Weekly Dish

You all know the craziness which is our life; I have made no secret of the tightrope between home, work, home-work, work-at-home, marriage, parenting, etc. across which we madly dash day-in, day-out, and sometimes in-between the two. I hope that it either makes you feel less alone (yay! other people live crazily too!) or relieved that your own life is not this stressful (whew, at least my life is not this crazy!). I also hope that you have an hour or two in your day like our 5-7 pm, the time I’ve come to affectionately call the dinner hour.

In order to preserve some semblance of sanity for all of us, we’ve tried to set aside those hours for the three of us to spend in and around the kitchen. We usually sit Josie in her high chair right in the middle of our small space, and feed her dinner while we get our own evening meal together. Before we were parents, our nighttime eating patterns were haphazard and casual, wandering into the kitchen whenever hunger struck, leisurely pulling dinner out of our pantry and fridge, without a lot of fuss. These days, if dinner isn’t well underway by the time Josie needs a bath, we’re in serious danger of going to bed on yogurt and granola, especially if there aren’t leftovers.

So, as we hear grown ups are prone to do, we’ve developed somewhat of a dinnertime routine. It is, by far, my favorite time of the day — I am with my very favorite people, doing one of my very favorite things. But also, it invariably gets done, this making of dinner, and usually, it is, if not very fancy, very satisfying and good for my food-loving soul. If I accomplish nothing else in the span of 24 hours, something from start to finish that I can look at and say, “I did that today,” I at least usually manage to make dinner for my family.

When I tell you that this past week started with not one, but two, disastrous meals in a row, I hope you understand that I mean it when I say that it nearly sent me over the edge. The week before, we’d started classes with a sick baby, which meant no childcare, two sleep-deprived teachers frantically trying to prepare for students while comforting, holding, rocking, and carrying around campus a puny, sniffly toddler. It was quite a week. We survived the weekend and hoped Josie was getting better, but on Sunday, her fever spiked, so we took her to the doctor to discover that she had an infection in each ear.

By Monday evening, when I sat on the stool in my kitchen, stirring the risotto, I was sorely in need of a victory. Onions, garlic, white wine, arborio rice, and a whole quart of chicken stock were in the process of dissolving my exhaustion when I noticed something small and brown on my spoon. And another beneath a grain of rice. And, then they were everywhere, tiny little bugs. Bugs. In. My. Risotto.

I panicked, David took over and cleaned the pot out while I put Josie to bed, and we had grilled cheese sandwiches — all in all not the end of the world. But on Tuesday, after I’d grated and juiced lemons, minced garlic and jalapenos, and measured out the wine for pasta sauce, when the same tiny bugs floated to the surface of the penne I was boiling, I have to say that I teetered on the brink of insanity. If David hadn’t restrained me, I might have thrown out the entire contents of our pantry and eated a bag of potato chips for dinner. For the rest of the week.
You can imagine the trepidation with which I approached the dinner hour on Wednesday, and I resolved to use only food out of our refrigerator: that usually means soup or eggs. With the leftover roasted potatoes from Sunday’s dinner, half a bag of mixed veggies I fished out of the freezer, and the chicken stock I made on Tuesday afternoon to replace what had disappeared down Monday’s drain, a hearty, warm soup came together on my stovetop, without a single insect in sight. It may not have been much to look at, but it was real, homemade food, and at the time, it tasted like the best potato soup I’d ever had. What follows is not so much a recipe, per say, but an instruction guide for how to use what you have on hand and emerge victorious. It was, for this home cook, the formula that saved my dinner hour, and consequently my week.

What’s-In-Your-Fridge Vegetable Soup

What you need:

• Fat: Rendering bacon fat adds a nice flavor to potato soup, and that’s what I did for this version, but a combination of butter and olive oil will work fine too.
• Vegetables to saute for flavor: onion, garlic, and carrot was my combination, but you could also use shallot, celery or bell pepper.
• Other vegetables: I used 2 cups of leftover roasted potatoes and half a bag of frozen broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower, but if you have two heads of broccoli, or a bunch of carrots, or mushrooms, use them instead. Just make sure to think about the flavor combo; if you want mushroom to be the dominant flavor, don’t crowd it with another strongly flavored veggie like broccoli.
• Liquid: Homemade stock is always in my freezer; I used chicken stock for the potato soup.
• Garnish: I finished the soup by stirring in 1 T. cream and 1/2 cup grated extra sharp cheddar cheese. It had been a bad week — you can always sprinkle with toasted nuts or a dollop of creme fraiche if you want to be fancier.

What to Do:
I feel silly typing up instructions because I’m sure everyone knows how to make soup, but I’ll tell you a few things that I think make a difference in the final product. First, the basic method: saute the flavoring vegetables over medium heat until they’re soft and beginning to brown; I start with onion and carrot and add the garlic after the other two are soft. Next, you add the other vegetables, coat with the fat and flavoring, and stir in the liquid.
What makes it good (in my humble opinion):

• Puree half of the vegetables. This will make the soup thicker without added fat or calories, but still leave you a rustic texture to the finished dish.
• Coarse salt with flavor, like sea salt, not the iodized stuff. A lot of salt, and sprinkled in a handful at a time, after each step in the process, not right at the end. Taste as you go to make sure you aren’t over-salting and that the soup has enough flavor. Salt is what will coax humble potatoes and cauliflower into deliciousness.
• Homemade stock. I know, I know, this seems like a lot of trouble. But I’ve started keeping a bag in my freezer for vegetable trimmings, and after about two weeks, it’s full enough to make a huge vat of stock that will last at least a month, maybe more. And if you have the remains of a chicken, even better. It really does make a big difference in the overall flavor of soup, in my opinion.
• Simmer for as long as you can. The longer the soup has to hang out on the stove, the more its parts will melt into one, happy, yummy flavor.
• Eat with plenty of crusty bread. It’s mostly just vegetables and water, so why not?

As I said, this is not rocket science. But it has been reliable for us, and, in this season of life, reliable is what we need. Thankfully, the bugs in the pasta were the low point, Josie’s ears are cleared up, and the soup restored normalcy and comfort to our dinner hours. A small victory, perhaps, but a sweet one.

I love the idea of fancy breakfast food. Using my culinary prowess to whip up something innovative and delicious first thing in the morning sounds like something I would love — trading pajamas for an apron and wielding a wooden spoon to whip up a luxurious first meal, beginning the day with a jolt to both my creativity and my palate. A fabulous idea, in theory. Here in my real life, however, the one where mornings revolve around a hungry baby, on the days I am home, I am lucky to get a shower and dress before David leaves for the day; on the days I teach, I do well to make it out the door with two of the same shoes on my feet. For all of these reasons, during our harried weekdays, David is usually the one in charge of finding morning fare for us to eat. Don’t get me wrong, David is great with eggs: scrambled or fried, he knows how to treat them. He also makes fabulous homemade biscuits on occasion. Our standard weekday meals, however, include oatmeal or plain yogurt, jam, and granola. All of these options serve the purpose of kick-starting our metabolisms with fairly healthy calories; utilitarian, perhaps, but these meals taste good and give us fuel to dive into the day. Breakfast does its daily job.

But sometimes I crave more decadent breakfast food, the stuff of brunch menus and country inns. It’s the lack of variety, I think, that gets to me: we eat the same three or four combinations of foods every, single day, and occasionally, I long for something different. Something dressier. Something I might serve if I were to have guests over at 11 in the morning. To satisfy those cravings, we’ve sort of fallen into the tradition of having more brunch-ish food for lunch on Sundays. We still eat our regular oatmeal or yogurt before church, but for when we get home, I usually plan more exciting breakfast food to fix for our midday meal.

Lately, I’ve been on a savory kick; I love French toast, waffles, and pancakes as much as the next breakfast lush, but recently, I’ve liked my Sunday brunch to fall on the saltier side of sweet. Eggs have a constant presence, usually fried because David does them so well, and their runny yolks add a layer of rich creaminess to whatever they land atop. Last week, it was potato pancakes and some boiled shrimp we had leftover in the fridge. A good combination, to be sure, but it needed something more to fulfill my fanciful brunch demands. Something to dress up the plate a little bit, to bind the disparate elements together. Something like Hollandaise sauce.

Hollandaise sauce is, of course, the key ingredient in the king of brunch food, Eggs Benedict, and is often served over asparagus and sometimes fish. Traditionally, it’s made in a double-boiler, and whisked constantly for proper emulsification. On this particular Sunday in my house, however, it came together quickly in the blender while David fried the eggs and the pancakes finished cooking, a necessary adjustment to prevent one cook smashing the other with his elbows or the unwelcome hurling of expletives as we both crowded over a small stove in a small space. Plus, Josie loves the sound of the blender, and she was sitting on the kitchen counter happily observing while our brunch lunch came together; making the sauce this way helped keep her entertained. The texture of the blender Hollandaise is not quite as thick as that prepared the traditional way, especially immediately after it’s made. But it thickens as it sits, and the flavor is the same tangy, buttery one I had hoped would cloak our potato pancakes and shrimp with its velvety yellow vibrancy.

Yes, it’s a lot of butter, and yes, it takes egg yolks to thicken it; yes, it’s rich and full of fat and calories. But it’s sauce, an accoutrement, an extra, almost a garnish, so it’s not like we eat a lot at one time. Plus, it’s not like we eat it every day. It’s not like it’s breakfast. Which is precisely why it tastes so good and why I like our little Sunday brunch tradition: breakfast is food to get us through the day; brunch, on the other hand, is food to savor, food to make an occasion out of a day set aside to be a break from the weekday routine. Food that deserves a special sauce once in a while, especially when that sauce almost just happens with a whirl of the blender.

In my humble, breakfast-loving opinion, you could put this sauce on nearly any savory breakfast dish and have yourself a celebration on a plate. Just don’t remind me how easy it is, or I might just whip some up on a Tuesday morning. And then I would have to call it breakfast, which it most certainly is not.

Blender Hollandaise Sauce

1 stick (1/2 cup) butter
3 egg yolks
Juice of 1 large lemon (about 2 T.)
1/4 t. coarse salt
1/8 t. cayenne pepper

Melt the butter in a glass measuring cup in the microwave, and have it handy. In the blender, combine the other ingredients until well-combined. With the motor running, pour in the melted butter slowly (as you would oil for mayonnaise), to emulsify (to bind the oil and the acid, in other words). Pour into a serving dish and let it stand for a few minutes. Drizzle as your heart desires.
The sauce will keep in the refrigerator for a few days; just rewarm gently before serving. This recipe makes about a cup of sauce.

–From Southern Sideboards, Junior League of Jackson, Mississippi

Oh, the tricks of September in Louisiana.

I tell you, I am a schoolgirl at heart. Which is probably why I have only spent a few years of my life not in school. I love the idea of it: the allure of a pretty blank notebook, the possibility imbued in the perfectly sharp point of an unused pencil, the excitement of new students milling around campus. Ideally, the start of school should usher in a new season, too, and Fall ranks as one of my favorites — mellowing the scorching summer sun, blowing a breeze across the damp summer humidity, killing off the clouds of mosquitoes.

Only, I live in southern Louisiana, where the start of school coincides with the hottest of hot days. My trek across campus from the parking lot to my office should, in my perfect September, involve the wind blowing the rustling leaves across my path and gently tousling my hair; instead, I arrive in front of my office door sticky with sweat, out of breath, with my hair plastered across my forehead. Of course, part of that is because my starting-school memories hearken back to the days when Labor Day was the last of the summer holidays, not the first of the fall ones. But still, down here, summer reaches her tentacles deep into the “fall” semester every year, yet I am still properly offended by the thick, hot air when I open my front door to head to school on the very first day.

The end of such days doesn’t make a body gravitate towards a hot stove, that’s for sure, even if one is no less hungry.

Thankfully, the stage of my program I’m currently in, I only have to go to campus twice a week; other days, my reading, writing, and research can happen within the confines of my air-conditioned living room.

And dinner can happen gradually, as my study-breaks and baby-care allow. Pizza is one meal that appreciates a gradual treatment — happy to come together when I have a few minutes, rather than demanding my attention for a concentrated block of time. For that reason, pizza fits our lifestyle pretty well, and we eat it on a pretty regular basis.

This recipe is one of the best pizzas we’ve eaten in a while, and like many other meals that happen in my kitchen, it was a bit of an accident. I meant to make apple and Havarti quesadillas, but when I made my salad at lunch, I realized that we didn’t have tortillas. Or Havarti cheese. So I started some dough in the mixer and decided we’d have apple pizza instead.

The resulting concoction — sweet and rich with caramelized onions and apples, smoky and salty with the bacon, gooey with melted cheddar — tasted almost good enough to make me forget that it is closer to 100 degrees outside than to any respectable autumnal temperature. That is, of course, until I put on my flip-flops and tank top the next morning and scratched at my mosquito bites. Oh, well, at least at this rate I’ll feel really grateful for the slightest cool in the air. And for good meals spent indoors: another Louisiana September, with pizza, I think I can endure.

Apple-Bacon Pizza

This recipe is particularly conducive to the cook-when-you-can strategy; the apples and onions can caramelize for 10 minutes over medium heat, or you can turn the heat way down and let them cook for much longer (just make sure to stir every once in a while).

I’ve been meaning to experiment with crust recipes, but this one is so reliable (and I have the recipe memorized) that I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I’d imagine this topping would go nicely with a nutty whole-wheat crust too, but feel free to substitute your favorite crust (or even use store-bought!)

The amount of cheese, also, is open to tweaking: I used what I had, but I think I would have liked more or could have done with less.

4 slices thick-cut bacon, diced
1/2 a red onion, very thinly sliced
1 green apple, very thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2 T. cider vinegar
1 T. brown sugar
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
4 oz. white cheddar cheese, sliced
Half of one recipe pizza dough (or other dough of your choice)

Preheat the oven to 475 degrees.

Cook the bacon in a heavy skillet until crisp. Remove with a slotted spoon to a plate; drain off all but about a tablespoon of the drippings. Add the onion and apple slices and cook over medium-high heat until soft and beginning to brown (6-8 minutes); add the garlic. Cook for several minutes more, until the garlic is very soft, and the onions and apple are well-caramelized. Sprinkle the brown sugar and cayenne pepper into the skillet; douse with the vinegar. Cook and stir for a few minutes, or until the liquid has reduced to a golden-brown syrup.

While the topping is cooking, roll out the dough onto a baking sheet, prick all over with a fork, and cook in the preheated oven for 5-7 minutes, or until it is lightly golden. Spread the crust with the apple-onion mixture, sprinkle with the reserved cooked bacon, and top with slices of cheddar cheese. Return to the oven to cook for another 5-7 minutes, or until the cheese is well-melted. Serve immediately.

Dressing (not stuffing) is a staple at my family’s holiday events. My grandmother makes it every year, and every year, the aunts sit around and talk about how somebody needs to learn how to make it like she does (much like all of the other family recipes, there are no official written instructions).

So last Christmas, my sister and I followed Grandmother around the kitchen, snapping photos and scribbling down notes about what she was doing. This year, David’s brother and his wife are sharing Thanksgiving dinner with us, so Hannah and I are attempting to replicate the famous dressing.

I should say a word about southern cornbread dressing: it is not very similar to stuffings of other kinds. It’s more kin to a savory bread pudding, moistened by eggs and stock until it can be pressed into a dish, baked, and cut into squares. The oven browns the top into a lovely crunch, which gives way to a soft cloud of egg-enriched cornbread, flecked with celery, onion, and scallions.

I’m recording Grandmother’s instructions here, as Elizabeth and I observed, but after Hannah and I have attempted to follow them, I promise to update with more specifics. Grandmother’s been doing this so long, she can almost move around the kitchen combining ingredients blindfolded, so quantifying what she was doing was quite a challenge.

Grandmother’s Cornbread Dressing

1 batch cornbread (she makes it with buttermilk, but I don’t have the exact recipe. I’ll post the one Hannah and I use later, but Grandmother says the Jiffy mix works in a pinch)
Half of a bunch of celery
2 yellow onions
Olive oil and butter
Half a bunch of scallions or green onions
6 eggs
1 bag Pepperidge Farm stuffing
A handful of Saltine crackers, crackers
2 1/2 - 3 cups chicken or turkey stock (we roasted a chicken earlier in the week, so we would have homemade)
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Heat the oil and butter (enough to properly sweat the vegetables) in a skillet. Dice the celery and yellow onion, and slice the green onion, white and green parts. Saute the celery and onion in the oil and butter over medium-high heat until translucent. Add the green onions and cook for another minute or two.

In a large bowl, crumble up the cornbread. Beat the eggs and mix them in. Dump in the soft veggies, the stuffing mix, and the crushed crackers. Stir with a long-handled wooden spoon until well-combined.

Here comes the tricky part. You have to pour in the stock until the dressing reaches the “right” consistency. This is what it should look like (only half that quantity):

You can pour more stock on top of the dressing as it cooks if it looks like it’s getting to be too dry, but you want to be able to easily mold the mixture into a casserole dish. It should stick together without a problem, but you don’t want it to be soupy.

Press into a casserole, and bake for 45 minutes, or until it browns around the edges.

Recipe courtesy of the cutest, sweetest Grandmother I know (and my cute, sweet sister, Elizabeth, who helped record it):

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I have posted many a recipe on this site that I have labeled “Comfort Food.” Dishes that merit this distinction, for me, need to accomplish two things: the cooking process itself should be slow, patient, comfort-inducing, and the eating experience must create warmth and happiness. These two categories cannot be separated, and my suspicion is that it’s because somehow I can taste the care that goes into comforting dishes. You’ll find that most of my comfort foods involve a good bit of stirring. As I have written here before, stirring is therapeutic in ways no other activity is for me. But also, the stirring process infuses the air with smells that remind me of other days: days shared with people I love, days spent cooking for those I love, days enjoying the simple process of creating a warming, delicious dish of food. This comforting cooking process should fill my house with feelings of calm and peace, and in these busy days especially, friends, I welcome the scents and sounds that bring those feelings.

A lot to ask from a simple dish of food, you say? Well, a body has to eat, but sometimes a soul also needs to cook.

When I saw that Ivonne (a long-lost sister I have only discovered in the last year–we are certain that our families, particularly the women, are kin, at least culinarily speaking) and her cohort, Orchidea, were requesting dishes of comfort, I set my sights on the ugly fall tomatoes at my farmer’s market and a hefty hunk of butter.

The process for this simple, simple sauce is neither complicated nor labor-intensive, but it does take time. I like to make it on a cold, dreary day, when I can curl up on the couch with a blanket and a book in between recipe steps. When it’s finished, David and I can sit down in a house filled with the rich scent of roasting tomatoes, and enjoy the way this velvety sauce coats our noodles and our tongues with a soft blend of tomato and butter.

Fresh tomatoes are my recommendation for the best flavor, but high-quality canned ones will do in a pinch. If you have tomatoes you put up from summer (I freeze batches of roasted ones), those will work too, but my favorite way to make this is to start with fresh tomatoes (I bought these out of a box that read “fall tomato rejects, 3 for $1″), roast them until they fall apart, and then simmer them with the other ingredients for a long, long time.

Angel Hair with Buttery Tomato Sauce

2 - 2 1/2 pounds tomatoes (should yield 2 cups tomato puree)
Olive oil
Coarse salt
Cracked black pepper
1/2 stick (4 T.) butter
1 medium yellow onion, quartered
2 carrots, peeled and cut into 4 pieces
1/2 pound pasta (I like angel hair for this dish)

Preheat the oven to 425. Wash and core the tomatoes, and cut them into large chunks (for medium-sized tomatoes, quarters work fine). Place them in a single layer on a greased baking sheet, close together, and drizzle with olive oil. Toss with your hands to coat the tomato pieces with oil. Sprinkle liberally with salt and cracked pepper. Roast. The time depends on you — I leave them for at least an hour and then check; they should be easily mashed with a fork and beginning to brown where the salt has landed. Remove and let cool. When cool, process in a food processor or blender to make a smooth puree.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over medium-low heat. Add the onion and carrot pieces. Cover with tomato puree and simmer (don’t boil!) for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

When the sauce is almost done, cook the pasta to desired tenderness. Remove the vegetable pieces with a slotted spoon and serve them on the side. Plate up a mound of pasta with a ladle of sauce and a pat of butter. Eat, and be comforted.

Although I’ve still not felt much like experimenting with our meals, I am back to a regular menu-making routine. Last week was a healthy dose of cool-weather favorites. These recipes are old stand-bys, ones I turn to again and again when it turns comfort-food season. I hope you all are enjoying the fruits of this season, too, whatever form they take.

Mostly, mine comes in this form:

My mom’s spiced tea is the cure for whatever ails–soar throat, bad day, hurt feelings. I’ve been making it with decaf tea bags, so it’s also replaced my morning coffee routine.

Other fall favorites that are getting me through:

Aunt Jennifer’s White Chili: simple, hearty, satisfying, especially if you take the time to make homemade chicken stock.

Italian Sausage and White Bean Soup: I discovered this soup last winter, and as soon as the temperature dropped a little bit at night this year, I knew I wanted to make it again (and serve it to friends!)

Homemade Applesauce: Oh, yes, I know it has a lot of butter in it, but if I’m eating dessert, this must be better for me than sitting down with a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Right?

I do hope to have some new recipes to share soon…in the meantime, thanks for being patient!

My good friend Katherine, who has two small children, said to me the other day, “Hey, I have a great idea for your blog.” I saw David smirk in the background because he says that exact thing to me often, only his ideas are usually quickly dismissed (rarely do they have anything to do with food, at least in any realistic sense, and most often, he’s just trying to be a wise guy. A big surprise, I’m sure, to any of you who caught his carbonara recipe.) He was waiting to see if I responded similarly to my friend.

But Katherine’s suggestion was genuine. She said she’d love to see more recipes that are quick and easy that can also provide for two meals. I’d gotten into the habit of cooking that way in the fall and winter last year — slowly roasting vegetables that could morph into side dish, soup, or pasta sauce; cooking two chickens at once for main dish, stock, chicken salad, and a curry or quesadilla. But summer demands a different kitchen ethic: both because our schedule was a bit more lax and because turning the oven on for more than 20 minutes at a time is out of the question, dinner was usually a one-shot deal. Quick, perhaps, but rarely any leftovers.

But as the weather cools slightly and the days become busier, I find myself, perhaps inspired by Katherine’s suggestion, trying to plan more carefully and think ahead, getting more mileage out of the effort I put into particular dishes.

This salmon is a good example. It isn’t difficult or labor-intensive, but because I cook a whole slab at once, it makes a fabulous main dish one night, and then will crumble up into a yummy salad later in the week, enough for another supper and at least a couple of lunches. On the first night, I slathered it with fresh basil pesto, grilled it, and topped it with a silky tomato-cream sauce and fresh basil. Grilled corn and baby eggplants rounded out the plate.

Look for the salad recipe later on, and don’t forget to grill a few extra ears of corn too. It’s another great leftover food.

Grilled Pesto Salmon with Tomato Cream Sauce

1 whole slab salmon (about 1 1/2 - 2 lbs), or 4 6-ounce steaks
1/2 cup basil pesto
Kosher salt and cracked pepper
2 T. butter
1/2 small onion, chopped (about 1/3 cup)
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium tomato, diced
1/4 cup white wine
1 T. heavy cream
Basil leaves, for garnish

Prepare the grill. Rub the salmon on both sides with the pesto (depending on how thick you make your pesto, you may need to add a bit of olive oil); you should have a nice, thin coating of oil and herbs. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill the salmon, skin side up, until it’s just translucent in the center (it took ours about 4-6 minutes per side).

Meanwhile, saute the onion and garlic in butter over medium-low heat until soft. Add the tomatoes, and stir to heat. Sprinkle with salt. Turn the heat up to medium-high, and pour in the wine. Stir, cooking for a few minutes, until the vegetables have absorbed some of the wine; stir in the cream. Turn the heat down to low, and keep covered until the salmon is ready.

To serve, cut the salmon into 4 equal portions (if whole), and reserve 2 for salad later in the week. Top the steaks with the tomato sauce and fresh basil leaves.

–Recipe adapted from Come On In! by the Junior League of Jackson, MS 

When I moved into my first apartment, my Aunt Jennifer brought me a basket with a loaf of French bread, a container of homemade mayonnaise, and several Vidalia onions, the ingredients for my very favorite treatment of the sweetest onion of all–the Vidalia.

Aunt Jen has been making what she calls San Francisco bread for as long as I can remember, and I am now carrying on the family tradition. I love to serve this bread to guests because they can never guess just what exactly is on it. I know it might sound strange, but I urge you to try it anyway, especially if you find yourself in possession of a sweet, sweet onion. I’ve not had one unsuccessful attempt to convert doubtful guests.

A few caveats: you must, MUST only attempt this recipe with homemade mayonnaise. I try hard not to be authoritarian about much in my cooking instructions, but for the good of the onion, please do not contaminate its sweet spring freshness with storebought mayo. The results will not be the same. And, I know there are risks for consuming raw eggs. All I can say about that is that my family has lived on homemade mayonnaise for generations, and we’ve all survived. Do with that information what you will.

I served this bread with our paneed catfish (a dusting of Tony Chachere’s cajun seasoning and a few minutes in a inch of olive oil–nothing too complicated about that) and Ivonne’s lemony potatoes (with rosemary instead of oregano and red new potatoes instead of Yukon golds) last night to our dear friend Casey. Everything was yummy, but I love this bread best. Maybe it just reminds me of home.

Aunt Jennifer’s San Francisco Bread
One half of a loaf of French bread

1/2 cup minced Vidalia onion

Homemade mayonnaise (recipe follows)

Kosher salt

Cracked black pepper

Preheat the broiler. Cut the bread in half lengthwise. Spread each half with a thick layer of mayonnaise. Cover with onions; season well with salt and pepper. Broil for a few minutes, until the bread is brown and crusty and the onions are soft. Slice and serve. Serves 4-6.

Homemade Mayonnaise
1 egg

1 T. cider vinegar

Juice of 1 lemon

1/2 t. Kosher salt

1/2 t. paprika

1/4 t. cayenne pepper

3/4 cup salad oil (canola or vegetable or a combination), divided

Place all ingredients in the blender, but start with only 1/4 cup of the oil. After the ingredients are blended, with the motor running, add the remaining oil in a very slow, steady stream. The mayonnaise should emulsify, creating a very thick consistency. The blender should start to spurt and sputter. It will keep in the refrigerator for about a week.

Every girl knows that a plain old salad needs the proper accessory to stand out. This sherry mustard vinaigrette is one I learned how to make at the restaurant where I waited tables in college; it was a house favorite. I think I ate a salad coated in its tangy sweetness nearly every workday for lunch. The greens in this photo came from our backyard (arugula, I think?), and the grilled chicken is made according to this recipe. It’s busy around our house, and this salad was the perfect throw-together springtime dinner.

Sherry Mustard Vinaigrette

3 T. cooking sherry (sherry vinegar will do in a pinch)
1 T. cider vinegar
2 t. cane syrup or honey
1 T. dijon mustard (I used the sweet-hot kind, but any mustard you like will do)
5 T. olive oil

Whisk together the vinegars, syrup or honey, and mustard. Whisk in the olive oil a drop at a time, stirring constantly, to emulsify. You can also do this in a food processor or a blender (but I would double the recipe; this amount hardly warrants a dirty blender, in my opinion).

Notes about the recipe: Many people prefer their vinaigrettes with a higher ration of oil to vinegar, but I like mine almost 1 to 1 for a couple of reasons. The first is that it slightly reduces the fat content of the dressing. Secondly, if the dressing is very flavorful, I am apt to use less of it, which also helps to reduce fat and calories. After all, if you’re going to eat salad for dinner, it might as well be as good for you as possible. Right?

The other night we invited friends over for dinner. We wanted to grill and sit outside–the spring weather here has been lovely. So I was looking for a dessert recipe that I could make ahead of time, put in the fridge, and forget about until later. Three pints of gorgeous Louisiana strawberries from the morning’s market visit begged to be part of whatever I concocted, so I decided to turn my Basalmic Strawberries and Mascarpone Cream into a tart.

Because I had time, I made the crust from scratch (see my notes about making the crust below), but a refrigerated one would work just fine too (although you should read Aunt Prissy’s warning below before you make that decision).

Seasonal, sweet strawberries are the stars in this dessert: the creamy filling and basalmic syrup are really just glitzy accessories. Once you’ve made the crust, the tart comes together quickly, and then you can slide it in the fridge and concentrate on your guests. Just the kind of make-ahead dessert that’s perfect for an evening of grilling for company. Or perhaps for Easter brunch?

Basalmic-Mascarpone Strawberry Tart

1 recipe Aunt Prissy’s Basic Pie Crust (see below)
2 pints strawberries
2 T. sugar (or less, depending on how sweet the berries are)
1/2 cup mascarpone cheese
1/2 cup whipping cream
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup good balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup sugar

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Roll the dough into a circle, lightly working from the center to get it as even as possible. Carefully lay the circle of dough on your tart pan, letting the excess hang over the edge. Gently press the dough into the pan, using your fingers to trim it to fit and to press it into the fluted edge. Pierce all over with a fork. Cover with aluminum foil, pressing it lightly to make sure it stays put (or if you have pie weights or beans, you can use those to keep it in place.) Bake for about 12 minutes, then remove the foil, and bake for 10 minutes more, or until lightly golden brown.

Meanwhile, wash and hull the strawberries. Dry them, and then cut them into quarters or slices, whichever you prefer, toss them into a bowl, sprinkle with sugar, and set aside. Whip the mascarpone and powdered sugar together until well-combined. Add the cream in a steady stream with the mixer running on medium-low speed. You want to whip the cream so that it’s thick but not stiff; it’s easy to overmix it. It should still be pourable so you can spread it onto the tart crust.

In a saucepan, bring the vinegar and 1/4 cup sugar to a slow boil; reduce the heat, and cook for another few minutes. Turn off the heat and set aside; it will thicken as it cools.

To assemble: spread the mascarpone mixture evenly over the bottom of the crust. Top with the strawberries. At this point, the tart can be covered and refrigerated for several hours. When ready to serve, drizzle the basalmic syrup over the top (this looks pretty; sorry I don’t have a picture, but I think it’s rude to make guests wait to eat while I do a photo shoot!).

Aunt Prissy’s Basic Pie Crust
1 1/4 cups flour
3/8 t. salt
1/4 cup vegetable shortening
3 1/2 T. cold butter
4-5 T. cold water

In a food processor, pulse the flour, salt, shortening, and butter together until crumbly (pea-sized crumbles). Add the water, a tablespoon at a time, continuining to pulse, until the dough forms into a ball. You want to be careful not to overprocess it, but it takes a few minutes for the dough to stick together. Just don’t leave the motor running. Pull the dough out and form into a ball. Cover with plastic wrap, flattening it into a disc, and refrigerate for about an hour (this time, I only waited 45 minutes before rolling it out, and it was fine). Roll out onto a floured board, but take your time; you don’t want to put too much pressure on it. Proceed to pie recipe.

Notes about the crust: My Aunt Prissy wrote this recipe on an index card to go into my Aunt’s Recipe Book I received when I got married. I have halved the recipe because I rarely make a double-crusted pie and because only this much will fit into my small food processor. If you have a big one, please feel free to double the recipe. If you have never made a homemade pie crust and you are scared, I will leave you with these words that Aunt Prissy wrote on the back of the recipe card: “Please do not be afraid to make pie crust. Flour, crisco, butter, and salt do not have souls. You do not have to win them to Christ. They are just ingredients that happen to make all pies taste fabulous as opposed to pies made with store-bought, already-made pie crusts that only taste good. Do not be afraid, have courage, take up the fight to learn how to make your own pie crust and go forth!!”

Happy Easter, everyone!