In a comment on my Easter post, Anne asked for the recipe for white beans. It’s hard to know what to say about these beans, there is so much behind how I came to this particular batch on this particular day, I really don’t know where to begin. I guess I could tell you how I’ve been bean obsessed for a long time and in the last year or so had the epiphany of adding baking soda to the cooking water to make the beans soft, but I’ve already told you to do that. I could also explain where I buy my beans, the now famous Rancho Gordo, but I already wrote about them as well. I could also talk about my new secret weapon, veal stock, but you’ve also heard a lot about that and it appears that Anne is vegetarian, so she’s probably not going to get too excited about the baby cow juice. Writing about food necessitates a story and I could also tell you about my friend Heather, who is one of those people who turns out fabulous food by shopping for what looks good and then seems to effortlessly throw together a delicious meal without using any recipes. She lived in Greece for a year working in her uncle’s olive groves and often cooks Greek fare. It’s from her that I picked up the combination of white beans, tomato, feta and parsley, but I can’t really tell you her story, it’s not mine to tell. So, minus all of that, I’m left with the tomato paste.

I cooked the beans on Saturday with the plan to let them cool and do their special bean thing. If you let them rest overnight, they get softer and creamier. I was planning on making the sauce and finishing them in the morning. I took out a Dutch oven, put in some olive oil, a chopped onion, let that sweat, added a few cloves of minced garlic, some chopped oregano, parsley and mint, some red pepper flakes, because just about everything needs red pepper flakes, right? Then I let that cook for a while and opened a can of tomato paste with plans to let it caramelize and make those tasty brown spots on the bottom of the pot before adding the rest of the ingredients. I opened the can of Contadina, dug into it with a small spatula, turned the tomato paste out into the pot and then it hit me. That awful smell, like cafeteria food or Chef Boy R U nasty. I looked at the tomato paste, it had funny green flecks in it. Then I looked at the can and underneath the big letters TOMATO PASTE were smaller letters with Italian herbs. What? Oh no, quick, quick, scoop that stuff back out of the pot, yuck, ick, ewwww, I’m going to ruin it. Into the trash went that godawful tomato paste and the can it came in. Disaster averted. But now what? I needed tomato paste to get that flavor, needed to coax that umami thing out of the tomatoes in order to maximize the deliciousness of my dish of beans. After a few deep breaths, I asked my husband if he would go immediately to the store and get me some plain tomato paste, but he was already in his running clothes, needing to get in some exercise in order to burn off enough calories in advance to justify eating all those shrimp wrapped in bacon and also all the leftover bacon he’d be putting on the grill as well. Have you ever done that with bacon? If not, try it, you won’t be sorry. Just be careful not to burn your fingers.

Left to my own devices with not much time, I also still needed to get the bread from Zingerman’s. There’s a little market across the street from that famed deli, so I figured I could pop in there on my way to get the bread and everything was going to be ok. Except, duh, the market was closed Easter morning. I dejectedly walked over to Zingerman’s, picked up my bread and asked the person at the counter if they had any tomato paste, fully expecting a negative answer. That’s when the magic happened. The Zing-magic. A disarmingly charming fresh faced young woman in a white apron appeared as if out of nowhere behind my left shoulder and beckoned me to follow her gaze. She let out an “Oooooo,” and then said, “You are going to love this.” Her hand moved to a shelf of Italian goods, you know, with the fancy pasta, the expensive Arborio rice, the gazillion dollar an ounce truffles and she pulled out a jar and looked at it with an expression usually reserved for babies and puppies, then she cooed, “This is from Sicily; it takes 10 pounds of tomatoes for just one jar of this stuff. A-mazing.” And she really did talk like that, with the semicolon and the hyphen and a breathy voice like she had a crush on the tomato paste. Feeling relieved, I took the tomato paste from her hands and she disappeared into the crowd. I took my goods to the cash register, paid and left. That’s when it hit me, I had fallen for it again. The Zing. How is it that they can get away with making a person feel as though it’s a perfectly normal thing to pay $9.99 for a jar of tomato paste? That’s right people, almost ten dollars for tomato paste, that 79 cent supermarket staple. This had better be good, I told myself.

I got the jar home, opened it up and took a whiff. Oh my. Then I took out a taste on the tip of a spoon and put it to my mouth. Oh geez, was that ever good. It’s as though they were able to get the best of the tomato flavor, almost a sundried tomato flavor reduced down to its very essence. And the texture, cleaner, less sticky, than regular tomato paste. And while it’s much darker than the usual red stuff, it also has a transparency to it, a not so murky color. And I was a convert. How will I be able to go back to regular old tomato paste? I swear those Zingerman’s people should sell drugs, they’d have us all immediately addicted and happily begging for more. Just think, single source organic coca leaves! I looked the tomato paste up later on their website, it’s even more expensive if you mail order, so be warned, ordering some of this Sicilian strattu might set you down a dangerous path. But maybe you should try it just this one time, you know, to see what it’s like.

I finished the sauce with some veal stock, put in the beans and had my brothers each taste them. More salt, they both said. Okay then, more salt it is. Then they went onto the table topped with crumbled goat’s milk feta and a shower of parsley and freshly ground black pepper.

Anne, you said you’re vegetarian, the beans will be fine without the veal stock and they’ll also be fine if you don’t buy Rancho Gordo beans and if you don’t want to have to mail order 180 grams of tomato paste for $12 plus shipping. You could easily make all sorts of variations of this, dill instead of parsley or shaved parmesan instead of feta or you could add in some Calamata olives. There are any number of things you could do with them, but really, this is a good basic recipe for beans. I hope you make them.

white beans with feta

• 1 lb dried white beans, the biggest ones you can find, I recommend Giant White Limas or Runner Cannelini
• 1/8 t baking soda
• 2 T olive oil
• 1 onion, minced
• 4 cloves garlic, crushed and minced
• 1 t red pepper flakes
• 1 T chopped fresh oregano
• 1 T chopped fresh mint
• 1 T chopped fresh parsley, plus tons more for garnish
• 3/4 cup tomato paste or 1/4 cup Sicilian strattu
• 2 cups veal stock (optional), reduced to 1/2 cup or 1/2 cup of water
• 6 oz. goat’s milk feta
• salt and freshly ground pepper

Place beans and baking soda in a large pot and cover with water, place over high heat until the water just boils, reduce heat to a simmer and cook until beans are just soft, stirring occasionally and adding more water to keep the beans covered if necessary. Let beans cool and chill overnight. Heat olive oil in large pot and add onion, cook 2-3 minutes and then add garlic, red pepper flakes, oregano, mint, parsley and about 1 teaspoon of salt and 1/2 teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper. Cook until onions are translucent and soft. Add tomato paste and cook until it is slightly stuck and browned on the bottom of the pot. Add veal stock or water to deglaze the pan. Add beans and stir to coat them with sauce. Add more water if desired and remove from heat. Once the beans have cooled slightly, taste and add more salt and pepper if needed. Place them in a serving dish, crumble feta and sprinkle parsley on top. Add more black pepper and serve either warm or at room temperature.

In the 1980s in the U.S. we had food fads like pesto, sun dried tomatoes and balsamic vinegar that have stayed with us. Others, like that salad with the almonds and mandarin oranges have not.

When I first went to France in 1985, it seemed that just about everyone served a salade de chèvre chaud as a first course. The version I liked best was with breaded and fried goat cheese rounds served on a bed of frisée lettuce with a vinaigrette of raspberry vinegar and walnut oil. In other version, different lettuce were used, different ingredients in the vinaigrette or the goat cheese was placed on top of a baguette round and put under the broiler. They are all very good, but I found a whole head of frisée at the grocery store last week and set out to re-create this old favorite.

salade de chèvre chaud

• 8 oz log of fresh goat cheese (with no rind and no added herbs or spices)
• 1/2 cup bread crumbs
• 1 egg
• 2 T vegetable oil
• 1 head of frisée lettuce, cleaned and separated
• 1 T Dijon mustard
• 2 T raspberry vinegar
• 4-6 T walnut oil
• salt and pepper

Place bread crumbs in a dish and add a pinch of salt and a little pepper. Beat egg into another dish. Cut goat cheese log into 8 rounds. Heat oil in non-stick skillet over medium high heat. Dip each goat cheese round first into egg then into bread crumbs and place in skillet. Fry until golden brown on one side, flip and fry until golden brown on the other side. Meanwhile, place vinegar and mustard in a salad bowl and whisk until combined. Add oil little by little until emulsified. Add salt and pepper to taste. Put lettuce in bowl and toss to coat with the vinaigrette. Divide lettuce among 8 salad plates and place one goat cheese round on each plate.

If you are still looking for a side dish for Thanksgiving, here’s something that has just received the very highest possible compliment. Last week I made this roasted cauliflower for dinner; my parents were there. We were putting the finishing touches on the meal; the cauliflower was on its baking sheet waiting to be put into a serving dish. I was washing something up and turned around to find my dad popping a piece of cauliflower into his mouth.

The thing is, my dad doesn’t eat vegetables of his own volition. He can barely be convinced to eat a small spoonful of anything green and when faced with the question "soup or salad?" he always chooses soup. He’s the quintessential meat and potatoes man. Not only that, my dad is just about the least sneaky person I know. He just doesn’t steal, especially not food. I’ve never even seen him grab a cookie from the cooling rack or swipe a finger through the frosting.

So, I said to my dad, "I saw you." He just looked at me with his full mouth closed and gave me his innocent look. "I’m going to tell," I said, "I saw you stealing vegetables." "Oh no, he said, you’re going to destroy my M.O." I added, "I’m also going to write about it on my website, because if this looked good enough for you to swipe some, I need to tell people about it." I reached out and took a piece myself, a nicely browned specimen, all soft and caramelized and warm from the oven. "Mmmm…" I started, but then I had to say to my dad, "Hey, if you were going to taste this, at least you could have told me it needs salt." He looked up and said, "It needs a little salt." "Thanks dad." I added some salt, a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkling of parsley.

This is low in fat, high in pleasure and really easy to make. I served it with some pan fried sausages, sautéed spinach and potatoes. It would go just as well on a holiday table next to the turkey, ham or roast.

roasted cauliflower

• 1 head cauliflower, cut into florets (leave as much of the stem intact as you can)
• 2 T olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 T oregano
• 1/4 t red pepper flakes
• 1 t salt (plus more as needed)
• 1/4 t freshly ground black pepper
• 2 T parsley, chopped
• juice of 1/2 lemon

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Place first seven ingredients (cauliflower through pepper) onto baking sheet and toss to coat. Roast in preheated oven for 20-25 minutes, turning once or twice until cauliflower is soft and browned in several spots. Remove from oven, place in serving dish and add lemon juice, more salt if desired and sprinkle with parsley. Serve warm or at room temperature.

I spied them in the produce aisle; tiny globes, smaller than ping pong balls. I put one package in my cart. I looked back at the rest. I put another package in my cart. A third one called and I picked that up too. Three packages of baby artichokes. Not just little artichokes, but miniatures. Adorable. Why is it that small versions of things are so cute?

I peeled off all of the outer leaves, cut off the tops and sliced around the bottom. I steamed them with a half of a lemon and then marinated them all day long in a combination of balsamic vinegar, soy sauce, olive oil and the juice of the other half of a lemon. I chopped up more cloves of garlic than usual for this batch and I was happy I did. Just before serving them, I dumped the artichokes and their marinade into a smoking hot cast iron frying pan to brown them and reduce the sauce. Next time I won’t use quite so much oil. These are highly addictive.

marinated sautéed baby artichoke hearts

• 1-2 lbs baby artichokes (the smallest you can find)
• 1 lemon, halved
• 2 T olive oil
• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
• 5 cloves garlic, smashed and roughly chopped
• salt
• garnish: chopped parsley, chervil or chives

Trim artichokes by removing touch outer leaves, cutting off the top and peeling any tough parts away from bottom. Place artichokes in a large pot of water with half of the lemon and a pinch of salt. Bring water to a boil, lower heat to simmer and cook, covered, for 6-8 minutes, until artichokes are tender when pierced with a knife. Drain. Put artichokes in a large Ziploc bag with the juice of the other half of the lemon, olive oil, soy sauce, vinegar and garlic. Let marinate at least 4 hours or overnight in the refrigerator. Just before serving, heat frying pan to high. Pour everything from the plastic bag into the pan and sauté until artichokes are browned and sauce is reduced. If artichokes are bigger than bite sized, they can be sliced in half. Serve hot or at room temperature with a sprinkle of chopped herbs. These can be served as a first course or piled in a bowl and served with toothpicks.

I was strolling through the farmers’ market last week trying to decide on the perfect thing to cook for my sister’s 30th birthday dinner when the peaches beckoned. They took me a little by surprise; they hadn’t been there the previous week. Summer is always a revelation like that isn’t it? I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do with them, but I bought a half a peck.

By the time I got them home, I remembered the mango peach chutney recipe from Moosewood Lowfat Favorites. It’s one of those things that I’ve made many times over the last ten years, but I always somehow forget about it until the peaches are ripe again. It’s very easy to put together and it goes with a lot of things. I’ve served it as a side for an Indian feast, next to lentils with spinach, with simply roasted fish and also with grilled chicken breast. My brother likes to serve it with fried plantains. It was the perfect thing to celebrate my sister. She’s peachy sweet, spicy and more than just a little hot.

We had this the other night with a peach and tomato glazed pork roast and a salad of Boston lettuce with a peach vinaigrette. I’ll put those recipes up in the next couple of days.

mango peach chutney
adapted from Moosewood Lowfat Favorites

• 1 large mango, peeled and diced
• 3 cups fresh or frozen peaches, peeled and diced
• 1/2 cup unsweetened apple juice
• 1/2 cup red wine or cider vinegar
• 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
• 1 medium onion, minced
• 2 t fresh ginger root, grated
• 1 jalape?o pepper, seeded and minced
• 1/2 t ground cardamom
• 1/2 t ground cinnamon
• 1/2 t salt
• 1/2 t freshly ground black pepper
• 4-5 cloves garlic, peeled, smashed and minced

Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally until thick and translucent. Chill before serving. Will keep for several weeks in the refrigerator in a tightly sealed container.

Variations: add some diced apple or pineapple in place of the mango or some of the peach. Some people can’t imagine chutney without raisins, so you could throw in 1/4 cup of golden raisins if you wish. You can easily up the heat by adding another jalape?o or some cayenne pepper. When I make this with Indian food, I also sometimes put in 1 teaspoon of turmeric to give it the glow.

I’ve had one of those half lazy half productive days where I got a lot done but never actually felt like I was working. I was up at 6, had breakfast and walked five miles before 7:30. I answered e-mails, wrote letters of recommendation and read a little before lunch. I got my Fourth of July cooking projects started. I called my brother. After lunch, a little writing and a little nap were followed by a trip to the gym. More reading after the gym and then I got down to the business of making some Cuban-style cerdo con mojo, marinated pork shoulder. Mojo, pronounced “moe hoe” and not “moe joe,” is a marinade of citrus and spices that you probably already have hanging around. I picked up a free-range organic pork shoulder from the butcher down the street yesterday and marinated it overnight. The trick to this is to cook it for a long time at a really low temperate, but you can get a lot of other things done while you cook this. With the five pounds of pulled pork goodness, we’re also going to have some black beans and other Latin fare to celebrate Independence Day.

These are not just any old beans. I received my rancho gordo shipment and have been staring at the lovely bags of beans for days now. I finally got around to cooking some and I thought the midnight black beans would go well with this pork. I soaked the beans overnight. I made a little sofrito. My secret ingredient is baking soda. Just a quarter of a teaspoon changes the alkalinity of the water and makes the beans creamy and soft, but they still hold their shape. This is true even for any kind of beans and I especially recommend it for beans that aren’t such high quality as these. It truly takes the guessing game out of whether or not your beans will be any good.

I played some Muddy Waters and watched the two pots. The air filled with the smell of the Caribbean; garlic, citrus and cumin; pork and beans. If it had been any later in the day, I would have made a pitcher of mojitos, but instead I made some limeade (lime juice, sugar, water) and kicked back with a book.

Tonight, we had a little pork on corn tortillas with queso blanco for dinner with a side of the beans and a quick salsa with just a squeeze of lime and a showering of cilantro. That’s because we couldn’t help ourselves. I actually made this today so that it will go into the refrigerator overnight. You know all those recipes that say this or that will taste better the next day? These are both like that. Tomorrow when we eat the pork, we’ll have it with warm corn tortillas, salsa verde and queso blanco. We’ll also have some baked chips, salsa and guacamole. We’ll buy some more limes and some mint and make mojitos. For dessert I’m trying to decide between making my standard mango and lime sorbet or David’s salted butter Caramel ice cream. Or maybe dulce de leche. What do you think?

Cerdo con mojo: Cuban-style pork shoulder

• 5-6 lbs. pork shoulder
• 1 onion, grated
• 4-5 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 T cumin, toasted and finely ground
• 1 guajillo chili, toasted (in a skillet) and finely ground (you can use a coffee grinder or blender)
• 1 T paprika
• 1 T Mexican oregano
• 1/4 cup chopped cilantro (or parsley for the people with the “ew it tastes like soap” gene)
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 1 t salt
• 1/2 t freshly ground black pepper

Place all ingredients except for pork in a bowl or large re-sealable plastic bag and mix. Add the pork and rub it all over to coat. Cover bowl or seal bag and place in refrigerator overnight. The next day, pull the pork out of the marinade wiping off as much of the marinade as possible. Dry the pork with paper towels. Heat a little olive oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat and put in the pork. Brown it about 5 minutes on each side making sure it doesn’t burn. Pour the marinade over the pork, turn heat down to low and cook for about 6 hours or until the pork falls apart. If the marinade gets too dry or the pork starts to stick, add a little water. Remove any bones and visible fat. Pull the pork into shreds using two forks. Let cool and refrigerate overnight. Reheat the next day over low heat adding a little water if necessary.

Serve with some or all of the following:

• Warmed corn tortillas or tortillas chips
• Guacamole or sliced avocado
• Rice
• Black beans (see below)
• Salsa fresca or grilled tomato salsa
• Monterey Jack cheese or queso blanco
• Chopped cilantro
• Quartered limes for squeezing over everything
• Hot sauce

Black beans

• 1 lb. black beans, soaked in water overnight and drained
• 2 oz. salt pork, finely chopped
• 2 T olive oil
• 1 onion, minced
• 1 or 2 jalape?o peppers, seeded and minced
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/4 cup chopped cilantro (or parsley)
• 1 T Mexican oregano
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 t salt
• 1/2 t freshly ground black pepper
• 1/4 t baking soda
• Water (about 8 cups)

Put a Dutch oven over medium high heat and brown pork for about 4 minutes. Remove pork and place on paper towels. Add olive oil and next eight ingredients (onion through pepper). Add beans and baking soda to pot and cover with water 1″ above top of beans. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to simmer and cover. Cook until beans are soft but not mushy (this can take 1-3 hours). Stir occasionally and add more water if necessary. Taste and add more salt at the end if desired. Let cool and refrigerate overnight. Reheat the next day over low heat adding a little water if necessary. Serve with pork (see above) or eat on top of rice with Monterey Jack cheese, a squeeze of lime and a little chopped cilantro or parsley.

First, a confession. I blackmailed a student last semester. She was going to Paris for spring break; she came to see me for suggestions of places to go and things to see. I helped her out with some ideas; I was so excited for her to be able to put her French in action. Then the other shoe dropped. She told me she wouldn’t be returning until the Wednesday after spring break was over (on the third day after school was to begin again). She was going to miss a quiz. She told me she was prepared to do anything to make up for it and besides, she suggested, wasn’t being in Paris better than being in class? Of course I agreed that being in Paris was better than being in class; duh. I also told her that I’d excuse the absence and let her make up the quiz if she’d bring me a jar of Amora mustard, which she did (and some cornichons).

The word mustard in English comes from the Latin, mustum ardens, through French, mo?t ardent, which means burning must. This is because this condiment was made from the freshly pressed grape juice that would be made into wine, called must, and spicy crushed mustard seed. Mustard has been a part of Mediterranean culture for more than 3000 years and found in China up to 3000 years before Christ, but the spicy, smooth version from Burgundy is the most famous. Burgundy is known as the c?te d’or, the gold coast, because of its vineyards, but there are plenty of gorgeous fields of golden mustard to contribute to this name as well.

The mustard in France is part of what makes the food so good and the same brands here in the U.S. just don’t have the same taste. David Lebovitz is right in including Zip-Loc bags as one of his Five Favorite Travel Items. How else would I drag back all those jars of mustard and pickles (and tubes of G?nie laundry soap)? Amora is the brand of mustard I like best, but Maille is also good, and their cornichons are better. But in fact, these two companies merged quite some time ago and were purchased by the British conglomerate, Unilever, which also owns Colman’s mustard. Amora used to be available in the U.S., but it appears that the Maille brand seems more upscale to Americans, so they’ve discontinued selling Amora and are concentrating on marketing Maille. This doesn’t really make a difference, because neither one of the preparations in the U.S. tastes the same as in France. I checked the labels once and saw that they use something different here as a preservative, but I think that most Americans just don’t want their mustard that spicy.

The only problem with bringing mustard back from France is that it doesn’t have a very long shelf life. The mustard doesn’t go bad or anything, but the spiciness goes away after a couple of months. I’ve been reading recipes and trying to figure out how to make a spicy smooth mustard like Amora myself and not really having much success. Then, a couple of days ago, I went through some of the things in the refrigerator of the apartment we’re renting for the summer and found a jar of Dijon mustard. I’ve bought probably 20 different brands of Dijon mustard in the U.S. and have never had any luck finding that elusive taste, so I wasn’t very hopeful. Surprise, Trader Joe’s Dijon mustard is the one I’ve been looking for, hoping for, searching for (I like it so much I don’t care about the dangling prepositions). It’s made in France and has no preservatives. Thank you Jeremy for buying this and for leaving it in the door of your refrigerator. I’ll probably finish it before you come back from your archeological dig in Bolivia, but I’ll buy you another jar, I promise.

In France, mustard is on the table in the caf?s and bistros much like ketchup is in the United States. This condiment has even inspired several expressions and proverbs in French. La moutarde lui monte au nez (The mustard is going to his nose) is said of a person who is impatient. S’amuser ? la moutarde (to have fun with mustard) means to spend one’s time frivolously. De la moutarde apr?s d?ner has its equivalent in English: after meat, mustard, meaning something that arrives too late, when one doesn’t need it anymore. Une salade sans moutarde est une jolie femme sans esprit (A salad without mustard is like a pretty woman without wit) is one of my favorites, but the one I find the most true is, la moutarde est comme les affaires: on en brasse beaucoup, mais on en fait peu de bonnes (mustard is like business transactions, a lot of them are concocted, but few are good). So, now that I’ve finally found my good mustard, widely available in the U.S., I’ll be using it for quite a few French preparations.

It’s a key ingredient in vinaigrette for flavor and to help the oil and vinegar emulsify. It’s also used in other sauces, like mayonnaise and mustard cream sauce used for chicken or pork chops. You can use it as part of a paste for a prime rib or roast pork; it helps the salt, pepper, herbs and garlic stick to a large piece of meat and contributes to the formation of a brown flavorful crust. You can use it on chicken along with some rosemary and garlic before it goes on the grill. You can also do as the French and use it as a condiment for cold roasts or cold chicken or with a steak. This is a perplexing habit to most Americans, but if you have had mustard like this, the kind that goes up your nose like wasabi or horseradish, you’ll understand its appeal. If your mustard doesn’t have that kick, go to Trader Joe’s and buy some or get someone to send you some. It will make all the difference. The recipe here is for a simple first course dish that is a part of everyday French cooking, especially in the summer and it’s really easy to fit in more servings of vegetables if you start your meal with something like this. Like for the green bean salad I recently made, I prefer a little more mustard than you would normally find in a vinaigrette. If you don’t like carrots, you could drizzle it on steamed chilled asparagus or leeks, sliced tomatoes or cucumbers or a number of other vegetables, but I’d use the smaller amount of mustard. I don’t think my student minded me blackmailing her so much; she handed over the jar of Amora with a smile. She’s going back to Paris this summer and she’s decided to major in French. Could it be the mustard?

Shredded carrot salad with vinaigrette

• 4-5 medium carrots, peeled and shredded with a grater or using a food processor
• 1-2 T Trader Joe’s Dijon mustard, cold from the refrigerator
• 2 T red wine vinegar
• 1 shallot, minced
• 4 T vegetable oil, olive oil or nut oil such as walnut or hazelnut
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Garnish: black olives or parsley

In a small bowl, whisk together mustard, vinegar and shallot, add a pinch of salt and a little pepper. Whisk in oil little by little until the vinaigrette has emulsified. Place carrots in serving bowl, add vinaigrette and toss to coat. Garnish with black olives or a bit of chopped parsley.

If you’ve been here in the last couple of weeks, you know that my girlfriend Christine gave me the best walnut oil I’ve ever tasted and we had a couple of delicious meals with it before our bread box got jealous and smashed the bottle onto the floor. Once I was over the initial distress, I had several thoughts. First, such a generous thing for her to have shared this oil with me; drat that I spoiled it. Next, pleasure is necessarily ephemeral, happy making because it does not last. Then, all of those carpe diem poems I read with my students this semester, those guys were on to something. When Christine called me and offered to have us over for dinner, my first thought was oh no, we don’t have time for this. The semester is wrapping up, we are finishing selling our house and packing. I talked it over with Erik, we really weren’t sure we had the time. I think it took me longer to answer the invitation than it should have. Finally, we said to each other, what the heck.

When we arrived at their house, I was instantly so happy we had decided to go. We had a simple relaxed dinner with Christine and her husband Rob and their two smart and charming children, Adam and Roxanne. We had a simple ap?ritif of sparkling ros? with nuts, cheese and shiny black and green olives. Then we had a salad of sliced tomatoes and another of sliced cucumber made with vinegar and hazelnut oil from the same oil producer as the walnut oil (every bit as good and if you’re a hazelnut lover, you’d swoon) and a couple of kinds of quiche. We washed all of this down with a nice little red wine. To end it, there was a light, cool fruit salad with whipped cream on the side and some prosecco. All of this al fresco on their terrace overlooking the Catskills. At the end of the night, Christine took out a plastic bottle and poured in some of the lovely walnut oil for us to take home. I couldn’t believe such generosity. Thanks Christine!

When I started writing about our experiences with food and cooking, I wanted to share recipes, techniques, tools and sources. I wasn’t at all expecting anything in return. Other than the walnut oil, I’ve won several contests and received lovely packages from Mimi (I especially loved the cherry and blueberry butters), Luisa (I was the recipient of the goodie bag of freebies that she had picked up at the International Association of Culinary Professionals conference), Ariela (she sent me this book) and the people at Serious Eats (they sent me this book). I’ve also made some wonderful, sometimes surprising connections. Clotilde’s dad wrote me after I left a long comment at Chocolate & Zucchini in which I translated a short story Clotilde had written in French. That’s right, Clotilde’s dad wrote to thank me. By the way, Clotilde is on her book tour right now and her book, Chocolate & Zucchini: Daily Adventures in a Parisian Kitchen, is now available. Last week, Chip, over at cookthink noticed my walnut oil woes and added his own pie in the sky story here. Just yesterday, my sister wrote and asked if I’d put a recipe up for her, because she’s tried a few versions and wants my take on it. I’ll get to it soon, I promise babe. I’ve always believed in the power of food to connect people, but never imagined these connections could be formed in this venue.

In between packing, cleaning and final errands, we’re trying to enjoy the last few meals we’ll have in this house and use up the last of the food in our refrigerator and freezer. For lunch today, we had another salad using the walnut oil. For this, it’s best if you use cold mustard, it helps to get the vinaigrette well emulsified. You’ll see that I recommend using less vinegar than is normal for a vinaigrette, that’s because I want the flavor of the oil to stand out. It’s also better if you use the small French green beans, haricots verts, but I find them to be far too expensive and not always easy to find. Instead of shelling out big money, I buy the petite green beans in the freezer section at the grocery store. Once you defrost them, they are ready to use. If you want to eat this as a light lunch or dinner, you can serve it with cold roast chicken or add goat cheese or foie gras. We had it with homemade bread and a little more walnut oil poured onto a little plate and flecked with flor de sal, the Portuguese version of fleur de sel.

I’ll be packing up our kitchen today. I’ll not be doing much cooking after that and even less writing about it. Next week, we’ll be in a new place, just for the summer, cooking and eating with friends and family. In the Fall, we’ll move into more permanent digs; a good kitchen space will be high on the list of must haves.
This is a much needed change for us and I look forward to it, but I’m going to miss the friends we’re leaving here. I’ll try to keep you all updated. Au revoir.

Green bean salad with walnut oil: salade de haricots verts ? l’huile de noix

• 1 T French mustard
• 1 T red wine vinegar or sherry vinegar
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 3-4 T walnut oil
• 1 lb. petite green beans, defrosted or fresh haricots verts, stemmed, blanched and plunged in ice water
• 1 small shallot, minced

In a large bowl, whisk together mustard and vinegar. Add a pinch of salt and a little pepper. Slowly pour in oil little by little and whisk vigorously until thickened and lighter in color. Mix in shallot. Add green beans to the bowl and toss to coat them in vinaigrette. Serve on a platter or individual plates as a first course with some crusty bread.

Wine suggestion: a light red wine, slightly chilled; a Saumur or Chinon would be perfect.

There is at least one person reading this site on a regular basis who I actually know in the flesh. Christine, a former colleague, is a fellow food and word obsessed bilingual smartass. Une ?me soeur, a sister soul, as they say in French. She recently came for dinner and instead of the obligatory bottle of wine, she brought us a size huge bottle of walnut oil, a liter of the stuff. This is not just any walnut oil; it’s the oil she brings back from visits home in France. Huile de noix from L’huilerie L?pine in Availles en Ch?tellerault, in the Poitou-Charentes region. She must lug back bottles and bottles of the stuff, otherwise I can’t imagine her so generously parting with even an ounce of it.

This oil is a little cloudy and darker than most walnut oils I’ve seen. I’m at a loss to describe how superior it is. It’s richer. It’s bigger. It’s utterly addictive. Olive oil, watch out, I know we’ve been seeing each other for a long time, but I think this fling with the walnut oil might turn into something more serious. We’ve been using it for vinaigrettes, drizzling it on green beans and asparagus and simply pouring it onto a plate, sprinkling on some salt and sopping it up with bread. It’s crazy good. So happy making, I almost forgot to tell you all about it. Until I made a very good thing and then something happened and I just can’t keep it in.

Yesterday, I made some brown rice and some lentils and let them cool. I made a simple vinaigrette with this oil, sherry vinegar and French mustard. The lentils and rice mixed with the vinaigrette needed some tang, some crunch and some color. I really like the combination of walnuts and blue cheese, so I doubled the walnut factor by toasting some walnuts and I crumbled up some blue cheese. For color and a little flavor, I used some scallions. I think shallot would have been good, too, but without the green the salad would have looked boring. A little chopped apple might also be good.

I was feeling all happy and far too pleased with myself about making such splendor to show you all and wanting to tell you how great this is and how you can take it to picnics this summer and everyone will love you for feeding them gorgeous, luscious, healthy food. Then came the plans for all the other things I could make with this king of oils: walnut bread, pasta with walnut oil and ricotta, walnut oil ice cream, walnut cookies. Then, the lid from my bread box wasn’t properly latched. It fell open and knocked that bottle of walnut oil from the kitchen counter and smashed it to smithereens. A deluge of glass flecked walnut oil surged across the tiles of the kitchen floor. Oh. My. God. Christine, I’m sorry. Sorry that you brought me the perfect thing, hauled all the way back from France and shared so generously and gone in an instant. I have no more words for this awfulness. This is what went through my head during clean-up:

Jean de la Fontaine, Fables, livre VII, 10 [see here for a version in English]

Lentils and brown rice with walnut oil vinaigrette

• 2 cups lentils, cooked in 4 cups salted water for 30 minutes or until tender; drained and chilled
• 1 cup brown rice, cooked in 2 1/4 cups salted water for 45 minutes or until done; chilled
• 1 T strong French mustard
• 2 T sherry vinegar
• 1/3 cup walnut oil
• 4 scallions, sliced
• 4 oz blue cheese, crumbled
• 1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and chopped
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Mix lentils and brown rice in a large salad bowl using a fork to fluff the rice and break up any clumps. In a small bowl, whisk together vinegar and mustard and add a pinch of salt and some pepper. Slowly add the oil in a stream, whisking to emulsify. Pour the vinaigrette over the lentil mixture and stir. Add in half of the scallions, blue cheese and walnuts and stir gently to combine. Taste and add more salt and pepper if desired. Top with the remaining scallions, blue cheese and walnuts in a line down the center of the salad. Flavor may be improved when salted at the last minute with fresh tears.

I like potatoes more than I like most people. Like people, they come in different shapes, sizes and colors. You can do lots of things to potatoes. I like them boiled, steamed, baked, roasted, fried. I don’t care if it’s home fries or hashed browns at breakfast or if it’s curly fries, steak fries or plain old French fries with my burger; I’m an equal opportunity potato eater. In the next year or so, I will probably give you several of my potato recipes, but today I’m going to share with you my absolute favorite way to eat potatoes in the winter (this summer, I’ll show you what we do with them on the grill).

I don’t remember my mom ever making just plain scalloped potatoes when I was a kid; she would only make them when she had leftover ham and she’d make ham and scalloped potatoes. I prefer to eat my ham on the side and fill my whole casserole dish up with as many potatoes as I can fit in there. I’ve been making this dish for quite a long time and I don’t usually use a recipe, but I thought that I’d look in my new facsimile edition of the first edition of the Joy of Cooking, that my new sister-in-law got me for Christmas (I’m so glad to have another book lover in the family!) to see how earlier generations of Americans might have made this. The recipe reminds me of what you used to get at the Bill Knapp’s. It tells you to cube boiled potatoes and combine them with a cream sauce, paprika or cayenne and some grated cheese with bread crumbs on the top. I might try this recipe some other time, but I will not call it scalloped potatoes, I’ll call it creamed potatoes with cheese.

Of course, because I’m a French professor, I call this recipe gratin dauphinois. This is a good name for it. A gratin is any dish that is baked in the oven until the top is browned. The word gratin comes from the word “gratter” to scrape or scratch. So a good gratin will be nice and brown on top and the best parts have to be literally scraped off the sides of dish. It really is those bits that are the best, right? The other word in the name indicates that it is from a historical province of France, Dauphin?, at one time also known as the Viennois and now a part of the Rh?nes-Alpes region. Like with the Prince of Wales in England, the oldest son of the king was generally given the title of Dauphin de Viennois, because he was heir to this region and then the word for heir to the throne eventually got shortened to “dauphin.” This word also means dolphin. The dolphin was used on the coat of arms of the rulers of this area because the dolphin was considered the king of fishes, just like the lion is often represented as the king of the animal kingdom and also used on royal coats of arms. The Dauphin? is known for its cheeses, its wines and especially its hearty mountain food, including this dish. Purists claim that a true gratin dauphinois does not have cheese in it, but I couldn’t imagine not putting just a little sprinkling of good quality grated cheese on the top just before putting it in the oven.

I like to use a smaller dish and pile the potatoes high. This recipe serves 6 to 8 people and can be doubled and baked in a larger dish, if you want to serve more people or if you want leftovers. This is one of those things that is really good heated up a little the next day for lunch. This is good with sliced ham, steaks, sausages, roast chicken and numerous other things. Some people get creative and put other things in this dish, like chopped roasted red peppers, chopped chicken, bits of ham or bacon, but like I said, I like my potato gratin to be just that, anything else gets served on the side. Resist all temptation to gobble this up while it’s still piping hot. It really will taste better and thicken up after it cools off a bit.

Gratin dauphinois: scalloped potatoes

• 5-6 medium sized potatoes (I really like Yukon gold, but russet are a good choice, too)
• 2 cups milk
• 2 T butter, softened
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 t salt
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• Optional: 1 cup good quality grated cheese, emmental, gruy?re or my favorite, comt?

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter an 8 inch by 8 inch square Pyrex dish or something of similar size. Peel and slice the potatoes as thin as possible, use a mandoline (also spelled mandolin) if you have one, if not, you can use the slicer attachment of a food processor or a very sharp knife. Place the potatoes in the buttered dish. Heat the milk with the garlic, bay leaf, salt and pepper until the milk just comes to a boil and pour this mixture over the potatoes (fish out the bay leaf). Let the milk settle in just a bit and press everything down a bit with your hands. Sprinkle the (optional) cheese evenly on top and bake for about 1 hour, until everything is bubbling and the top is browned. Let rest 10-15 minutes before cutting into squares and serving.