Weekly Dish

I’ve let most of my basil plants go to seed at this point, but there’s one that I’ve continued to prune for pesto, and it is still hanging on. A few weeks ago, I harvested an enormous bouquet — as much as I could carry — to make what will probably turn out to be the last big batch of pesto to freeze. I do this every year, and even though hot weather usually persists in Louisiana for another month or so afterwards, and the leaves don’t really change colors, this act of saying goodbye to summer helps me to officially mark the changing of the seasons, at least in my head (and my kitchen).

But then, I’m left with all of this very summery pesto. Some of it goes into the freezer, yes, but what to do with the rest of it?

Well, one of the things that inspired my little harvesting fest this year was a meal prepared for us by my dear friend Jessica and her husband Andy. For dinner one night at their house, they served us roasted portabello mushrooms with spinach and leeks, topped with goat cheese and pesto. Intrigued by the combination of summer and fall flavors — bright, clean basil with earthy mushrooms and leeks — I created these transitional quesadillas.

This recipe couldn’t be simpler, once you have the pesto made, and, loaded with vegetables, the dish is good for you too. I can imagine that I’ll be pulling the pesto out of my freezer to whip these up quite often as cooler weather descends on this part of the country.

Summery Fall Quesadillas

1/2 T. butter
1/2 T. olive oil
1 small yellow onion, sliced into half-moons
1/2 pound assorted mushrooms
2 medium-sized leeks, white and green parts, sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups roughly chopped spinach leaves
2 ounces goat cheese
1 T. basil pesto
4 large flour tortillas

Heat the butter and olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onions and cook until nicely browned (this takes me anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes, depending on the sugar content of the onions). Sprinkle with Kosher salt, and remove the onions to a plate. Drizzle a little more oil into the skillet if you need to and add the leeks, mushrooms, and garlic. Cook these vegetables together over medium heat until tender. Add the spinach and stir until just wilted. Add this mixture to the plate of caramelized onions.

Mix the goat cheese and pesto together. Warm the tortillas slightly (I cover them in paper towels and microwave them for 20 seconds), and spread each one with a light coating of the goat cheese mixture. Top half of each tortilla with 1/4 of the vegetables and fold over.

Heat a pat of butter and a drizzle of oil in the skillet over medium-high. Cook the assembled quesadillas, one at a time, until browned evenly on both sides.

We ate these as a main course, but cut into wedges, I bet they would also make great appetizers.

PS: Thanks so much to everyone for all of your very kind well wishes about our happy news (and for a speedy recovery from nausea). I’m thrilled to report that I have already felt more like cooking (and more like eating), so hopefully, the second trimester will bode well for Weekly Dish. Your comments and encouragement have buoyed my spirits tremendously, so thank you!

The U.S. South, as a geographic region, is often pigeonholed as one monolithic entity, all of us southerners grouped into the same slow-talking, barefoot-going mass. But think through just the culinary traditions, and you’ll see quite a variance from one part of the South to the next. Take the simple idea of barbecue. Now I grew up in Mississippi, only three hours from Memphis (or for the more adventurous, an hour and a half from a joint in the middle of nowhere called Letha’s), so I will tell you that barbecue means ribs, plain and simple. And I like mine dry. But just ask folks from Texas or North Carolina to describe barbecue, and you’ll see. They have definite ideas about what goes in the sauce, and those ideas vary widely. Oh, and they also have very definite ideas that their state’s barbecue is the absolute best.

To be sure, there are traditions that appear consistently across the South, but many regions have distinct specialities that you can’t find in other places. In the hill country of Kentucky, where some of my mom’s family is from, they make these wonderful concoctions called ham biscuits, homemade biscuits slathered with butter and topped with the best ham I’ve ever eaten. In southern Louisiana, of course, Creole and Cajun cooking reigns supreme; jambalaya, etouffee, and gumbo aren’t likely to appear as frequently in other parts of the region.

In Mississippi, I grew up with frequent tutorials in frying–a staple method in most parts of the deep south–and what I would call good southern comfort food. When asked, my brother Jason requests what I think of as the quintessential comfort meal: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and black-eyed peas with pepper jelly. Oh, and homemade biscuits, which we smear with butter and honey. Southern food, for us, also meant wild game: my dad and brothers all hunt, so baked doves, roasted quail, and dry-fry (fried venison) were also big parts of our meals.

If the blogging event Food Bloggers’ Geography: Southern Style, put on by My Husband Cooks, had fallen at a different time in my life, I would love to have whipped up one of these dishes that so represents the culinary heritage of my southern family. But, alas, I had to go back to the days before the nausea set in to find something appropriate.

In the first few weeks of pregnancy, I felt hungry all the time. Mostly for salty, crunchy things. I ate olives by the handful and although I am usually not a potato chip girl, if they were near, I could eat a whole bag. One Sunday for lunch, after a heavy rain had knocked some of the not-yet-ripe fall tomatoes from the garden on the ground, we fried them up for what is, in Mississippi anyway, the quintessential southern summer sandwich: a BLT. Instead of ripe red tomatoes, I used the fried green ones, whose tartness works well with the bacon. Instead of lettuce, I added our garden arugula, and I loved the peppery flavor against the salty crunch of the bacon and the spicy coating of the tomatoes. If this were a traditional southern BLT, it would have to have homemade mayonnaise on it, but since I’m avoiding raw eggs, that wasn’t an option (and storebought mayonnaise is never, ever an option). Good, crusty bread is also a must: I used ciabatta for this one; sourdough also works.

I’m sorry I don’t have a real southern “recipe” to offer, but if you dig around in the archives, you’re likely to find many a southern dish: the South has, in many ways, defined the kind of cook I am. I’ve fried green tomatoes here before, so in case you want to make BLT’s with stray fall tomatoes, here’s how to do it.

I’m excited to see how other folks interpret “the South”; you can head over to My Husband Cooks and find out on Sunday.

This pizza sprung from my current love affair with figs and a hankering for grilled pizza. The restaurant where I worked in college — aptly named the Brick-Oven Cafe — served the most delicious wood-fired pizzas, baked, as you might expect, in a huge brick wood-burning oven. The texture of the crust was nice: a balanced blend of crisp and chewy, but the rich, smoky flavor was of the sort you can only get when flames are involved. Currently without a wood-burning oven of my own, I’d been thinking that grilling a pizza might impart a similar texture and flavor.

The trick, I learned from this experiment, is to roll the dough as thinly as possible. What happens in the cooking process is that the fiery heat licks the bottom of the crust, imparting its smoky flavor within a matter of minutes. But if the dough is too thick, it won’t cook all the way through, leaving you with a gummy texture in the center. We ended up pulling the pizza off of the direct grill, reducing the flame, and cooking it the rest of the way through on a foil-lined cookie sheet. It worked, but I would have liked it more if the crust had been thinner and more evenly crisp.

The toppings, inspired by recent fig pizzas at A Mingling of Tastes and at Milk and Honey, were figs, grilled in a drizzle of basalmic vinegar and cane syrup; grilled pieces of prosciutto; and large dollops of goat cheese, which melted nicely into the figs. David, not as big a fan of figs as I am, was a bit skeptical about this sweet/salty combo, but he admitted after several slices that he was pleasantly suprised. Given my penchant for contrasting flavors, fresh figs, and pizza, it should come as no surprise that I loved every bite.

The labor of this meal is in the prep work; once you get everything ready, it takes almost no time to cook on the grill. The grilling times I’ve included are guesses: my best advice is to stand at the grill the whole time and watch carefully. The amounts are also estimates, as it will depend on how much you want to load down your pizza, how big your crusts are, and how many figs you can get your hands on. As you can tell, this is no exact science.
Grilled Fig Pizza

Half recipe of Basic Focaccia/Pizza Dough or other dough of your choice
Figs (I used about a pint)
Basalmic vinegar
Cane syrup (honey would work too)
Kosher salt
Prosciutto, thinly sliced
Goat cheese (I used about 4 ounces)
Olive oil
Cooking spray

Heat the grill to a medium-high flame (we have charcoal, so I imagine a gas grill would be easier to keep consistently hot).

While the fire is heating up, get everything ready: Slice the figs in half, and spread them in a single layer on a foil-lined baking sheet (preferably with a lip) that will fit on your grill rack. Drizzle with a tiny bit of vinegar and syrup, and sprinkle with salt. Place the prosciutto slices on a doubled piece of foil that’s been sprayed with cooking spray. Divide the the dough into two balls, and roll each one out as thinly as you can manage with a rolling pin and place on wax paper sprayed with cooking spray. Rub a little olive oil onto both sides of each pizza crust.

Take everything outside: prepared figs, prosciutto, dough, and the goat cheese. (If you live in the hottest, stickiest climate you can imagine like I do, spray yourself copiously with bug spray first and be prepared to sweat.) You’ll also need a big metal spatula (or two regular-sized ones) to flip the pizza. Grill the prosciutto first on the foil, just until it crisps up; this won’t take but a minute. Next, place your baking sheet of figs on the grill, and cook until the juices are bubbly and the figs are very soft; maybe 5 minutes? Now you’re ready for the pizza. Place the oiled dough directly on the grill rack, and let it cook (we covered the grill because the wind was fanning the flame too much) until it’s brown and crispy on the bottom; it took ours about 3 minutes. Flip, and immediately cover with figs, prosciutto, and goat cheese, being careful not to let any of the fig juices drip into the fire (like I did). Cook for another few minutes until the bottom is crispy and brown. Remove from the grill and drizzle with olive oil; repeat the process with the next pizza. Eat immediately!

One lone sweet farmer — Buddy Miller — sells figs regularly at my local Saturday market. I see him every Saturday from late July/early August until his trees stop producing (probably any Saturday now) and I buy as many different kinds of figs as he has.

In their book on cooking with aphrodesiacs, here’s what Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge have to say about figs in the chapter on the fruit: “If you’ve never had a fig before, it will not — cannot– taste, smell, look, or feel as you imagined it would — because a ripe fig tastes sweeter than any dried nugget of trail-mix fig, and a plump one smells gentler than any hyper-syruped canned version. . . .When its juice runs over your tongue, you are drinking pure, unadulterated sensuality.”

It was only a few years ago that I first tasted for myself what they’re talking about. My taste buds still have not recovered; they often crave the sublime sweetness of these gorgeous little gems at the most random times. Last summer I tucked a few away in a freezer bag, and come January, when a craving hit, I was oh so glad. My freezer stash this summer has already begun.

A fig is a perfect fruit, in my opinion. The simplest of pleasures, figs win out for their blissful unfussiness. This fruit doesn’t need to be peeled, has no inedible seeds, and contains no pits or other obstructions to fool with. Some varieties are exactly bite-sized; most can be eaten in no more than two delicate bites. A tiny stem makes a good handle with which to hold your fig, and it tastes best eaten ripe and alone, or, on special occasions with the slightest dribble of cream. But it’s versatile also: the fig pairs well with cheese and wine, or cooks up to a mighty fine dessert or dinner.

I mostly eat mine straight from the fridge soon after they’ve been purchased. Occasionally, though, I’ll feel creative and want to dress them up. This appetizer is so simple, but it’s a great little before-dinner treat to serve to guests (especially if they’ve never had fresh figs before). Black Mission figs work really well for this preparation; they’re larger and firmer than some of the smaller, sweeter varieties. The filling tastes even better if you have time to mix it up the night before, but at least allow it to refrigerate for a couple of hours to let the flavors mingle. I like to serve these with a crisp Riesling, and if you’re going heavy on the hors d’oeuvres, shards of prosciutto and blue cheese on crostini.

In fact, these appetizers would make a great contribution to an al fresco dinner party, perhaps the La Festa Fresco that Ivonne and Lis are throwing? Stop in and see what other fresh, local outdoorsy foods other people made on September 5, when the round-up will be posted.

Creamy Stuffed Figs

4 ounces cream cheese, softened
4 strips bacon
1 T. chives, chopped, with a few reserved for garnish,
1/2 cup almonds or pecans
Cracked black pepper and Kosher salt, to taste
8 fresh figs

To prepare the filling, set the cream cheese in a small bowl to soften. Cook the bacon and set aside to cool. Then, toast the nuts (please, please do NOT skip this step — the toasted nuts add a lot of depth to the flavor of the filling) in a dry skillet or in a 350-degree oven for 6-8 minutes. When the bacon and nuts are cool enough to handle, coarsely chop, and add them to the cream cheese. Mix in the chives and seasonings. Refrigerate for at least a few hours.

To prepare the figs, first wash and pat dry. Remove the stems. With a small, sharp knife, carefully cut cross-wise into the top of each fig, as if you were quartering it, but making sure not to cut all the way through. Stuff each fig with about a tablespoon of the cream cheese mixture (or as much as the fig can hold and still stand up straight). You can refrigerate them again until ready to serve if you need to.

–Adapted from Intercourses by Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge

This chicken salad recipe is for my sister, who last time I offered her my version with pesto and pine nuts, turned up her nose and said, “I like my chicken salad girly. You know, with grapes and stuff.”

Well, of course she does. This is a girl with shoes and purses in every shade of the rainbow (I have two pairs of flip flops and a black catchall tote), a fabulously expansive make-up collection (mascara and lip gloss for me, thank you), and enough trendy outfits to clothe the cast of Clueless (I’m most comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt).

But whatever our outward differences, Elizabeth and I love many of the same things; good food and each other’s company rank pretty high on the list.

So, sister, next time you come to visit, I’ll make this chicken salad for you, grapes and all. And you better not turn your nose up!

For a pretty, girly way to serve this salad, I halved an avocado, laid it on a bed of spinach, and dressed the whole plate with a spritz of lemon juice, a drizzle of olive oil, and a healthy sprinkle of salt. Then, I scooped the chicken salad into the avocado cavities. All in all, I loved the velvety texture and nutty flavor the avocado added; plus, serving it this way eliminates the need for bread, which makes this recipe healthy for low-carb folks.

For me, good chicken salad is in the details: I always use homemade mayonnaise, as I am terrified of the jarred stuff, but I also think the taste makes a big difference. Toasted pecans add crunch and a depth of flavor, and I love to play pungent red onion against something sweet, like grapes (only I used cherries this time because I had them on hand). Chicken salad comes in many variations and is infinitely flexible, so add what you like and leave out what you don’t. Here’s how I make this one:

Girly Chicken Salad 

2 cups cooked chicken, cut into small pieces (I use leftover roast chicken, both white and dark meat)
Two handfuls of grapes or cherries, pitted and halved
1/4 cup red onion, minced finely
1/2 cup pecans, chopped
1/3-3/4 cup homemade mayonnaise, depending on how dressed you like your salad
1/2 t. Kosher salt
Baby spinach
2 avocados, pitted, peeled, and halved
Olive oil
1 lemon

To toast the pecans, either dry-roast them in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat, shaking the pan to prevent them from burning. Or, spread them on a baking sheet, and toast them in a 350-degree oven for 5-7 minutes. Mix the chicken pieces, red onion, pecans, and grapes or cherries, tossing gently. Add the mayonnaise, starting with a little, and then adding until the salad is dressed enough for your taste (this is such a matter of individual preference).

To serve, cover 2 plates with the spinach leaves. Top with the avocado halves. Sprinkle the whole plate with lemon juice, olive oil, and salt. Scoop in the chicken salad. Serves 2 (you’ll have 2-4 servings of chicken salad leftover.)

Sometimes I get an uncontrollable urge to fry something. I say uncontrollable because if a girl were to be logical, she might envision herself standing in front of a boiling pot of oil in hundred-degree heat and be able to talk herself into something less, well, hot. Perhaps it’s my southern blood forcing its will right through any sensible notion of health, or comfort. Or perhaps I’ve just eaten one too many salads. Either way, when the urge strikes, nothing will do but to whip up a batch of fried something or the other, and zucchini is what I had in my fridge.

And, because Barbara is collecting recipes that feature local ingredients for this month’s Spice Is Right, I used locally ground spices — cayenne and paprika — in the batter. Both the cayenne and paprika are made from red peppers — one spicy, the other sweet — grown and ground by Papa Tom Bonnecaze Farms, who I see every Saturday morning at the market (they also make the best pepper jelly in town). The zucchini is straight from another Louisiana farmer just down the road, the buttermilk came from a local dairy, so besides the flour, seasoned salt, and oil, this dish is completely south Louisiana. And, of course, as far as techniques go, you can’t get more locally southern than frying.

These crunchy little spears are a cross between fried dill pickles–popular at state fairs around these parts–and some eggplant fries I had once at a restaurant. The zucchini held up nicely–it turns very soft, but doesn’t fall apart–and I love the mild flavor of the vegetable dressed up by the spices in the batter. Comeback sauce would, I’m sure, make a delightful dipping sauce for fried zucchini, but it’s not necessary in my opinion.

After a half-hour of frying up this zucchini, a heck of a mess in my kitchen, what with dribbles of buttermilk, splatters of grease, and bits of uncooked batter strewn from counter top to stove, one bite into the well-seasoned crunchy batter satisfied my craving and assuaged any sense of craziness I’d felt as droplets of sweat dribbled down my forehead during the frying process.

I’m already thinking of other things to fry in these precious weeks before school officially starts, so don’t be surprised if I show up here again with a batter-laden concoction to present to you.

Until, then, here’s the menu for the week and the fried zucchini recipe:

Links:

• David’s Roast Chicken
• Chipotle-Glazed Ribs
• Lemony Spinach

Locally Spiced Fried Zucchini

2 medium zucchini, cut into long, thin, spears
Buttermilk (about 2 cups, maybe less)
2 cups flour
1/2 t. cayenne pepper
2 t. ground paprika
2 t. seasoned salt
Vegetable or canola oil, about an inch deep

Heat about an inch of oil in a large frying pan over medium-high heat.

While the oil is heating up, prepare the zucchini. Place the spears in a large zip-top plastic bag, and add enough buttermilk to immerse the spears. In another zip-top bag, mix together the spices and the flour. When the oil is hot — a drop of water should sizzle and pop when dropped into the pot — transfer some of the zucchini to the flour bag and shake to coat well. Add one spear at a time to the hot oil, being careful not to overcrowd the pan, and fry until golden brown, turning once to ensure even frying. Mine took about 4 minutes per batch. Remove with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle each batch with additional seasoned salt.

Repeat the process until all of the zucchini has been coated and fried. Serve immediately. This recipe makes enough for 4 people as a side, or two hungry people as a combination appetizer/side dish/late-night snack over Scrabble. What can I say? Fried things don’t keep well, and it would be a shame to let such goodness go to waste.

Every cook has her own version of this Italian bread and tomato salad, I’m sure, but I’ve made this one so many times this summer, I had to share. I’m not a big fan of soggy bread, so I like to get my bread cubes nice and toasty, almost like croutons, and with the help of olive oil and some fresh garlic, the bread also packs quite a punch of flavor. Add some vegetables and a quick dressing, and you’ve got yourself a light summer supper.

One trick I’ve used in carting this salad to picnics or other events is to mix the dressing in the bottom of the bowl before you add everything else. That way, you can toss the salad whenever you get ready, and not worry about everything turning to mush.

Panzanella

1 small loaf French bread, or half of a long one, cubed
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup olive oil
1/2 t. + 1/2 t. Kosher or sea salt
1 yellow bell pepper, julienned
1 cucumber, seeded and sliced into half moons
1 large tomato, seeded and cubed
1 avocado, diced
Juice of half a lemon
Coarsely ground black pepper
1/4 cup champagne vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1 T. dijon mustard

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with foil. Coat the bread cubes with olive oil, and spread in a single layer on the baking sheet. Sprinkle with 3 cloves of the minced garlic and the Kosher salt. Toast for about 15 minutes, stirring once during toasting, about half-way through.

In the bottom of a large salad bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, and the remaining clove of garlic. Slowly whisk in the olive oil, stirring constantly to emulsify. Add the tomato, bell pepper, and cucumber pieces to the bowl. Sprinkle the avocado slices with lemon juice, and add them too. Salt the vegetables with the remaining half teaspoon of salt, and with coarse black pepper, if you like. If serving immediately, you can go ahead and toss the veggies with the dressing. If you plan to wait, then don’t toss it just yet.

Add the toasted bread crumbs last, tossing to coat with the dressing just before serving.

This recipe makes enough to serve 4 for a light supper, or 6-8 as a side. Either way, just eat it all; the salad will definitely be mushy by the next day.

I hope that the gracious host of Paper Chef and this month’s illustrious judge will forgive this tardy entry!

I knew I’d be out of town the weekend the ingredients were announced, so I’d resigned myself to sitting out of this month’s competition. But when I checked Tomatilla! this morning just to see what the ingredients were, I knew I had to participate. For one thing, two of the ingredients–cherries and peaches–are among my most beloved fruits. For another, the third ingredient–an herb that you’ve recently discovered–has been sitting outside on my deck, waiting patiently for me to make up my mind about what to do with it: my new lemon verbena plant! And, lastly, I had an immediate idea for a dessert that combined the sweetness of summer fruits, the fresh herbal citrus of the verbena, and the last and final ingredient–something spicy.

So, because I’m hurrying to get this post in in time, I will not delay in presenting my Stone Fruit Tart with Lemon Verbena Cream and Chipotle-Balsamic Glaze. The crust is a buttery shortbread, accented with lemon zest to complement the lemon verbena in the cream layer, which consists of the delicate herb and sweetened mascarpone cheese. I topped the tart with fresh peaches and cherries–at this time of year, it almost breaks my heart to alter their fresh, summery flavor at all, so I wanted to keep them raw–and a spicy reduction of balsamic vinegar and brown sugar, with the added kick of smoky chipotle peppers.

I love the way the glaze plays with the fruit: a spicy hint here, a tangy, vinegary note there, all coated by the ethereal, citrus-tinged mascarpone and crisp, buttery crust. And, all in all, it came together in less than an hour! The only thing I might do differently next time is to increase the amount of lemon verbena. I used all that my new little plant could stand, but I think the tart could benefit from even more of its sweet, clean flavor.

Stone Fruit Tart with Lemon Verbena Cream and Chipotle-Basalmic Glaze

For the crust:
1 1/4 cups flour
1/3 cup sugar
Zest of 1 lemon
1/4 t. salt
1 stick cold butter, cubed
1 egg yolk

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. In the bowl of a food processor, process the flour, sugar, zest, and salt for several seconds. With the motor running, add the butter, a cube at a time, until coarse crumbs form. Add the egg yolk, and process until the dough comes together in a ball. Pat the dough into a prepared tart pan, and bake for 15-18 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven, and brush with an egg wash (1 egg + a little water) to seal. Return to the oven and bake for another minute. While the crust is baking, prepare the lemon verbena cream and the chipotle basalmic glaze.

For the cream:
8 ounces mascarpone cheese, softened
1/3 cup powdered sugar
2 T. lemon verbena leaves (or more)
Whip the mascarpone and the powdered sugar in an electric mixer or by hand until well combined. Wash the lemon verbena leaves and dry thoroughly. Mince as finely as you can, and stir them into the cream. Set aside.

For the glaze:
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup basalmic vinegar
1 t. chipotle and adobo, mashed

In a small saucepan, melt the sugar, vinegar, and pepper paste together over medium heat until the sugar is dissolved, stirring constantly. Set aside to thicken.

To assemble:
2 peaches, peeled and sliced
6-8 cherries, stoned and halved

Spread the crust with the lemon verbena mascarpone. Arrange the fruit on top and drizzle with the glaze. Serve with extra fruit. Yum!

The menu for this week is relatively short; as you can see, we’re headed to Mississippi to spend some time with family and friends before school starts. Most of what I’m planning revolves around what I have an excess of: tomatoes, basil, and Vidalia onions.
The farmer that I buy my tomatoes from starts about this time in the season boxing up very ripe tomatoes and selling them for cheap. Yesterday, I bought 15 pounds for $10! So, the only thing to do with that many tomatoes is make tomato sauce to freeze (and to use to make a lasagna for friends who are moving). And, of course, reserve some fresh ones for this pizza.

Not so much a recipe as a suggestion, for this pizza, you simply prepare whatever kind of crust you like, spread it with pesto, top with sliced tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, and drizzle the whole thing with olive oil and Kosher salt. Bake until the cheese melts.

Here are the other links for this week:

• Oven-Roasted Tomato Sauce
• Basil Pesto
• Lasagna

Happy end of July, everyone!

Let me just warn you before you keep reading. This recipe is strange. I’ve made it twice now, and everyone I’ve served it to thinks it’s strange too.

Hannah, my sister-in-law, first sent me the recipe, and hers got the same reaction.

But, here’s the interesting part: even though they think it’s strange, people can’t quit eating it. Because, apparently, strange can be good.

I’m always up for an adventurous recipe, but I was especially attracted to this ice cream because I wanted to make a frozen dessert for this month’s Sugar High Friday event, and I don’t have an ice cream maker.

Here’s the basic premise: take some ice cream, mix it with mashed-up avocado, a jalapeno pepper, coconut, and lime juice. Freeze it. Serve it to people just to see what their reactions are. It’s fun. You should try it.

The original recipe calls for vanilla ice cream, avocado, lime juice and zest, and jalapeno.
For the first version I tried, I used vanilla nonfat frozen yogurt and added coconut to the flavor mix. Andy and Jessica both really liked it, but we agreed that the nonfat yogurt texture was all wrong. And I didn’t really like the vanilla flavor–it overwhelmed everything else. Jessica recommended more lime. Andy said his favorite thing about it was that the spicy kick that comes at the very end of a bite because it’s hot and makes you want something cold. So, you just take another bite. Genius!

For the next batch, I tried Blue Bell Key Lime Pie ice cream and more lime juice. Billy said it tasted like frozen curry (that was not a favorable response). Garland didn’t like the coconut texture. I liked the added lime flavor of the ice cream, but the chunks of graham cracker crust didn’t fit in.

If I were to make it again, I think I might use lime (or coconut!) sherbet and process the coconut with the jalapeno-avocado mixture so that there aren’t discernible flakes. The creaminess of the avocado dresses up the ice cream’s texture to make it super silky, so frozen bits of anything are not welcome. The lime-coconut flavor dominates when you first put it into your mouth, but, then — wait for it — a spicy kick of jalapeno! This dessert certainly is a fascinating eating experience.

If nothing else, it makes for super-fun after-dinner conversation.

Head over to the Delcious Life to see what other fun frozen sweets people are making. Oh, and if the name Vanilla Ice rings vaguely of your adolescence, please read Sarah’s introductory rap. It’s hilarious.

Chili-Lime-Avocado Ice Cream

1 quart ice cream, softened (lime or coconut are my flavor recommendations. But I’d love to know if you try something else!)
2 avocadoes, pitted and peeled
Zest and juice of 2 limes
2 t. sugar
1/2 cup coconut milk
1/2 cup sweetened flake coconut
1 or 2 jalapeno peppers, seeded or not (depending on how much of a kick you’re going for)

While the ice cream is softening up, mince the peppers in the food processor with the lime juice and zest. Process well until the mixture is paste-like. Add the sugar, coconut, and avocadoes, and continue processing until the mixture is well-combined. Spoon the ice cream into a freezable container, and stir in the coconut milk (this will help to soften it up even more). Work in the avocado mixture, stirring until the ice cream turns a lovely shade of avocado green and seems evenly mixed. Freeze for a few hours or up to a week. Serve it to your friends (and for extra fun, don’t tell them what it is!).

This recipe was adapted from the Sweet Avocado-Green Chilli Ice Cream at The Splendid Table.