Dinner: A Love Story
Page 6
Andy-owned Dinners
As a general rule, the dinners that belong to Andy are healthy, highly flavorful, and allow for the use of heat. Also, between January 1997 and October 1999, I don’t think he ever passed up a recipe that called for cilantro.
Arroz con Pollo
Every time this recipe appears in my diary, it’s on a weekend (usually Sunday dinner). That’s probably because it’s not throw-it-together quick and involves a significant amount of hands-on time. Andy’s hands, that is. Total time: 1 hour
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1½ teaspoons ground cumin
1½ teaspoons chili powder
Salt and pepper
4 to 5 boneless chicken thighs or breasts, rinsed and patted dry
Vegetable oil
½ onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1 small jalapeño pepper, minced and seeded if you don’t want the extra heat
1½ cups uncooked rice
1 15-ounce can tomato puree
1 cup chicken broth
Handful of frozen peas
Handful of chopped grape tomatoes
Chopped cilantro, for garnish
Preheat the oven to 375°F.
Combine the oregano, cumin, chili powder, and salt and pepper and rub the mixture all over the chicken, pressing it so it sticks on all sides of the chicken. (Use all of the spice mixture.) In a large pot (a Dutch oven works), cook the chicken in a few glugs of vegetable oil over medium-high heat until browned on both sides. Transfer the chicken to a bowl.
To the pot, add the onion, garlic, and jalapeño pepper and cook about 1 minute over medium-low heat, making sure garlic doesn’t burn. Add the rice to the pot, turn up the heat to medium-high, and cook about 2 minutes.
Add the tomato puree, broth, peas, grape tomatoes, and chicken. Bring to a simmer, cover, and transfer to the oven. Bake 30 minutes, or until the chicken has been cooked through and the rice is tender. Garnish with cilantro.
Black Bean Burritos
These didn’t actually start making regular appearances until about a decade later. But even ten years later, with kids, a dog, and a mortgage, the law remains unchanged. He made it the first night as well as the next two dozen times it appeared on our family table. It’s always our first choice for Meatless Mondays and based on a recipe that originally appeared in the Gourmet Today cookbook. Total time: 35 minutes
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
½ small red onion, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons vegetable oil, plus more for frying
1 garlic clove, minced
3 scallions (white and light green parts), chopped
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ Jalapeño pepper, minced
Salt and pepper to taste
2 15-ounce cans black beans, rinsed and drained
Kernels from 1 ear fresh corn or ½ cup frozen
6 8-inch whole wheat tortillas
2 large handfuls grated cheddar cheese
Handful finely chopped cilantro
Toppings: sour cream, salsa, lime wedges
Quick-pickle your onions: Bring vinegar, sugar, 2 cups of water, and salt to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the onion and simmer, uncovered, about 3 minutes. Drain.
Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat until hot but not smoking. Add the garlic, scallions, cumin, jalapeño pepper, and salt and pepper and cook, stirring, about 1 minute. Stir in the beans, mashing them with a fork. Add another 1/3 cup water and cook, stirring until most of the liquid is absorbed, about 5 minutes. Toss in corn and remove from the heat.
Spread the bean filling across the middle of each tortilla, leaving some space at both ends.
Sprinkle each tortilla with cheese, your now quick-pickled onions, and a little cilantro. Fold the ends of the tortillas over the filling as shown at right, enclosing filling tightly. Heat more oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add 2 burritos at a time, seam side down, and fry until lightly browned on the underside, about 2 minutes. Turn over and fry until golden, another 2 minutes. Repeat with remaining burritos and serve with desired toppings.
HOW TO FOLD A BURRITO
1. Spread filling in center
2. Fold over top flap
3. Fold bottom flap
4. Fold in side flaps
Spaghetti with Clams (and Extras)
This is best eaten outside with an ocean view. If you can’t swing that, then at least try to secure the freshest clams possible. We often forego the pasta and just have the clams, soaking up the briny broth with crusty bread. Total time: 25 minutes
1 pound spaghetti
1 small shallot, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
Few shakes of red pepper flakes
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
24 to 36 fresh clams (we usually use littlenecks), rinsed
½ cup dry white wine
Handful of chopped fresh herbs, such as basil, parsley, and chives
Handful of chopped fresh tomatoes (any kind)
Handful of corn off the cob (optional)
Make the spaghetti according to the package directions. In a separate large stockpot or Dutch oven set over medium heat, sauté the shallot, garlic, pepper flakes, and black pepper in the oil. (It’s not necessary to salt—the clams are naturally briny.)
Add the clams, wine, and herbs. When the clams steam open (10 to 15 minutes), add the tomatoes and corn (if using) and cook another 2 to 3 minutes. Discard any clams that haven’t opened and then toss the whole thing with pasta, making sure to scoop lots of the broth into the bowl. Serve with crusty bread for sopping.
Jenny-owned Dinners
Though I never realized it until right now as I looked at the meals I cooked again and again during this era, a Jenny recipe can be described as “traditional with a twist.” Most of the dinners I made veered toward simple, basic comfort foods.
Fish Cakes
You will often read that fish cakes are a good solution for leftover fish. My answer to that is: If you make fish cakes on the first night instead of the second, there is no chance of having any leftovers in the first place. This recipe makes about 10 small cakes. Total time: 40 minutes
For the Dipping Sauce
½ cup sour cream
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
½ teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro
For the Fish
3 firm flaky whitefish fillets, such as cod or orange roughy (about 1¼ pounds total)
½ teaspoon chili powder
½ teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and pepper
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1 egg, lightly whisked
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 large baking potato, baked and flaked (bake it in the microwave for 10 minutes so it’s quick)
Handful of cilantro, finely chopped
2 cups bread crumbs (panko or regular)
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
Lime wedges, for serving
A decade after first discovering fish cakes, I’m still the only cook in the house who has ever made them for the kids.
Preheat the oven to 450°F.
To make the dipping sauce: In a small bowl, whisk together the sour cream, lime juice, sugar, and cilantro and set aside.
To make the fish cakes: Sprinkle fish fillets with the chili powder, oregano, and salt and pepper and roast 5 to 7 minutes, until cooked through. Let cool, then using a fork, flake into pieces.
In a mixing bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, egg, and lime juice. Add the fish to the bowl along with the potato, cilantro, and more salt. Toss and, if you have time, refrigerate for 30 minutes. (This will make it easier to pack the mixture into patties, but it’s not a do-or-die move.)
Pack the fish mixture into patties and coat each in bread crumbs that have been spread on a dinner plate. (I
f you haven’t had time to chill the mixture, the patties will be delicate, so do this carefully. Also: I find wetting your hands prevents sticking.)
Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Fry the patties in batches of four and cook until the crusts are golden brown, about 5 minutes per side. Serve with the lime wedges and dipping sauce.
Roast Vegetables with Polenta
This is an excellent meal to keep in mind when you are staring at an end-of-the-week crisper containing the last scraps of vegetables. And the polenta alone (separate from the vegetables) made many appearances alongside hunks of braised meat. Total time: 1 hour 30 minutes (includes hands-off chill time)
1 cup polenta (not quick cooking)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for greasing pie plate
¼ cup Parmesan cheese, grated, plus more for serving
1 10-ounce package white mushrooms (wiped with a paper towel and destemmed; see note)
1 small onion, chopped
1 small container grape tomatoes (about 2 cups)
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
Leaves from 2 sprigs fresh thyme
Bring 4 cups salted water to a boil. Add the polenta gradually, whisking constantly. Reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring constantly, until the polenta is thick and pulls away from sides, 12 to 14 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the butter. Spoon the polenta into a buttered pie dish or square shallow baking dish. Sprinkle with the Parmesan and refrigerate for 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Meanwhile, in a large bowl, toss together the mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes with the oil, salt and pepper, and thyme leaves. Add to a baking dish lined with foil and roast, along with the polenta (in its own dish, after the polenta has been chilled), for 25 to 30 minutes, until the tomatoes are shrively. Remove the vegetables and broil the polenta for the last few minutes so it gets golden on top. Spoon polenta into pasta bowls and top with the vegetables and more grated Parmesan.
Note: To clean mushrooms, wipe their tops with a damp paper towel. You don’t want to submerge them in water or else they’ll be waterlogged and won’t cook correctly.
Salmon Salad
I love this recipe because you can boil everything in shifts in the same pot of water. There are endless variations to it, too. In the summer we grill the salmon and replace the Yukon Golds with blue potatoes. And if the corn is summer sweet, it will be love at first bite. Total time: 35 minutes
For the Vinaigrette
¼ cup red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons mustard
1 teaspoon sugar
Squeeze of fresh lemon or lime
½ cup olive oil
For the Salmon
1 salmon fillet (about 1 pound)
Salt and pepper
4 potatoes (Yukon Gold, red, or blue if you can find them), peeled and quartered
2 ears corn
Handful of thin green beans, trimmed and chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 cup cherry or grape tomatoes, halved
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and chopped
5 to 6 scallions (white and light green parts), chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
To make the vinaigrette: In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, sugar, lemon juice, and oil and set aside.
Make the salmon: Sprinkle the salmon with salt and pepper. Roast in a foil-lined baking dish for 15 minutes. (If you prefer to grill the fish, brush with a mixture of olive oil, salt, pepper, and a dash of honey and cook over medium-hot coals, 4 to 5 minutes on each side.)
Meanwhile, bring a medium pot of water to a boil. Add the potatoes and cook until a knife slices through them with no resistance, about 12 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, remove the potatoes to a large serving bowl. Add the corn to the same pot of water. Boil for 4 minutes. Remove to a cutting board, allow to cool, slice off the kernels, and add to the serving bowl. Add beans to the same pot of water and cook for 3 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon and add to the serving bowl. Add the tomatoes, cucumber, scallions, and cilantro to the bowl. Toss with the vinaigrette and serve.
A first—ballot Hall-of-Famer, for sure: Salmon Salad, which we’ve probably eaten once a month for the last fifteen years. Good all year, but best in the summer.
THE BLAME GAME
(OR, WHY MY WEAKNESS IS ALL YOUR FAULT)
Dear Andy,
You know how grateful I am for all you bring to this marriage. How grateful I am for your mastery of the grill, for your I’m-in-your-corner-no-matter-what reaction to whatever story I bring home from work. For your unfailingly impeccable musical taste. (I fully recognize that if it weren’t for you, I would likely still be on a steady listening diet of Billy Joel and Edie Brickell.) But. But. But. But. Have you taken a look at our bar lately? Gin and vermouth and three kinds of bourbon and the Costco-size bottle of Grey Goose, and twenty-one-year-old rum . . . and . . . and . . . I hardly recognize myself! You know how much I believe in equality in this marriage, but I feel it’s necessary to place the blame for this disturbing sight along with my now nonnegotiable 6:00 p.m. cocktail squarely on you and your long line of alcohol enthusiasts. As you know, I come from a long line of Westchester Jews, from a house where there was always an Entenmann’s cake in the snack drawer and a lone, unopened bottle of crème de menthe in the liquor cabinet. And yet, since we’ve met, since I’ve been working on various demanding jobs and assignments, I now find myself looking at the clock every two minutes from 5:30 leading up to 6:00, or as your father would say, leading up to that blessed moment when “the sun goes over the yardarm.” I used to be such a nice Jewish girl and now I find myself keeping a mental tally of our wine supply as though it’s as basic a staple as milk or peanut butter. I find myself getting the Bombay Sapphire out at 5:56, the highball glass out at 5:57, the ice cubes stacked up at 5:58, the lime sliced at 5:59, and then waiting, waiting, waiting that interminable sixty seconds until I can mix in my fizzy tonic and start to sip. So anyway, thanks a lot. And thank your Syrah-drinking Mom, your vodka-tonic drinking Dad, and your Old Fashioned-drinking Grandma (may she rest in peace) for me, too.
Love,
Dear Jenny,
You’re scaring me. Looking at the clock every two minutes? As basic as milk? You can blame me for leading you to water, but come on: You can’t blame me for your thirst. Anyway, thank you for the kind words, and while my mastery of the grill is highly debatable, I’ll return the compliments a million-fold: Were it not for you, I would, in addition to being a much less fulfilled and happy person, probably still be eating penne with Ragú Robusto every night in front of the Yankees game.
I would also probably not be addicted to dessert.
When I was growing up, the son of an Italian mom, dessert was something you had on special occasions. On somebody’s birthday, we’d have a Duncan Hines cake. In the summer, when the peaches were running wild, we’d have a cobbler on Saturday night. During the holidays, we’d make a huge batch of Christmas cookies, and we’d frost them as a family. But most nights, we’d have nothing. Or maybe some fruit. You know, like normal people. And then I met you. For you—and for the Rosenstrach clan at large (no offense, beloved in-laws)—dessert is just a given, a natural extension of dinner. And lunch. And snacks, too. You eat something nonsweet, you follow it with a dessert. I’m not talking here about an Oreo or two or an occasional bowl of ice cream. I’m talking about the heavy artillery. Chocolate truffle cakes. Chocolate mousse cakes. Chocolate candy bars. Dove ice-cream bars. The truly insidious thing about all this stuff, for a non-dessert guy like me, is that it tastes really, really good. God, does it taste good. So, over the years, as you wore me down, I started to indulge a little, then a little more, and next thing I knew, I started needing—not craving but needing—a dessert after every meal. When I finish dinner these days, I head straight for the pantry for my fix, and do you realize what I see when I open it up? Seriously, have you
looked lately? A bar of 72% dark chocolate. And a one-pound bar of dark chocolate with almonds from Trader Joe’s. And a box of chocolate mints. And some chewy oatmeal raisin cookies. And do you know what the worst part is? I bought all of it! The only person I can blame is myself, which is always a terrible place to be. Do you see what you’ve done to me?
Love,
P.S. It’s not crème de menthe in your dad’s “liquor cabinet,” by the way. It’s Tia Maria, which tastes like coffee, and if you carbon-dated that bottle, I think you’d find it’s older than Mexico itself.
June 2000
Crushing on the Cook
I remember what I was wearing the day I met Michelle and Bill for dinner at a restaurant in Chelsea. Actually, I should rephrase that. I remember what I wasn’t wearing the day I met Michelle and Bill on a warm spring night at a restaurant in Chelsea: something attractive. I remember this because of how starkly I contrasted with Michelle, who was the wife of Andy’s co-worker and who was dressed in a tailored crisp-white blouse and a delicate gold chain that came together in a small loop at the nape of her beautiful tan-but-not-too-tan neck. Her hair was short and stylish and her light brown eyes were so pretty and sparkly that I think I might have blushed when we were introduced.
“How come you didn’t tell me how beautiful she is?” I whispered to Andy when she excused herself to the bathroom. He looked at me like I was crazy.