A Salad in Dishabille

While vacationing on the beaches of North Carolina, and spending as many hours watching the Food Network as dipping my feet in the ocean, I began to feel a little ... I suppose I could call it a foodcrush taking hold ... a foodcrush on, well ... a certain Jamie Oliver. Yep, that would be The Naked Chef.

This foodcrush isn't based on the winning power of his crooked smile or English accent (and I will never admit otherwise). The Jamie Oliver foodcrush has everything to do with the food I watched him make while wearing my pajamas in the hotel at noon while my husband (wearing a seer-sucker!) read Charles Taylor on the beach.

A food blogger deprived of the Food Network in her own home makes for a food blogger especially vulnerable to food celebrities and food porn. I admired Giada's breasts and tiramisu. I wanted to touch Paula Deen's hair and taste her fried chicken. I marveled at Rachel Ray's stamina. Iron Chef made me strangely nostalgic for Star Trek. As I watched the challenger break into a sweat, I could just hear Leonard "Bones" McCoy saying through clenched teeth, "I'm a doctor, not an Iron Chef."

And then there was Jamie. He made a leek and prosciutto pasta topped with porcini bread crumbs, which I promptly cooked once back in Pittsburgh, but didn't post--despite its tastiness--because it seemed to resemble this recipe too closely, and, considering the recent paucity of posts, I didn't want to seem like a one-trick pony. Then, Jamie grilled some octopus, tossed it with radicchio and chorizo sauteed in garlic. I had never imagined such a thing: simple, rustic, and--so it seemed to me at the time--a bit on the bawdy side. I suppose that's why Mr. Oliver fashions himself The Naked Chef, an infelicitous appellation, perhaps, read through foodcrush-tinted glasses, it seems not only not silly, but (at the risk of reader eye-rolling) earnest.

This recipe strikes me as naked indeed: juicy peaches, fresh mozzarella, greens lightly dressed in lemon and olive oil, mint to keep things cool, and pepper flakes to spice them up. It's a sweet, milky, tart, and piquant salad, just the thing for humid summer nights. I don't recall ever pairing mozzarella with peaches, but let me tell you now, this is a lovely marriage. I couldn't help but think that the pale and mild mozzarella was taking on the sweet peaches' blush. Cringe, if you will, but I can't help it. This salad is sentimental love poetry on a plate.

While writing this post I remembered that I had already posted a peach salad recipe. It was spinach-based, and featured feta instead of mozzarella. This was the first recipe I posted after moving to Pittsburgh. I was weary of unpacking boxes in the heat, but giddy about an imminent kitchen renovation which has yet to happen. This peach salad recipe may be less imbued with the sort of kitchen fantasies materialized in the form of stainless steel appliances and subway tile backsplashes; instead, it musters fantasies of simple summer dinners prepared in a cramped, ugly kitchen, and eaten in good company. These are fantasies stripped of finery. Thanks, Jamie.

Peach and Mozzarella Salad
Adapted from Jamie Oliver's The Naked Chef Takes Off. Serves 2.


If this recipe has a flaw--and I'm not saying it necessarily does--it would be that it can veer from moist toward soggy. It's a good idea to drain your mozzarella thoroughly, pat it dry, and maybe even press it between paper towels before tearing it into chunks. If your peaches are especially juicy, go easy on the lemon and olive oil dressing.

Good mozzarella doesn't come cheap, and this is not the place to skimp on quality because those rugged little hills of mozzarella are really what make the dish. I've been quite happy with the two brands I've found at Whole Foods, but I've sworn off the stuff sold by Trader Joe's. I've tried it quite a few times in the interest of saving a buck, but found it to be consistently flavorless and rubbery. And that makes for a sad mozzarella.

Jamie Oliver's recipe includes a few thin slices of prosciutto. Sounds good to me, but I didn't have any on hand, and I can't say I missed it.

2 ripe peaches, pitted, peeled (only if you like), and cut into wedges
4 oz. fresh mozzarella cheese, torn into chunks
2 cups salad greens
2 tablespoons lemon juice
5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
salt and fresh ground pepper
1/4 teaspoon-1 teaspoon dried pepper flakes (some like it hot, some like it not)
a handful of fresh mint leaves

Whisk together lemon juice, olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Toss salad greens in this dressing and divide between two plates. Arrange peach slices and mozzarella on top of greens. Sprinkle with pepper flakes and mint leaves.

The final throes of spring

The weather may be telling me otherwise, but it's just not summer yet. It's not yet the season for fresh mozzarella and garden tomato salads. Hot corn cobs are not yet coming off the grill. But this swelter seems to call for fresh vegetables, not the sweet and juicy summer variety, but cooler, greener, spring-time vegetables like asparagus, peas, and green beans. Or, at least, that's the revelation that came to me when I sat down to a big bowl of farfalle, chock-full of crisp veggies, and slicked with pesto and a splash of cream.

Though you wouldn't know it from the photo I snapped, this is a green, green dish. For the last few weeks, dinner has been getting underway at around 9:00 in the evening which is not a particularly photogenic hour for foodstuffs of any hue. But it's a real shame when the camera transforms something so vibrant into something so wan. I assure you, this "eat your spring greens" pasta has precisely the opposite transforming power over hungry, feeble-feeling folks.


Eat Your Spring Greens Pasta
Inspired by this Bon Appetit recipe. Serves 4-6.


1 pound asparagus, cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 pound small green beans, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound farfalle
2 tablespoons butter
a 10-ounce package frozen peas, thawed
1 1/2 cups homemade or purchased pesto sauce
3/4 cup cream
1 tablespoon lemon zest
a handful of fresh basil
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
salt and pepper

1. Make an ice bath (a big bowl of ice and water).

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add asparagus and green beans and cook until just crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon (or some such instrument) transfer asparagus and green beans to the ice bath.

3. Cook farfalle until tender but still firm to bite, stirring pasta occasionally.

4. Meanwhile, melt 2 tablespoons butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add asparagus, green beans and peas. Season with plenty of salt and pepper. Stir until heated through and coated with butter, about 1 minute.

5. Drain pasta and return to skillet of vegetables. (If your skillet isn't big enough, use the large pot in which you cooked the pasta instead). Add pesto, cream and lemon zest and stir over low heat until pasta is coated with sauce. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cut or tear up basil leaves and toss them, together with the pine nuts, on top of pasta.

A Salad, Medium Rare

Grilling season is finally upon us here in Pittsburgh. Come six o'clock, the smell of burgers drifts from the backyard of one neighbor or another. I ask Patrick to fire up the old grill. It's then that a certain twinkle appears in his eye and he begins rummaging around in the fridge for a celebratory Dogfish Head IPA. Then I hand him a platter full of romaine lettuce. He looks momentarily confused, and then it dawns on him. Sigh. Another night of grilling leaves. "Medium rare, I guess," he says to no one in particular as he heads out into the burger-perfumed air.

During our vacation to Atlantic Beach, we stayed in a room equipped with a TV (!), a TV which broadcast the Food Channel (!!). While Patrick trudged through a thick social history on the deck, I watched Giada De Larentiis grill up some heads of lettuce, and I don't think anything other than romaine has touched our grill since then.

It may be grilling season, but it is also the season of salads, hearty salads that can pass for more than a side dish. This salad's smoky greens and pungent dressing do the job. The romaine wilts slightly, but becomes crunchy around its charred edges. The sun dried tomatoes and toasted pine nuts lend an Italian twist to the traditional Caesar salad formula: romaine lettuce, garlicky anchovy dressing, Parmesan cheese. Giada's recipe includes fried polenta croutons, an addition that fully Italianizes this salad, but extends its prep-time beyond the five minutes to which I am now accustomed. Generally, I dispense with croutons altogether so that Patrick and I can round out this healthy meal with an entire loaf of (curse you, no-knead) bread.


Grilled Romaine Salad with Sun Dried Tomatoes and Pine Nuts
Serves 4-6. Adapted from this Giada De Laurentiis recipe.


For dressing:
2 garlic cloves
4 anchovy fillets, chopped
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/2 cup olive oil
salt and freshly ground black pepper

For salad:
3 small heads (or 2 large heads) romaine lettuce, halved lengthwise
a bit of olive oil
salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup drained oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, cut into thin strips
1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted
1 1/2 ounces Parmesan, thinly shaved with vegetable peeler

To make the dressing:
Finely chop the garlic and anchovies in a food processor. Blend in the lemon juice and mustard. With the machine running, gradually blend in the oil. Season the dressing, to taste, with salt and pepper.

To make the salad:
Prepare a grill (outdoor or grill pan) for high heat. Lightly brush the cut sides of romaine with a bit of olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill the lettuce until lightly charred, about 2 minutes per side. Cut the lettuce into bite-size pieces.

On a serving platter, mound the grilled chopped lettuce. Scatter over the sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts. Drizzle with enough dressing to evenly coat. Add Parmesan and serve immediately. Pass around extra dressing.

Savoring Panna Cotta

I've been a bad, bad blogger. First it was the dissertation, then the dissertation defense, then graduation, then a much-needed vacation on the North Carolina coast. But now that I've been hooded, and feted, and rested, I'm heading back into the kitchen armed with a reformed blogger's resolve and a few new cookbooks (thanks Aunt Billie and Uncle Rock!). Today's recipe comes from one of those new books, Bite Size, by Francoise Payard. It's a small book packed with stunning photos of small bites of food. For last night's dinner celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary, I translated a recipe for 20 itty-bitty servings of cauliflower panna cotta into a recipe for six servings by pouring it into bigger glasses. Magic. This savory panna cotta is both elegant and simple. Preparing it will dirty a few pots and a food processor, and it will require the slightly fussy step of straining through a sieve, but all of this can be done hours in advance of serving. That means more time for sipping sparkling wine on the back patio.

Panna cotta, which means "cooked cream" in Italian, is a custard that owes its consistency to gelatin rather than eggs. I've enjoyed several fruit-topped variations of panna cotta for dessert (though I had never made it myself). The thing I love about this version is that it retains the simple color and texture of traditional panna cotta, but the flavor is pure, unadulterated cauliflower, rendered subtle and novel in this delicate, chilled incarnation.

The original recipe called for each panna cotta to be topped with a tiny spoonful of salmon roe. Mmmmm. Salmon roe. I understand that Thomas Keller offers a recipe for a cauliflower panna cotta topped with beluga caviar in The French Laundry Cookbook. Mmmmmmm. Beluga caviar. It seemed like fish eggs were the way to go. Fish eggs, it seems, are not to be found in the great metropolis of Pittsburgh. Is there anyone out there who knows otherwise? I checked Whole Foods ("We sometimes have caviar around the holidays."), Trader Joe's ("Nope."), Wholey's ("Yeah, we got fish eggs, but you're going to have to get them out of the fish yourself."), and the Market District Giant Eagle ("Salmon roe? Uhhh, is that like a kind of fish soup?").

I switched the salmon roe out for baked prosciutto strips, a few sprinkles of nutmeg, and some chives. These are flavors which I think have paired well with cauliflower in other recipes, and this one wasn't an exception. If I give cauliflower panna cotta another go, and if I still can't get my hands on any fish eggs, I might try topping it with a splash of truffle oil and a thin shaving of Pecorino Romano cheese.


Cauliflower Panna Cotta with Prosciutto and Chives
Adapted from Bite Size by Francoise Payard. Makes 6 small servings.

14 ounces (about 1 small head) cauliflower
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 cups heavy cream
2 teaspoons (1 envelope) unflavored gelatin
sea salt
freshly ground white pepper
2 thin slices prosciutto
freshly grated nutmeg
chives for garnish

1. Cut cauliflower into small pieces and place them in a pot. Add butter, a pinch of salt, and just enough water to cover about one third of the cauliflower. Cover pot and bring to simmer over medium heat. Simmer until cauliflower is very tender, 6-10 minutes. Drain off any excess water and puree the cauliflower until completely smooth in a food processor.

2. Place the cream in a small pot and sprinkle the gelatin over it. Let it sit for 4 minutes and then bring it to a simmer, stirring, over medium-low heat to dissolve the gelatin. Remove the pot from the heat and let the cream cool to room temperature. Then, gently mix it into the cauliflower puree (do not whip it). Pass the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. (Next I will pass it through the sieve once more to further refine the texture, but this extra step is certainly not necessary.) Season to taste with salt and pepper. Don't skimp on the salt.

3. Place 6 small glasses on a baking sheet (this makes it easier to transfer them in and out of the refrigerator). Fill each glass with the panna cotta. Cover the top of the glasses with plastic wrap and refrigerate until completely chilled, about 1 hour. This can be done up to a day ahead.

4. For the garnish: Heat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place the slices of prosciutto on the parchment paper, layer another sheet of parchment paper on top, and set a second baking sheet on top (this keeps the prosciutto flat as it cooks). Bake for 8-10 minutes, or until the prosciutto is crispy. Allow prosciutto to cool, and then cut it into thin strips.

5. Remove glasses from refrigerator a few minutes before serving. Garnish each glass with a bit of nutmeg, a few strips of prosciutto, and a scattering of chives.

A Win for the Challenger

I collect anchovy recipes. It's not really a deliberate act, but an unconscious hoarding. The collection means I'll never want for ways to go through the anchovy tins that sit patiently next to my cans of whole tomatoes and garbanzo beans. It also means that I'll never want for a salty-fishy fix.

When I can't be bothered to browse the collection, I open up a tin, blot the oil from one flat body, positio it atop a saltine cracker, and pop the whole thing in my mouth, overhanging fish ends and all. Please do grimace and wrinkle your nose. The anchovy is a divisive little fish. And I wouldn't perform this particular act in the presence of company, anyway. But the truth is that I don't just collect anchovy recipes. I love anchovy recipes, and I love the foods and drinks that I consider--in some fundamental but unjustifiable way--as the anchovy's kin. Sardines, oil-cured olives, smoked trout, radicchio, gin martinis (dirty, please), stinky cheese, Campari, Pernod, dark chocolate, dandelion greens, the hoppiest beers, and--need I even say so--caviar of any size and color. Meet my favorite food group: the salty, the bitter, the sturdy.

I have been adding anchovies to my pasta sauces for a few years now. Not just puttanesca, but tomato-less pastas featuring broccoli rabe, radicchio, or arugula livened up with with a heavy dose of red pepper flakes, and those anchovies. These pasta dishes don't apologize for their salted fish, and neither does the one that graced the cover of Gourmet's April edition. Bucatini with spicy anchovy sauce and dill bread crumbs. Passing up Vogue's dewy Drew Barrymore, I bought the issue for its cover recipe as I searched for something to get me through the flight from Raleigh to Pittsburgh after my dissertation defense.

Let me tell you why I love this recipe. The dill, anchovies, and red pepper flakes--all assertive flavors--somehow melt into a pleasant and mellow pasta sauce. Bread crumbs bring a crunch to each bite of bucatini. But this seems not to be a recipe for everyone. I clicked over to epicurious.com and found a substantial number of dissenters including this one:

"I made this recipe last night, and it prompted me to post a review for the first time. Unfortunately it's because it is so very disgusting!!! I've been cooking for my husband for 10 years, and this was the first and only time he actually would not eat what I made. I don't blame him, I couldn't stomach it either. I even read the other reviews and put in a little extra anchovy and red pepper, and it was still terrible. I rate this recipe One Spoon, to gag myself with. GROSS!"

To each her own. But I would rate this recipe 4 forks, and my husband liked it too. You might, but probably not if you hate anchovies. I don't think I'll be able to do without it.

Bucatini with Anchovy Sauce, and Dill Bread Crumbs
Serves 4. Adapted from Gourmet magazine, April 2008.

Bucatini are thick, hollow noodles that otherwise look like spaghetti. They're particularly nice here because they stand up to the robust flavors in this sauce and are not overwhelmed by the breadcrumbs. Other pastas, especially regular spaghetti, would be fine substitutes.


1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups fresh bread crumbs
1/3 cup chopped dill
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
4 shallots, thinly sliced
1 (2-ounce) can flat anchovy fillets, drained and chopped
1 pound bucatini
1 teaspoon dried hot red-pepper flakes
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

1. Heat 1/4 cup oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, then cook bread crumbs, stirring constantly, until deep golden and crisp, 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer bread crumbs to a bowl and toss with dill and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and black pepper.

2. Wipe out skillet, then cook shallots with 1/4 teaspoon salt in remaining 1/2 cup oil over medium heat, stirring frequently, until very soft, 6 to 8 minutes. Add anchovies and cook, mashing anchovies into shallots, until dissolved.

3. Meanwhile, cook bucatini in a pasta pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup cooking water, then drain pasta.

4. Stir red-pepper flakes and reserved water into anchovy sauce, then add pasta and toss to combine. Add about half of bread crumbs and toss to coat. Serve sprinkled with remaining bread crumbs. Season with salt and pepper.

Milestones and Cheesecake

Well, how do you do? An interlude of over two months has a way of making a blog seem shiny and new all over. Although I didn't realize it at the time, my last post announcing this lull was the 100th post on Food and Paper. Disappearing for two months doesn't seem the way to mark any milestone, but I have been busy trying to make my way past another one. And I did it. I completed my Ph.D, and I'll be a professor in Duquesne's Classics department beginning in the fall. So, my life is looking sort of shiny and new, too.

Milestones are supposed to assure travelers that they're on the right path, that they've made it a certain distance, and have a certain distance yet to travel. I can't recall ever having come across a milestone made of stone that actually marked miles. These days they seem more ephemeral, made of paper or a handshake or a meal shared, and they tend to mark ephemeral paths like the one that winds through graduate school.

If I had my choice in the matter, milestones marking anniversaries and dissertation defenses would be made of cheese. A cheese plate. Or a pot of fondue. Or a wheel of Camembert, wrapped in grape leaves and charred over a fire. Or--finally getting to the recipe at hand--cheesecake. And the five packages of cream cheese in the milestone I'm bringing to you today make it anything but ephemeral. It's big, heavy, extra-cheesy, and a fine way to mark the 101st post on a blog that began in April of 2006 with a cheesecake recipe.

That first cheesecake was a fresh, light, strawberry-laced, and rather naive thing. It was good, but this one is better. The shortbread crust provides a nice, sturdy ground for this cheesecake's heft without competing with the flavor of the cake, and the browned top suggests a certain sophistication without adornment. Sort of what I wanted my dissertation to be like, but with the addition of a few wandering wombs, a pregnant Christ, and a thirteenth-century Ovid impersonator.

Writing that sentence almost made me miss working on the thing. Almost.

I think I need another piece of cheesecake.


New York-Style Cheesecake
Adapted from The New Joy of Baking


The baking method for this cheesecake is quite similar to the one suggested by the folks at Cooks' Illustrated which I posted in April, 2006. The initial high temperature browns the top and allowing the cake to cool in the oven prevents it from cracking. Many cheesecake recipes call for a water bath to prevent cracking, but this method seems better to me because crusts baked in a water bath sometimes emerge soggy from exposure to steam. Having all of the ingredients at room temperature will create a creamier cake without cream cheese clumps.

1 recipe shortbread crust (see below)
1 egg white, well beaten

The following ingredients should be at room temperature:
2 1/2 pounds (five 8-oz. packages) cream cheese
1 3/4 cups sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla
5 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1/2 cup heavy cream

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly butter a 9-inch spring-form pan with removable bottom.

2. Press about 1/3 of the shortbread dough over the bottom of the pan as evenly as possible. Prick the dough all over with a fork and then bake until the crust is golden brown, 10-12 minutes. Let cool completely on wire rack. Press the remaining dough about 1/8 inch thick around the sides of the pan, making sure that it is attached to the bottom crust all around. Brush the bottom and sides of crust with egg white. Refrigerate crust while you prepare the filling.

3. Preheat oven to 500 degrees F. In the bowl of a stand mixer (fitted with the paddle attachment, if you have one), beat cream cheese until smooth and creamy, about 1 minute (this may take longer if the cream cheese is not yet at room temperature). Scrape down sides of the bowl and paddle. Gradually add sugar, beating until smooth and creamy, about 2 minutes. Add flour and beat until combined. Beat in lemon zest and vanilla. Scrape down sides of bowl and paddle.

4. Beat in eggs and yolks one at a time just until incorporated, scraping sides of bowl and paddle after each addition (make sure you don't leave any cream cheese around the upper edges of the bowl or you'll have lumps in your cheesecake, yikes!). On low speed, beat in cream.

5. Scrape the batter into the prepared crust and smooth the top with a spatula. Bake for 15 minutes at 500 degrees, then reduce the oven temperature to 200 degrees F, and bake for 60-70 minutes more. The cake should still looks a bit jiggly in the center. Turn the oven off and prop the oven door ajar with the handle of a wooden spoon. Let the cake cool in the oven for at least 30 minutes, and up to 1 hour. Remove to a rack and let cool completely before unmolding. Cover and refrigerate for at least 6 hours. Refrigerating overnight will allow the cake to firm up and the flavors to develop.

Pat-in-the-Pan Shortbread Crust
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
1-2 large egg yolks


1. In a food processor, mix flour, sugar, lemon zest, and salt for 10 seconds. Add butter and pulse until mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

2. Add 1 egg yolk and pulse just until dough comes together. If the mixture looks too dry, add second yolk and pulse again.

3. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and chill in refrigerator for 30 minutes (or up to 2 days) before working with it.

An interlude

Dear readers,

You may have noticed that Food and Paper is looking a little slim these days. That's because the Paper part of my life is currently edging out the the Food part. Scribbling and typing and editing have encroached upon my kitchen time, and the subject is not particularly photogenic and not at all tasty: Virgins, Mothers, Monsters: Late-Medieval Readings of the Female Body Out of Bounds. I've been cooking up this dissertation for years now, and it's time to garnish it and serve it forth. To that end, this blog is going to remain on the skinny side for the next month or so. If all goes as planned, there will be much feting and feasting to do come mid-April, so do check in for celebratory recipes.

In the meantime, good appetite and good eating,

~Sarah