Showing posts with label orders. Show all posts
Showing posts with label orders. Show all posts

Thursday, July 22, 2010

stop whatever you are doing & make this soup

Because you know what? I am on a cold-soup roll, which isn't some kind of bun that's served with vichyssoise, it is the unstoppable momentum achieved by making two delectable cold soups in a row. First there was the Thai Squash Soup, and now I offer you this: Creamy, Garlicky Gazpacho. Don't usually like gazpacho? You'll like this version. Don't usually like garlic? Use less. Don't usually like cream? Seriously? You don't usually like cream? That's fine; there's no actual cream in this creamy gazpacho; the soup gets its velvety richness from my new favorite food, sheep's milk yogurt (all other yogurts are dead to me now). This soup will be your new best friend, which is good, because no one else will want to come near you for a solid 24 hours after you've eaten it. But like I said: If you don't usually like garlic, use one clove instead of two.

A few other notes:

* This soup is so easy to make, you have no excuse not to try it.

* The recipe calls for a garnish of fried Parmesan crisps, which are easy to make when they don't totally fail (see below), but if you don't feel like exerting the extra effort, just grate a little cheese over your bowl before you eat. Or don't—the Parmesan is not essential.

* Go on now, start cooking.

Creamy, Garlicky Gazpacho
Adapted from the New York Times, which in addition to recipes also publishes all the news that's fit to print. Who knew?

6 tablespoons grated pecorino Romano
2 large tomatoes (about 1 pound), cored and roughly chopped


1½ cups (12 ounces) plain sheep’s-milk or regular yogurt [Use the sheep's milk. That's an order.]
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
12 basil leaves, roughly chopped, more for serving
2 large garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped
2 scallions (white and light green parts), roughly chopped
2 ice cubes
1¾ teaspoons kosher salt, more to taste
1½ teaspoons red wine vinegar, more to taste
Pinch cayenne pepper
Ground black pepper to taste.

1. Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Spread 2 tablespoons cheese into a thin layer in skillet; let melt and brown on bottom, about 30 seconds to one minute. Use a spatula to flip cheese; let cook until evenly browned on both sides, about a minute more. Transfer fried cheese to a paper-towel-lined plate. Repeat with remaining cheese, working 2 tablespoons at a time. Break fried cheese into large pieces. [About half the time, my browned-on-one-side layer of cheese squinched up into a tasty but unattractive blob when I tried to scoop it up with the spatula for flipping. The rest of the time things worked out OK.]


2. To make soup, place tomatoes, yogurt, olive oil, basil, garlic, scallions, ice cubes, salt, vinegar, cayenne, and black pepper in a blender. Purée until smooth. Taste and add more salt and vinegar, if necessary. Pour into small bowls and garnish with pieces of fried cheese and chopped basil.


3. Resume whatever you stopped doing earlier.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

just do it

I'm quite tired, tonight, friends, so I'm going to get straight to the point: You need to buy some pimentón de la Vera, or smoked paprika as it's called here in the U.S. of A. While I hate to post recipes with specialty ingredients you might not be able to find at the general store, this one is worth having around, so please just order some already. Trust me when I tell you it will not grow dusty in your pantry. You'll sprinkle pimentón on your scrambled eggs, eat it on fruit, and use it to season everything from soups to legumes.

Without pimentón, the dish described below would be fine—it would even be good—but add the pimentón and you have something delicious, an easy weeknight meal or side dish that is so full of smoky flavor you'll be hard-pressed to end up with leftovers, which are quite wonderful cold.


BREAKING NEWS UPDATE: Thanks to SueShu for pointing out the piece in today's Times on the subject of pimentón.

Smoky Chickpeas and Spinach
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

2 15-ounce cans of chickpeas, drained and rinsed
extra virgin olive oil
1 pound spinach
1 or 2 slices of bread, crusts removed and cut into small cubes [I used one slice from the center of a big, round loaf of whole wheat, but you could also use a thick slice of white country bread, two slices of sandwich bread, or even bread crumbs; you could also probably skip the bread entirely, though I like the heartiness and texture it lends to the dish]
½ cup tomato sauce [I used marinara from an open jar we had in the fridge, but Smitten Kitchen recommends this, and I would avoid any tomato sauce that has a lot of added herbs or other flavors]
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
½ teaspoon ground cumin
Pinch of red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
~½ teaspoon pimentón, separated
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1. Warm a large skillet or saute pan over medium-high heat and then add olive oil to coat the bottom. When the oil is hot, add the spinach (in batches, if necessary) with a pinch of salt and stir well. Remove when the leaves are just tender and drain in a colander.

2. Return the pan to the heat and add 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Fry the bread for about 5 minutes or until golden brown all over, then add another tablespoon of oil and the garlic, cumin, red pepper flakes, and ¼ teaspoon of pimentón. Cook for 1 minute more or until the garlic is nutty brown.

3. Transfer the bread mixture to a food processor or blender, add the vinegar, and whir to a paste. Return the mixture to the pan and add the drained chickpeas and tomato sauce. Stir until the chickpeas have absorbed the flavors and are hot. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and pimentón (I added another ¼ teaspoon here). Add the spinach and cook just until hot.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

reasons for and advantages of reading

I could go on at length about how much I love the stories in this book, but the New York Times is more eloquent than I am.


I'm just going to order you to recommend that you buy it. These stories are like perfect summer afternoons: Even knowing that they'll end, you hope against hope that you'll be allowed to live inside each one forever. And when they're done you feel both sated and wanting, like you've been given a gift and are greedy for more.

Buy it
. That's an order.