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar

-       ½ tsp. sugar

-       1 lb. pappardelle or other wide ribbon pasta (dried, fresh, or homemade — we used roughly this recipe, but cut ours into long, wide strips)

-       1-2 handfuls freshly grated Parmesan cheese

-       olive oil

-       1 Tbsp. or so unsalted butter

-       salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

-       optional: a handful of fresh basil, torn up

1. Make the ricotta: Preheat the oven to 400ºF. Rub the ricotta on all sides with olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, and chili. Place on a baking tray (you may want to line it with foil, though mine didn’t stick or otherwise burn), and bake for 20 minutes, until golden.

2. Meanwhile, make sauce: In a pan, heat the butter and olive oil. Add onion and garlic; cook until softened (about 4 minutes). Add tomatoes, simmer for about 15 minutes, then break them up as best you can with a spoon. Add balsamic vinegar and sugar, and stir.

3. Meanwhile meanwhile, make the pasta (the amount of time will depend on whether you have fresh or dried): Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add pasta and cook until al dente; drain (you may want to reserve a little of the cooking water; I didn’t need to use any, though). Add the pasta back to the pot, and toss with the tomato sauce and reserved water (if necessary). Adjust seasoning to taste.

4. To serve: Add most of the basil (if you’re using it) and the Parmesan and give it a stir. Serve with more basil and Parmesan, and with big hunks of the baked ricotta.

I have not bought lunch a single day this semester. I am on campus for lunch four, or sometimes five, days a week. This is a difficult proposition, but I have been adamant. For one, I don’t really have time. But, more importantly, for two: I don’t really have the inclination. I think the situation may be worse in a location that is crawling with thousands of undergrads (pizza, anyone? and…more pizza? and subs), but maybe you experience this problem, too. Lunch is often time-consuming (lines); not really what you want anyway (pizza); not that healthy (most anything take-out); and very often quite expensive, at least for what you’re getting.

Hence, my fervency about bringing my own lunch. This isn’t always a perfect system; sometimes it ends with me bringing a sad little jar of soup and coming home ravenous at the end of the day. Those aren’t the good brown-bagging days.

This chickpea salad, though. This made for some good brown-bagging days.

I got the idea for this after eating at a new Indian/Nepalase restaurant, where they served us a warm chickpea salad as a free starter. All of the food was delicious, but as my dining companion noted, there are only so many ways to improve on palak paneer. This chickpea dish, on the other hand, was something entirely new, and was one of the best — or at least most memorable — things we ate.

It wasn’t chana masala, but what was it? I may never know, or at least not until I return and inquire. (Any ideas would be appreciated!) Instead, I thought I’d make my own version. For some reason, I thought I’d be able to replicate the dish. This chickpea salad, in fact, comes nowhere close, but is super delicious in its own right — where the restaurant version was complex and thickly spiced, this version has a freshness and a purity to its flavors that is equally enticing, and maybe actually better for a workaday lunch, when it’s not in your best interest to be lulled into a food/spice coma.

I had all these ingredients in my fridge/pantry; that’s why this came together exactly as it did. You could substitute lemon (or maybe even vinegar) for lime; other chilies for the jalapeños; cilantro for parsley; other onion-family members for red onion; other vegetables (red bell pepper?) for tomatoes. Really, this should require minimal thought and minimal effort, for maximum satisfaction.

The result is kind of like a chickpea tabbouleh, but with the flavors pumped up a bit. I had to restrain myself from eating the whole thing immediately, in order to have any for my week’s lunch.

This would go well with any number of grains, but particularly well with quinoa. I threw some salad greens in my tupperware for good measure. And, in no time, lunch becomes something to look forward to again.

Chickpea Salad with Lime and Jalapeño

Makes 2 lunch-sized servings, with grains and lettuce

Ingredients

- 1 15-oz can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

- juice of 1 lime

- 1/2 red onion, chopped fine

- 1-2 jalapeños, seeded (carefully!) and minced

- 1 good handful parsley, chopped

- 1-2 tomatoes, chopped

- extra-virgin olive oil

- salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1. Combine all ingredients in medium-sized bowl. (Combine everything except olive oil first, then glug in as much olive oil as you want.) Add salt and pepper to taste. Will keep, in a tupperware, in the fridge, for at least a few days.

What is the best way to deal with a 95-degree day, with an ungodly amount of humidity to boot? Probably not by going to hot yoga in the middle of the day, to practice down-dog in an 100-degree room. Yet, that is what I did yesterday. And then I came home, took a cold shower, and sat in front of a fan and ate a bowl of this soup. After that, I stayed pleasantly cool for hours. Was it that a nice chilled soup pleasantly lowered my core temperature? Or that nothing could possibly seem hot after an hour of warrior poses in an excruciating sauna?

This soup is a lifesaver in a heat wave. Absolutely no heat required! And — in this unblended version — not even the heat of an electronic appliance. Just some chopping, and peeling, and measuring of spices and pouring of juice. Nothing too arduous, and the final result shows off summer produce at its best. Plus, it will last for at least a week in the fridge (trust me, it’s happening). As far as I’m concerned, as long as something is tasty, I don’t mind eating it over and over (and over) again. So why not make up a walloping batch of this and be able to stay out of the kitchen for days?

Where did the cantaloupe come from? Well, I was eating half a cantaloupe for breakfast (another heat-avoidance strategy) immediately before commencing gazpacho production. Bite of cantaloupe, look at gazpacho recipe, bite of cantaloupe, look at gazpacho recipe. An idea was born.

The cantaloupe makes this soup feel all the more refreshing; bright and lively. You can add a little more freshly chopped cantaloupe mid-week, also, to perk the whole thing up after it’s been in the fridge for a while.

There are a lot of ingredients here, but basically no steps (combine, chill). (For a slightly heartier, pureed version, take a gander at Liz’s salmorejo post from the start of summer.)

Gazpacho with Cantaloupe

Serves at least 8

Adapted from the New Moosewood Cookbook

Ingredients

-       6 cups tomato juice (just the kind you buy in a jug at the grocery store)

-       4 tomatoes, finely chopped

-       1 onion, finely chopped

-       2-3 cloves garlic, minced

-       1 green bell pepper, finely chopped

-       1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and finely chopped

-       ½ cantaloupe, finely chopped*

-       2 scallions, finely chopped

-       1 lemon, juiced

-       ½ lime, juiced

-       2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar

-       1 tsp. chopped tarragon

-       1 tsp. chopped basil

-       ½ tsp. cumin

-       ¼ c. parsley, chopped

-       2 Tbsp. olive oil

-       salt, black pepper, and cayenne to taste

* The easiest way to “chop” a cantaloupe is to cut it into quarters, score it, flip it inside out, and then cut it. I found that I needed to make two horizontal cuts in order to make the cubes as small as I wanted them (rather than just slicing all the cantaloupe flesh straight off the rind).

1. Combine all ingredients. (Optional: puree all or some.)
2. Chill until very cold.

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.

I love cookbooks. I collect cookbooks. Sometimes, I read cookbooks in bed before going to sleep. I have been gratified in recent months to realize that a number of people also treat cookbooks as literature, but then I had this realization: I was only using them as literature.

Somehow, despite having already accrued 34 cookbooks here in Minneapolis (in addition to the maybe more than 100 I have at home in Berkeley), I never cook out of cookbooks anymore. Blame the internets. Somehow, somewhere along the way, cooking out of a book became a rarity for me, and one that seemed like a greater undertaking than pulling a recipe from the world wide webs. This was, of course, totally irrational: recipes from cookbooks don’t, by definition, take any more effort than recipes from the internet, plus most of the recipes I get from the internets came from books originally.

So, I decided to reacquaint myself with my cookbook shelves, beginning with this wonderful, Wonderful stew from my beloved, Beloved Jamie Oliver.

I love Jamie Oliver, and whether it is cool to love him or not, I don’t know, but I credit him with the beginnings of my interest in cooking. Well, him and my mom (who truly deserves the credit), but Jamie is the one who taught me that you don’t have to measure most things, that you don’t have to pull parsley or cilantro leaves off the stem, and that you can juice a lemon directly into a dish, using your fingers to catch the seeds.

His books are beautiful and lush, brimming with beautiful dishes that frequently avoid exact recipes, providing guidelines instead. And, most recently, he is doing really, really good work with school lunches and the obesity epidemic in America. And he has a show about all that coming out on abc! He is my hero.

He is my hero because of all the extra-good stuff he does, but he wouldn’t be able to do all that extra-good stuff if he hadn’t laid a foundation of really really delicious food. A Jamie Oliver recipe has never done me wrong, and this stew was no exception. Hearty, smoky, and easy-peasy, to last for days and only get better as leftovers (smokier, more complex). This is like a really upgraded chili, all the more classed up with chopped hardboiled egg as a garnish, for a little contrast. Go make it, tonight, from my cookbook to your computer, and perfect for this inbetween time of year that’s not quite winter and not quite spring.

Chorizo and Chickpea Stew

Adapted from Jamie’s Dinners

Serves 8

Ingredients

-       6 oz. chorizo sausage, chopped

-       1 onion, peeled and chopped

-       1 clove of garlic (or more!), peeled and finely chopped

-       2 sticks of celery, chopped

-       2 bunches (maybe 1.5 lb) spinach, washed and chopped

-       1 – 28 oz. can tomatoes, with juice (either pre-diced, or you can chop them; also, JO calls for fresh tomatoes here, but it’s winter in Minnesota, and so that’s just not happening)

-       1 – 28 oz. can chickpeas, drained

-       5 cups chicken stock

-       2 oz. prosciutto (or Spanish ham)

-       hard boiled eggs

-       olive oil

-       salt and freshly ground pepper

1. Heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil in a large pot. Add the chorizo. Cook for a few minutes until fat is rendered, then add onion, garlic, and celery. Reduce heat and cover, cooking for about 15 minutes (without coloring the onions, though no harm will really befall you if they get a little brown).
2. Add spinach, tomatoes, chickpeas, and chicken stock. (Add more chicken stock or water if you think you need more liquid.) Bring to a boil, then lower heat and let simmer for about 40 minutes.
3. You don’t have to (but I did): Remove about a third of the soup and puree it in the food processor. This will make things more stew-y, rather than soup-y. Return puree to pot and give everything a stir. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
4. Remove from heat. Stir in prosciutto and 2-3 tablespoons olive oil.
5. Serve with grated (or finely-chopped) hardboiled egg on top.

You know what else isn’t a trend? Bacon. Bacon is just good. It’s like meatballs in that way. Still, I can’t help but applaud the genius of the good people over at Bon Appetit, who managed to get both meatballs AND bacon on the cover of their January issue. The recipe: Spaghetti and Meatballs All’Amatriciana, which, BA notes, is classically made with guanciale (salt-cured pig’s jowl). Here, they’ve substituted slightly more user-friendly bacon, with the traditional Italian dish supplying a nice front for what I think was pretty clearly a moment of gluttonous genius that had to be gussied up a bit with a foreign language.

Often, in the many, many bacon-heavy recipes that I’ve either cooked or eaten at restaurants, the bacon seems almost an after-thought, like a nod to a trend and a ploy for orders. Not here. Here, the basic plays an intrinsic role, yet without ever taking on the diva-esque position so typical of it. Its smoky flavor permeates both the sauce and the meatballs (it’s included in both), becoming that certain je ne sais quoi that pushes a dish over the edge into new territories of flavor. Especially, I will note, after sitting for a day, an inadvertent discovery on my part when I was eating leftovers and found them all the more smoky and amazing than the day before.

You may want to take note of this observation, not just because you want your pasta permeated with as much bacon-y goodness as possible, but because these little porkers take a little longer than you might imagine to put together. It might just be that I was really enjoying the (three) All Songs Considered I was listening to, but I don’t think so; this is not a dish that comes together in haste. It took about two hours start to finish, frying the meatballs in three separate batches. And you know what, it was worth the work. It’s a pain to get all the ingredients for the meatballs, but their flavor ended up incredibly complex; I was particularly pleasantly surprised by the cheesey aroma they gave off while frying — the caramelization of the Parmesan.

So take your time with these, maybe make them a day ahead, and make them for a special someone, or someones, as I had the pleasure of doing. Serve with garlicy garlicy buttery garlic bread and salad, and a couple bottles of shockingly decent two buck chuck (or is it three bucks now? it may still be two here in the upper midwest…).

Spaghetti and Meatballs, with Bacon

Adapted from Bon Appétit

Serves 8-10

Ingredients

Meatballs

• 6 ounces uncured applewood-smoked bacon (about 6 slices), diced
• 2 large garlic cloves, peeled
• 2 pounds ground beef (15% fat)
• 2/3 cup chopped drained roasted red peppers from jar
• 2/3 cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)
• 2 large eggs
• 1/2 cup coarsely grated onion
• 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 tablespoon minced fresh marjoram
• 2 teaspoons dried crushed red pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Sauce

• 2 28-ounce cans diced tomatoes in juice (preferably San Marzano)
• 2 large garlic cloves, peeled
• 6 ounces uncured applewood-smoked bacon (about 6 slices), cut crosswise into thin strips
• 1 tablespoon (or more) extra-virgin olive oil
• 3 cups finely chopped onions
• 1 1/2 teaspoons dried crushed red pepper
• 2 cups dry white wine
• 1 tablespoon minced fresh marjoram

Pasta

• 1 1/2 pounds spaghetti
• 2 to 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 1/2 tablespoons minced fresh marjoram
• Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1. For the meatballs

a. Place bacon in processor. Using on/off turns, grind to coarse paste. Transfer to large bowl. Using garlic press, squeeze in garlic. Gently mix in beef and all remaining ingredients. Let stand 15 minutes.

b. Line large rimmed baking sheet with plastic wrap. Using moistened hands and scant 2 tablespoonfuls for each, roll meat mixture into 1 1/2-inch meatballs. Arrange meatballs on sheet. (Can be made one day ahead. Cover with plastic wrap and chill.)

2. For the Sauce

a. Puree tomatoes with juice and garlic in batches in blender until smooth.

b. Cook bacon in large pot over medium heat until crisp; transfer bacon to plate.

c. Add 1 tablespoon oil to drippings in pot and heat over medium heat. Add half of meatballs (or as many as you can fit). Cook until brown on all sides, turning carefully with small metal spatula, about 9 minutes. Transfer meatballs to baking sheet lined with paper towel. Add more oil to pot if needed and repeat with remaining meatballs.

d. Increase heat to medium-high. Add onions and crushed red pepper to pot. Sauté until golden, about 6 minutes. Add wine; boil until reduced by half, stirring up browned bits, about 8 minutes. Add tomato puree and marjoram. Boil until sauce thickens slightly, stirring occasionally, about 8 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

e. Mix bacon into sauce. Add meatballs; bring to simmer. Reduce heat to low; cover and simmer until meatballs are heated through and tender, 10 to 15 minutes. Season sauce with salt and pepper. (BA doesn’t say this, but in my opinion you could also stop here a day ahead, and just make the pasta fresh for your guests.)

3. For the Pasta

a. Meanwhile, cook spaghetti in pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally.

b. Drain; transfer to large bowl. Toss with 2 tablespoons oil and marjoram, adding more oil to moisten, if desired. Divide spaghetti among bowls. Top with meatballs and sauce. Sprinkle with cheese and serve, passing additional cheese separately.

This semester, I am on campus for lunch two days a week. I know — a measly two days is nothing. You, dear reader, are probably at work for lunch five whole days a week. Well, all the better for you. Because I’ve had to start thinking about how to pack my lunch.

What did I eat for lunch when I was a working woman? Good question. A lot of cafeteria food (no, no woe is me, we’re talking Conde cafeteria here). A lot of Midtown Lunch recs. Leftovers, sometimes, if I was being good. One of the big differences between eating lunch at work and eating lunch at school is that when I was eating lunch at work it was almost a daily requirement to at least go to the caf, to stretch my legs and take a break and probably run into some friends (the Conde caf is nothing if not a better-dressed high school cafeteria with long lines for sushi). At school, I don’t need the break, I need something fast, and cheap, and healthy. And maybe, wherever you lunch, you do, too?

Enter tabbouleh. Certainly not just for lunch, but a perfect lunch candidate. You can make it ahead (it will keep for some time — a week? more?); you can tote it around with you sans refrigeration (at least in Minnesota winter); it’s filling; and it isn’t terrible for you, not by a long shot.

A Middle Eastern “salad,” true tabbouleh is actually supposed to be mostly parsley. That’s probably delicious, too, but not quite as lunch-worthy; more of an appetizer, or part of a dip platter, which is how tabbouleh is traditionally served. But since I wanted to break tradition a little and incorporate more bulgur (more heartiness), I went all the way and used this recipe from the Food Network’s own doyenne of Hamptons-style luxury, Ina Garten.

Couldn’t be better — a mix of crunchy vegetables and chewy bulgur, a bright burst of lemon juice, a pick me up from the parsley. Serve with romaine lettuce leaves for extra crunch, maybe some broiled chicken breast (that you’ve doused with ground cumin pre-broiling) for extra protein, and homemade hummus (recipe coming next week) for a little added richness.

Tabbouleh

Serves 6, I’d say

Adapted from Ina Garten

Ingredients

• 1 cup bulgur (cracked wheat)
• 1 1/2 cups boiling water
• 1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (2 lemons)
• 1/4 cup good olive oil
• 2 teaspoons salt, or more, to taste
• 1 cup minced scallions, white and green parts (1 bunch)
• 1 cup chopped fresh mint leaves (1 bunch)
• 1 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley (1 bunch)
• 1 hothouse cucumber, unpeeled, seeded, and medium-diced
• 2 cups cherry tomatoes, cut in half
• freshly ground black pepper

1. Place the bulgur in a large bowl, pour in the boiling water, and add the lemon juice, olive oil, and 1 teaspoon salt. Stir, then allow to stand at room temperature for about 1 hour.

2. Add the scallions, mint, parsley, cucumber, tomatoes, 1 teaspoon salt, and the pepper; mix well. Add more salt and/or pepper to taste, and serve or cover and refrigerate. The flavor will improve if the tabbouleh sits for a few hours.

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.

We all know that when you think Food Junta you think hard-hitting investigative journalism, but tonight, on a very special episode of Booze In Your Food we bring you a tale of science, intrigue, vodka, cream, and tomatoes that MAY SHOCK YOU. Stay tuned!

The subject of tonight’s investigation is Penne alla Vodka. Alias: penne alla Russia. Alias: pasta with vodka sauce. Anything with three names deserves a long hard look at its sordid past, but even after several minutes of Googling, this recipe’s origins remain shrouded in mystery. Was it a marketing ploy by an Italian vodka distributor? The lucky mistake of some sloshed line-cook? An insidious Russian plot to infiltrate Hollywood’s trendiest restaurants and get revenge for Rocky IV? We may never know the truth.

What we do know is that penne alla vodka began appearing on American menus in the mid 1980’s and quickly became the coolest thing since the popped collar on Don Johnson’s blazer, eventually attaining obnoxious ubiquity (see again: popped collar on Don Johnson’s blazer), before leveling off as just another sauce in the Prego lineup. Now it’s here, and it’s good, and ultimately the question of how pasta with vodka came to be is much less interesting than the question of why? Because seriously, what’s the point of adding a clear, mostly flavorless alcohol to an otherwise perfectly fine pasta sauce? It was a question that had haunted me for years (a boring couple of years), and so help me I was going to get to the bottom of it. Even if it mildly inconvenienced me…

It all started simply enough, with a taste test to see if vodka’s story checked out. Did it actually make a better tasting sauce? I made the following recipe, which comes from Lidia Bastianich via Epicurious:

Penne alla Vodka for some reason…

One 35 oz. can plum tomatoes plus liquid – ideally  Italian San Marzano tomatoes

¼ cup olive oil

10 cloves garlic

Crushed red pepper

¼ cup vodka

½ cup heavy cream

2 Tbsp butter or olive oil

2 to 3 Tbsp chopped parsley

½ cup grated Parmesan

1 lb. penne

-          Boil water in a pot – you know, for pasta

-          Blend tomatoes and their juice – but whoa, easy there Ferran Adria, you don’t want to blend them too much and whip air into the tomatoes, turning them pink. Just a couple of pulses. I avoid this problem entirely by being too cheap to buy a blender. Dicing the tomatoes works just fine.

-          Heat oil in skillet, add garlic, brown lightly – about 3 minutes over medium heat, or until the garlic is imbiondito, or “blonded”, or lightly browned.

-          Add tomatoes and bring to boil

-          Add red pepper – boil a couple minutes

-          Add vodka – reduce heat and simmer until pasta is almost ready, then…

-          Remove garlic, stir in cream and butter/oil

-          Add to pasta – pour over hot pasta, add Parmesan, toss.

A few friends were over for dinner so I gave each person a bowl of penne alla vodka and a plate of penne al placebo (alias: penne alla Utah), which followed the same recipe but without the hard stuff. Both sauces looked the same and only one person ever guessed which was which. Kudos, Hem. Kudos. Three out of four testers were fooled into thinking that the booze-free penne al placebo was actually the vodka sauce because they found it more bitter than the genuinely alcoholic version. The facts kept staring me in the face: there was something about the vodka sauce that people seemed to prefer, and I still didn’t know what it was.

This New York Times article which ran last winter offered one possible answer: apparently alcohol is a versatile solvent which breaks down both water- and oil-based compounds. I’m sorry, let me pause here to push my glasses up my nose. Ahem. The reasoning goes that any alcohol works as a solvent, and vodka just happens to be a strong but relatively benign, colorless, flavorless choice, which dissolves and draws out some unspecified compound from the tomatoes, thereby improving the flavor. Perhaps it breaks down sugars, and perhaps that’s why my friends found the sauce without vodka to be more bitter. However I found very little to support the idea; apparently alcohol is a pretty weak solvent. Clearly the investigation needed to go deeper but I was already in it up to the press pass on my hat-band. I decided to call in the Feds.

Every couple of years the U.S. Department of Agriculture takes a break from stamping grades on beef to publish a crowd-pleasing page-turner called the Table of Nutrient Retention Factors. This document is an amazingly thorough spreadsheet in which the USDA attempts to enumerate every possible preparation of every food on the face of the earth (from “EGGS, POACHED” (p.7) to “SEAFOOD: FROG, TURTLE, BROILED, W/ DRIPPINGS” (p.16)), and then tell you how much of the original nutrients are retained after cooking. It is sobering data; you’ll think twice about breading and deep frying a turtle when you realize that OH MY GOD YOU’RE BREADING AN DEEP FRYING A TURTLE. But you’ll think three times about it when you learn that your turtle fritter will be losing 5% of its riboflavin on its way from pond to plate. Page 16, look it up.

I came across the department’s handiwork while working on a hunch: we all know alcohol burns off in cooking, right? Sure. Common knowledge. In every cookbook. But what if it doesn’t? What if I’m still tasting alcohol in the sauce? Well it turned out that the most shocking information in the USDA table was actually the least sobering: alcohol is damn near impossible to get rid of.

Remember that doofus in your high school French class? The one who was “sooooo drunkrightnow” after two pieces of rum cake? Theoretically possible! But probably still full of shit. And to the commenter who asked if she could get drunk by eating bread pudding with whiskey sauce? Yes! If the butter and sugar don’t kill you first. You can even be making Bananas Foster, light the rum on fire, watch it burn off before your very eyes, and still be left with 75% of the original alcohol. I guess the retention rates could be a legitimate concern for some people (pregnant flambe’ fans will be pissed), but this was a break in the case and I couldn’t have been happier. If the alcohol hadn’t burned off then it must have been contributing to the flavor. In fact in this recipe the vodka only simmers in the sauce for a few minutes, ten at most, so we can assume that at least half the alcohol gets left behind. That’s roughly a shot, plenty to lend a sharp, biting taste to the sauce.

Ultimately what makes penne alla vodka such a delicious and successful recipe is the collision of different, and in the case of the alcohol, unusual, flavors. IN THIS CORNER, in the white trunks, you have the rich, sweet combination of heavy cream and butter. AND IN THE OPPOSITE CORNER, in the red trunks, are the tomatoes, red pepper and vodka in all their acidic, spicy, astringent glories. The dairy smoothness remorselessly checks the heat of the booze/pepper/San Marzano axis, while the bite and spice of tomato sauce mixture slices through the cloying cream in a culinary clash of the titans that has Howard Cosell clawing at his coffin walls in excitement, and which ends up tasting quite good. Balance is usually the last thing that you would expect liquor to help you with, but in the case of penne alla vodka that is exactly what it’s providing. Hell, this recipe is such a model of perfect equilibrium that it takes almost exactly as long to make the sauce as it does to boil the pasta. The vodka sauce mystery may not be completely solved but hey, nobody knows who killed the chauffeur in The Big Sleep, and that’s still a great movie. With pasta this good I think I can live with a few loose ends.