If that's not love

This one time, several years ago, before I was married, before I was even engaged, when I lived on the second floor of a lovely 1878 Italianate home that had gorgeous curvy woodwork and a single delicate pink tulip that would bloom every spring through a gray gravel walkway, I made potato-leek soup. I served it to Husband (then Boyfriend). He has talked about it ever since.

When I mentioned to him today that I was going to make potato-leek soup for dinner he said, totally predictably, "Ooh I love that." He is a good and supportive man because honestly, when I made this soup years ago I thought it was gummy, a little like leek-scented library paste. But he still liked it. I realized my error right away: pureeing the potatoes with an immersion blender. Normally, my immersion blender is my bestie. I should craft some sort of holster so I can have it on my hip, at the ready, whenever there is pureeing to be done. But pureeing potatoes with an immersion blender? Bad idea. Unless you are trying to hang wallpaper and are in need of adhesive.

Remember what I said up there about Husband being a good and supportive man? He came to my (and, really, his own) gummy-potato rescue when he bought me a food mill and a ricer the following Christmas, during which time he happened to be unemployed. Yes, Husband shelled out some of his diminishing cash to outfit me with several alternate methods for pureeing food. If that's not love, I do not know what is.

This soup is a lovely shade of spring green, creamy with fluffy riced potatoes and a little sharp with leeks. It is rich, and verdant, and filling. What it is not: gummy. You live, you learn, you get a ricer, you marry the man who bought you the ricer, your potato soup improves drastically.

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POTATO-LEEK SOUP

3 lbs. baking potatoes (about 4 large potatoes), peeled and cut into large chunks

1/4 c. + 2 T. olive oil

2 lbs. leeks, tops removed, halved and sliced

1/4 of a medium onion, chopped

3 ribs celery (with leafy tops), chopped

1 large carrot, chopped

1 1/2 t. kosher salt

1 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

1 bay leaf

2 t. dried thyme

32 oz. chicken stock

2 c. water

1 c. heavy cream

Place the potatoes and a pinch of salt in a large pot of cold water. Place over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Cook the potatoes until they yield easily to a fork. Drain, then run through a ricer directly into the dry cooking pot. (If you don't have a ricer, return the drained potatoes to the cooking pot and mash with a potato masher.) Set aside.

While the potatoes are cooking, place the olive oil, leeks, onion, celery, carrot, salt, pepper, bay leaf and thyme in a large pot. Cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until the vegetables are soft and translucent, about 15 minutes. Add the chicken stock and water. Bring the mixture to a boil then reduce the heat to low and cook, partially covered, for about 15 minutes. Fish out the bay leaf. Puree the soup using an immersion blender. (You can also do this in batches in a regular blender, but the immersion blender is so much easier; really, go out and buy yourself one. You can get them at Target.)

Add the riced potatoes to the pureed soup and stir to combine. Taste, and adjust for seasoning, adding more salt if necessary (potatoes take a lot of salt). Add the heavy cream and stir through. Cook for about 5 more minutes, then serve. Garnish with a sprig of parsley or a few crisp croutons or even some crème fraîche, if you wish.

Makes about 12 servings.

Wherever you are, Gianni

Officially I believe it was named "Ristorante di Gianni" -- at least that's what the small type on top of the map of Italy on the modest sign said -- but we just called it Gianni's. Set inside a small home on an increasingly busy road south of Kent, Ohio, you would absolutely miss it if you didn't know it was there. Well, now you would certainly miss it, as it is no longer there. Which is a relative tragedy, given how amazingly delicious, fresh and friendly this tiny family-run Italian restaurant was. 

Gianni was an old Italian man and Gianni's was his business. The restaurant had maybe 10 or 12 tables, all serviced by an unchanging roster of family members and longtime employees. Photos of Gianni's Italian hometown adorned the walls, along with enlarged family photos of his daughter's wedding -- complete with the orange digital date-stamp in the lower right corner. The windows were hung with lace treatments of the sort you would expect at your Italian grandmother's house, if you were lucky enough to have an Italian grandmother. Gianni grew herbs and vegetables in the backyard, and he didn't always have pesto. (Basil's not always in season in Northeast Ohio, after all.) Sister, by virtue of having spent many years in Italy, is fluent in Italian, and Gianni used to stop by our table to converse with her. I think he appreciated a young person's learning of the language. The food was homemade, through and through, simple as can be. It was totally delicious and more than able to bring a smile to your face with its unpretentious, honest goodness. When it was time for the bill, it was presented on a little plastic souvenir tray of the Vatican.  

Gianni's was our restaurant of choice for special occasions. I don't think a Valentine's Day passed when we didn't darken Gianni's doorstep. We've celebrated birthdays there. Anniversaries. In retrospect, I wish we had gone there more often for no reason at all, for it was not expensive and therefore didn't have to be "saved" for occasions as some pricier establishments are. But as it is my fond memories of the food and atmosphere at Gianni's are undoubtedly enhanced by the nostalgia of the great events celebrated there.

Near the front door of the restaurant, next to the cash register, there was a small shelf of Italian cookbooks. They looked out of print and well-used. I presume they belonged to Gianni or some member of his family, though I can't imagine his cooking originating from their pages (his cooking was the product of innate skill and tradition and nothing else). I used to love browsing these titles as we waited for our table. One evening a burgundy spine with the words "The complete book of FLORENTINE COOKING" printed backwards on it called out to me. Translated into English, this book by Florentine food expert/cookbook author Paolo Petroni was full of dishes I'd never make -- "trippa e zampa" (casseroled tripe and calf's foot), "cervello alla fiorentina" (brains Florentine style), "seppie ripiene" (stuffed cuttlefish) -- but was written with a humble Italian voice and a realistic lack of precise ingredient measurement that appealed greatly to me. It was old fashioned. If my Italian great-grandfather used cookbooks, this is the sort of cookbook he might use. And in between the recipes for stewed mutton and roast eel were nestled delicious-looking methods for cooking artichokes and fava beans and black olives and "Lenten biscuits" and other Italian staples. I had to get my hands on a copy of this book that didn't belong to Gianni.

Enter Alibris, my tried and true source for out-of-print and obscure books. I once bought a book on two-up through Alibris, as well as books about the history of Parramatta and Australian beer. I mean, who sells books on the history of Parramatta? I knew they would have The Complete Book of Florentine Cooking. And they did. And now I have it.

Tonight I made a batch of Paolo Petroni's walnut sauce ("salsa di noci"). I like to think of this sauce as a sort of pesto-in-reverse, with the nut emerging front and center, pushing the herbs into a supporting role. The sauce is extremely tasty and marvelously quick to make. Paolo says that it's excellent with roast meat and poultry, so, following the esteemed Florentine's lead, I served it tonight over some chicken breasts that I roasted with thinly sliced onions and potatoes. I imagine it would also be quite pleasing thinned out with a little pasta water and tossed with spaghetti and a little sharp aged cheese. I'm also thinking it would serve admirably as a ravioli filling but, really, the possibilities are endless.

Though I never ate walnut sauce at Gianni's wonderful establishment, I think of him tonight as I dine upon a dish inspired by his helpful little cookbook shelf. Wherever you are, Gianni, thank you for years of comforting yet magnificent eating. You served your public well.

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ROAST CHICKEN WITH WALNUT SAUCE

Walnut sauce recipe adapted from The Complete Book of Florentine Cooking, by Paolo Petroni

"Sauce" is somewhat of a misnomer, as this concoction is really more of a paste. Maybe something was lost in translation, or perhaps the fact that this cookbook includes few measurements accounts for my sauce being thicker than Paolo's. No matter; it is delicious.

For the chicken:

Olive oil, for drizzling

1 medium onion, thinly sliced

1 baking potato, peeled and sliced

Kosher salt, to taste

Freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste

4 chicken breasts

2 T. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

For the sauce:

1 lb. shelled walnuts

1/2 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 T. capers

3/4 c. olive oil

1/4 t. kosher salt

1/4 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

1 T. white vinegar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Drizzle olive oil in the bottom of a baking dish. Arrange the onions and potatoes in the dish, then drizzle with olive oil and toss with the salt and pepper.

Place the chicken breasts on top of the vegetables, drizzle with a little more olive oil and season with salt, pepper and rosemary. Roast for about 35 minutes, until the internal temperature of the chicken reaches 161 degrees Fahrenheit and the vegetables are slightly browned.

While the chicken is roasting, make the walnut sauce. In a food processor, combine the walnuts, parsley and capers. Pulse until finely ground. Add the olive oil in a gradual stream; the mixture will resemble a paste. Add the salt, pepper and vinegar and pulse to combine. Set aside.

Serve the chicken spread with a few tablespoons of the walnut sauce.

Makes 4 servings of chicken, and lots of walnut sauce. Keep the sauce in the refrigerator or freeze to await additional yummy culinary applications.

A kugel by any other name

Even with all the tasty baked goods that one can craft from the studious consideration and creative application of matzo meal, one still needs to enjoy a meal every once and awhile over the course of the Passover holiday.

Said meal would normally include some sort of kugel.

I typically cannot stand kugel, particularly sweet kugels, particularly the noodle kugels that are served not at Passover, but during other Jewish holidays throughout the year. And I know I'm not alone. One of my very best friends in this world, who happens to be Jewish, agrees with me. In fact, as she was emailing me the other day about the heinousness of the kugel, she informed me that her spell check wanted to change "kugel" to "cudgel." Considering that a cudgel is a short, heavy stick or club -- and "cudgeled" is to beat or strike with or as if with a cudgel -- she wondered if spell check had the capacity to express irony.

So rather than being cudgeled by a kugel, make a Moroccan mashed potato casserole instead. It's a delicious twice-baked amalgamation of mashed potatoes, vegetables and spice, a tasty dish that's nearly quiche-like in its texture. I suppose technically it is a kugel -- or at least it's kugel-like -- but it's totally a kugel I can get behind. It doesn't have any matzo in it, as many kugels do, but it is replete with potatoes, onions and eggs and is cooked in a casserole dish -- as is another certain dreaded Jewish holiday mainstay. The edges are crispy, the interior is light and fluffy and the white pepper and turmeric lend the faintest bit of spice, way in the background. It is, in short, the "kugel" for which I've been looking. And I didn't even know I was looking for kugel.

Now it's entirely possible that I've been fooled by semantics here, and it turns out I do like kugel after all. Because there are as many vastly different kugel recipes as there are Jewish cooks in this world. But I'm telling you, a kugel by any other name -- especially one that goes by "Moroccan potato casserole" -- is delicious.

P.S. No need to reserve this recipe for Passover alone -- it is a dynamite side dish that's good any old time of year.

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MOROCCAN MASHED POTATO CASSEROLE

Adapted from Olive Trees and Honey, by Gil Marks

Gil sez, "Middle Easterners, rarely content with plain boiled or mashed potatoes, frequently add various spices and vegetables and usually bake or fry the mixture. In this casserole, which is popular Moroccan Passover fare, the various ingredients lend complexity to basic mashed potatoes."

2 lbs. unpeeled baking potatoes, scrubbed

4 t. kosher salt. divided

1 carrot, diced

3 T. vegetable oil, plus more to oil the pan

2 medium onions, chopped

2 cloves garlic, mashed

6 large eggs

1/2 t. white pepper

1/4 t. turmeric

1 c. peas

1/3 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Put the potatoes in a large pot and add cold water to cover by 1 inch. Add 2 t. of the salt and bring to a low boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer, uncovered, until the potatoes are fork-tender, about 30 minutes. 

While the potatoes are cooking, place the carrot in a small saucepan of water, bring to a boil and cook for about 5 minutes. Drain and set aside.

When the potatoes are fork-tender, drain and let them sit for about 10 minutes, or until you can handle them. Peel the potatoes and, while still warm, run them through a ricer or food mill. Alternatively, you can return the peeled potatoes to the cooking pot and mash them with a potato masher, being careful not to over-mix. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté until lightly golden, about 15 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Set aside.

Add the eggs to the potatoes and whisk to combine well. Stir in the remaining salt, white pepper and turmeric. Add the onions, carrot, peas and parsley.

Generously oil a casserole dish, then heat it in the oven until hot, about 3 minutes. Carefully spoon the potato mixture into the baking dish -- it will sizzle dramatically in a manner unknown to boring kugel. Bake until golden and set, about 50 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Makes 6-8 servings.

Cult of baked-good personality

The phone rings last Wednesday. I'm sitting at my desk at work; the caller ID is blank.

"Hello," I answer, partially expecting it to be a work call, but mostly expecting it to be Mom. 

"I would like to order hot cross buns," states the voice on the other end of the line. 

Hi, Mother.

I reply, "OK. Get me Jane Howard's recipe."

I'm taking a little break today from my run of Passover recipes to bring you hot cross buns, because Mom said so. Also because I wanted to post the recipe in time for you to make them, if you are so inclined, for Good Friday, which is only two short days away. Think of this as a little flour interlude in an otherwise flourless week. You know how observant Jews clean out their homes of all non-Kosher-for-Passover goods before the holiday begins? Well, I appear to be doing the opposite. Unbleached flour was on sale today for $1.99 for a five-pound bag; while others are cleaning out their pantries, I have added 20 pounds of flour to mine. It's a good thing I'm not Jewish, and it's a good thing that I have access to Jane Howard's hot cross buns recipe.

Jane Howard is a friend of Mom's from her days working at the local high school. Jane taught computer science but is well-known among her coworkers for bringing in dozens of hot cross buns every year around Easter time. Jane Howard's hot cross buns developed their own little cult of baked-good personality, as teachers looked forward to the traditional Easter buns and began asking for the recipe. Jane was happy to share; the margins of Mom's copy are festooned with superlatives written in Spanish teacher Sherlea Christman's loopy, cheery writing: "Jane Howard's phenomenal hot cross buns -- typed with love by Sharon Collins." Clearly the recipe was and remains in high demand, as one school employee typed it up and another annotated it and the two of them distributed it and yet another (Mom) rustled through her unkempt pile of clipped recipes years later to provide her daughter (me) with the finest hot cross buns recipe anyone in these parts has ever seen.

Jane has since retired but still makes her annual high school hot cross buns delivery. It just so happened that Mom ran into her last week on the day she was making her HCB rounds -- and since Mom is also retired she's no longer present on hot cross bun day. It got Mom to thinking about how she wasn't going to get any Jane Howard hot cross buns this year. She got to craving. Hence the phone call. Mom wants me to be her own personal Jane Howard this Easter.

And you know me, always happy to oblige...especially when yeast dough is involved. I understand what the fuss is all about. It is a delectable dough, sweet, yeasty, fragrant and light. Mom came over tonight and had a bun, then left my house exclaiming, "You can make these! I can have them whenever I want! I used to have to wait to get one a year from Jane Howard! Now I can have them anytime!"

So it is with great deference to Jane Howard and her HCB skills -- and with great thanks to her for sharing the secrets of her signature baked good -- that I offer this recipe.

Happy Good Friday, Happy Easter and happy hot cross buns to all. And Mom, your order is ready.

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JANE HOWARD'S PHENOMENAL HOT CROSS BUNS

Years of making these buns for hungry and demanding family members on Easter morning have forced me to devise a timing method so that I don't have to wake up at 3:00 a.m. to prepare them fresh. If you're willing, mix the dough the night before, around midnight, and get it to its first rise. Leave the rising dough at room temperature, and go to sleep. Get up at 7:00 a.m. and pick up where you left off by punching down the dough and shaping the rolls. That way you can have fresh out-of-the-oven buns around 11:30 a.m., just in time for Easter brunch, and also have a respectable night's sleep.

For the buns:

1 1/2 c. milk

1/2 c. butter

2/3 c. sugar

1 t. kosher salt

2 packages active dry yeast (about 4 1/2 t.)

Up to 5 c. all-purpose flour, divided

2 large eggs

1 c. raisins

Vegetable shortening, for greasing pan

For the icing:

3/4 c. confectioner's sugar

1 T. milk

In a heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat, heat the milk and butter until the butter melts. Take it off the heat and allow the mixture to cool to between 120-130 degrees Fahrenheit.  (A tip: be sure to stir the mixture as you're taking its temperature. I find that if I don't do this, the temperature reading is often inaccurate, and if you add the melted butter and milk to the mixture while it's still too hot, you will absolutely kill those little yeasties in there, and you will therefore suffer leaden dough that won't rise.)

In the bowl of an electric mixer combine the sugar, salt, yeast and 1 1/2 c. of the flour. Using the paddle attachment and with the mixer at low speed, beat the liquid into the dry ingredients until blended. Increase the speed to medium and beat for 2 more minutes. Beat in 1 egg and 1 c. flour to make a thick batter, then continue beating 2 more minutes, scraping down the side of the bowl as needed.  Add the raisins and enough additional flour (2 c. to 2 1/2 c.) to make a soft dough. I find I usually need the full 2 1/2 cups of flour. The dough will not form a ball; it's more like a thick, sticky batter.

Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes. Add more flour while kneading, if needed, to keep the dough from sticking and to form a uniform mass. Shape the dough into a ball and place in a medium bowl that's been lightly coated with vegetable shortening. Turn to coat. Cover with a piece of plastic wrap and a tea towel and let rise in a warm place away from a draft until doubled in bulk, at least 1 hour.

Punch down the dough and turn it out onto a floured surface. Divide the dough into 14 equal pieces. Cover with the bowl and let rest 15 minutes. Grease a 13" x 9" baking dish.

Shape the dough pieces into balls. To do this, hold each piece in one hand and gently pull down, pinching the dough and tucking the sides under. Place the rolls in the prepared baking dish. Cover with plastic wrap and a tea towel and let rise until doubled, about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a small bowl, beat the remaining egg. Using a sharp serrated knife cut a cross in the top of each bun and brush with egg.

Bake 25-30 minutes or until the buns are golden. Keep an eye on the buns; if they begin to brown too quickly, cover with aluminum foil. Remove the pan and place on a wire rack. Cool the buns for 15 minutes. 

While the buns are cooling, prepare the icing. In a small bowl, whisk the confectioner's sugar and the milk until smooth. Spoon the icing into a piping bag with a plain medium tip. Fill the cross in each bun with icing. You can also drizzle on the icing with a teaspoon, but the piping bag method is neater.

The buns are best when they're still warm from the oven. Enjoy, happily, with a nice cup of coffee or a tall glass of milk. Try to refrain from eating the whole pan.

Makes 14 buns.

Regardless of the season

It's really a shame that Passover doesn't fall in autumn, when apples are in season here in Ohio. Because this Passover apple cake -- still delicious even though it's spring -- would be even more magnificent if made with a handful of my favorite Mutsus, straight off the tree and fresh from my local orchard. (I feel this way about charoset, too, the mixture of apples, nuts and wine that is a staple on the Passover Seder plate. At least apples and honey are also traditional during Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year celebration that takes place in the fall. So that's something.)

But, you know, who am I to judge the Jewish calendar? It's only been working for millennia. As it is the timing of religious holidays has little to do with the growing season in the U.S. Midwest, so as much as I would like it to be, really, this is not all about me. I shall use the apples I can get in April for my Passover apple cake, and I will be happy about it.

Luckily I live near a few fantastic gourmet and organic markets which stock the most delicious apples possible given the season. Plus, the apples are for a cake, for crying out loud. It's hard to make a cake taste bad. So I picked out a few enticing pink-skinned Braeburns and happily began anticipating the cake, all the while wishing Husband was home to share it with me.

Once again, his loss. This rustic and lovely cake is a delicious ending to a Seder. It is light, and apple-y. I particularly like it because of the "optional" crumb topping, which in my book is no way optional. Crumb toppings make the world go 'round, and I am happy to know that the observant Jew does not have to go without during Passover. This cake would also be awesome outside the context of Passover; simple, humble, tasty foods have every right to be present at any time of year. Indeed, perhaps I'll take my own advice and make this cake again when apples come into season. You know, for scientific comparison's sake. 

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ASHKENAZIC PASSOVER APPLE CAKE

Adapted from The World of Jewish Desserts, by Gil Marks

Gil sez, "Since apple cakes have long been among the most popular Ashkenazic baked goods, it is hardly surprising that enterprising cooks adapted them to the dictates of Passover."

A note about matzo meal: this recipe originally calls for matzo cake meal. I have yet to locate matzo cake meal, so I grind my own from whole matzos. Just whirl them in a food processor until they make a very fine powder. It takes about 8 matzos to make enough meal for this recipe (topping included).

For the cake:

4 large apples, peeled and diced (your favorite variety will do nicely)

1 T. freshly-squeezed lemon juice

1 c. finely-ground matzo meal 

1/4 c. ground almonds

1 t. ground cinnamon

1/2 t. kosher salt

8 large eggs, separated

1 c. sugar

For the pleasing topping:

3/4 c. finely-ground matzo meal

1/2 c. sugar

6 T. unsalted butter, cut into small pieces and chilled

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease a 13" x 9" baking pan (I use glass), line with parchment or wax paper and grease again.

Toss the apples with the lemon juice. In a medium bowl, whisk together the matzo meal, almonds, cinnamon and salt. In a large bowl, beat the egg yolks and sugar together until thick, light in color and creamy. Stir the matzo meal mixture into the egg yolk mixture (it will be stiff), then add the apples and stir through.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites on low until foamy, about 30 seconds. Increase the speed to high and beat until stiff peaks form (but don't let the egg whites dry out). Fold one-fourth of the egg whites into the apple mixture to lighten, then fold in the remaining egg whites. Pour the batter into the prepared pan.

To make the crumb topping, in a medium bowl whisk together the matzo meal and sugar. Using a pastry blender, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Sprinkle on top of the cake.

Bake 40-45 minutes until golden and a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Makes 9-12 servings.

Eating matzo all by herself

There are lots of reasons to love spring. The weather starts to turn (though the snow falling outside my window today, covering the sad little forsythia blooms just trying to make their way in the early spring sun, has a different agenda). The perennials peek up from the winter-ravaged mulch, unfurling themselves to remind me that they're still alive down there in the cold soil. The gas bill goes down as I take advantage of those in-between days when neither furnace nor air conditioner is necessary and I can open the windows for the first time in months. Everything is a little more colorful. Stores are well-stocked with Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs.

Even with all that seasonal glory, however, I can think of a few reasons not to love spring. It is the beginning of baseball season, which rationally I'd cheer but given the fact that Husband works for Major League Baseball, well, I kind of despise it. Opening Day means that he has to be out of town for business, and though he loves his job and I love that he loves his job, I still hate when he is away. Opening Day also means the beginning of the fantasy baseball leagues, and Husband participates in no fewer than 3,402 of them. So in addition to being away for work, he travels 'round to his various drafts, performing some beloved make-believe task that he assures me is awesome because it might result in his winning a behemoth Stanley-Cup like trophy which I will have to "display" in the house for a year.

All of these baseball-related events take place within the span of the same few weeks each year, which means that late March/early April is kind of a loss for me, at least as it relates to trying to plan things with Husband. It also means that Husband is unavailable to celebrate Easter with me and is similarly not home to share his Passover traditions. But since I am a cook and am always keen to learn new foods and new traditions, I still like to explore kosher-for-Passover recipes even when Husband's away. This means that I am home alone making and consuming various Passover specialties, a lonely Catholic eating matzo all by herself.

Well, not all by herself. I have Gil Marks to keep me company. The author of several excellent books on Jewish and Jewish holiday cuisine, Mr. Marks occupies quite a bit of real estate on my cookbook shelf. I spent some quality time with him last night, sifting through the "Passover" sections in each of his indices. I did not select recipes based on personal tradition or authenticity, as logically, not being Jewish, I did not grow up with these dishes. I chose them purely based on their names and whether or not they sounded delicious to me. You will note I am not making homemade gefilte fish.

So today, macaroons! What a perfect confection, light thanks to egg whites and rich thanks to almonds. It is a shame that Husband is three states over, baseball-full but macaroon-less. I will try to save some for him for when he returns next week, but if there's one thing I know it's that the goyim like macaroons, too. So while he should cross his fingers that the Mets do well this year, he shouldn't hold his breath that there will be any macaroons left when he gets home.

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SEPHARDIC ALMOND MACAROONS

Adapted from The World of Jewish Cooking, by Gil Marks

Gil sez, "Almonds are a prominent feature in Sephardic cooking and the basis for many pastries." Gil also says that you can make a version along the lines of what Iraqi Jews would make, simply by omitting the almond extract and adding 1/2 to 3/4 t. ground cardamom. (Iraqi Jews serve these cookies on Purim and at the meal following Yom Kippur.) Intriguing, no?

I added a tiny piece of dried apricot on top of some of my macaroons, though dried fruit is not technically kosher for Passover (apparently there is a possibility that the dried fruit you've purchased was rolled in flour to keep the individual pieces separate). Husband tells me he would eat dried fruit at Passover, but if you follow a stricter diet, go ahead and top all your cookies with a sliced or slivered almond.

One more note, about the blanching: I bring a medium pot of water to a boil, then drop in the whole raw almonds for 1-2 minutes. Strain the almonds then pop them out of their skins, drying them on a paper towel before using.

1 lb. blanched almonds

1 1/4 c. sugar

3 large egg whites

1 t. almond extract (or 1 T. rose water or orange blossom water)

Sliced or slivered almonds, for topping

A few dried apricots, chopped, for topping

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Line 2 baking sheets with Silpats, or grease them and dust with potato starch. (I rarely have potato starch on hand, so I prefer the Silpats.)

In a food processor, grind together the almonds and sugar until fine. In a large bowl, lightly whisk the egg whites and almond extract (or rose water or orange blossom water) until foamy. Add the almond-sugar mixture and stir together until the mixture resembles a wet paste.

Drop by heaping teaspoonfuls (or use a spring-loaded ice-cream scoop) onto the prepared baking sheets. If desired, top the cookies with sliced almonds and/or dried apricots.

Bake 15-18 minutes, until lightly browned. Let cool for about 10 minutes on the sheet before removing to a wire rack to cool completely. Enjoy, preferably with a cup of hot coffee.

Makes about 3 dozen cookies. Store in an air-tight container at room temperature or in the freezer.

I mean, come on

As much as I enjoy cooking and as many cookbooks I own/recipes I've clipped/food blogs I've bookmarked, I still find myself cooking the Big Three dishes over and over for dinner: pasta with red sauce, pasta with pesto, something with chickpeas (usually chana masala or pasta e ceci). Sure, special dishes creep in with a certain degree of frequency but when push comes to shove, those are the three meals I'm craving. This is because each is delicious, tried and true. Their cooking methods are ingrained in my psyche, their component ingredients always present in my pantry. I don't have to think about them; I don't have to plan dinner. I can get home from my unspecified gallivanting and still have a delicious home-cooked meal on the table in little time and with even less thought. 

I suppose it's lazy, in a way: I should not be saving culinary exploration for the weekends. It should be a daily pursuit, even on the days when I'm really tired. I usually have a lot of varied ingredients on hand and am therefore capable of whipping up something different without a special trip to the store. And good gracious, I write a food blog. Why not use the few brain cells I have to call on that well-stocked pantry for something new and different? I mean, come on.

And so it happens that the other day I was reading a post about ricotta salata that included a bulleted list of uses for the salty cheese. I have some ricotta salata in the fridge, leftover from the deconstructed pesto lasagna. Loathe to let anything go to waste, an imaginary light bulb illuminated over my head as I read one suggestion to mix ricotta salata with fregula Sarda, roasted zucchini, olives and rosemary. What a salt-lovers dream! Ricotta salata and olives! With fregula! Beloved fregula!

It so happened that I had two packages of fregula in the pantry, just waiting to be enjoyed. I'm also the proud owner of a big bunch of fresh rosemary, thanks to my marvelous local Italian grocery, DeVitis, which sells bountiful fresh herbs of a glorious quality for mere pennies compared to the pitiful, black-around-the-edges, expensive grocery store offerings -- totally necessary during the long winter when I can't grow them at home. (DeVitis also sells the most delicious fresh mozzarella, and their Italian sausage is a favorite of Dad's. And once, when Mom went in the shop right as they were closing, instead of sending her away empty-handed they gave her a loaf of bread and some cheese. "We don't want you to go hungry tonight." They don't make stores like that anymore.) All I had to do was procure some briny, flavorful olives -- DeVitis, of course, sells many varieties, including magnificent green Sicilians and Moroccans with a ton of flavor in their shriveled flesh -- and I was well on my way to something different for dinner.

I didn't even miss the pasta with red sauce tonight. Imagine that. 

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FREGULA SARDA WITH ROASTED ZUCCHINI, RICOTTA SALATA AND OLIVES

This dish is sort of salad-like in its composition, and thus would make a wonderful side for a piece of grilled chicken. It's equally good on its own as well.

A note about the chicken stock: if you wish to make this dish vegetarian, you can cook the fregula in 8 c. of water and omit the chicken stock. You can also substitute vegetable stock.

2 small zucchini, diced

5 T. olive oil, divided

1/4 t. kosher salt

1/4 t. freshly-cracked black pepper

6 c. water

2 c. chicken stock

2 c. fregula Sarda

2 T. fresh rosemary, finely chopped

1/2 c. Sicilian olives, pitted and roughly chopped

1/2 c. Moroccan olives, pitted and roughly chopped

3 oz. ricotta salata, cubed or crumbled

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the zucchini, 3 T. of the olive oil, salt and black pepper on a baking sheet; toss to combine. Roast in the oven for 30 minutes.

While the zucchini is roasting, bring the water and stock to a boil, then season with a pinch of salt. Add the fregula and cook, stirring occasionally, for 4 minutes. Do not overcook, or you will end up with a mushy mass of tragically wasted fregula. Drain the fregula and place it in a large bowl and toss with the remaining 2 T. of olive oil.

Add the roasted zucchini, olives, rosemary and ricotta salata to the fregula and stir to combine. Season to taste, though my taste says that the ricotta salata and olives are seasoning enough. Consume!

Serves at least 6, more if used as a side dish.