Weekly Dish

Right after Josie was born, friends in our life brought us food. An age-old expression of community, in many cultures, neighboring women gather around a new mother to tend to the household chores — cooking and cleaning while Mom gets to know her new baby. My mother and sister stayed a few days after Josie’s birth, and I was fortunate to have my husband here all the time — he too is on an academic schedule and so was off for the summer. Still, figuring out what to make for dinner was not exactly the first thing on our minds, so after my mom left, meals prepared by other hands were a huge help.

The first week, my Aunt Anne, who lives in Baton Rouge, brought a big pot of chicken and dumplings, which she calls love food. And they were: homey and warm and delicious, they fed us for nearly a week, and I swear, I could feel my body healing as I ate them. The next week, our friend Kathryn rallied the troops from our Sunday School class to provide meals.

When we lived in Jackson, as one of the only childless couples in a Sunday School class for young marrieds, we cooked a lot of food for new parents. I loved doing it: not only do you get to meet a need for someone, but you also get to go and hold a brand new baby. In fact, I often signed up to take food to people I didn’t know very well, and we met some of our best friends that way. What I didn’t know then is how important that service is: when you’re exhausted and physically recovering and emotionally focused on figuring out how to be parents, food cooked by someone else just tastes better. It becomes more than just physical sustenance; to be really cliche, it ministers to your soul.

And, so, when Kathryn showed up with a simple grilled chicken salad right when my body was craving something green and fresh, and Felicia and Ed dropped off a homey casserole just in time to feed us for a whole weekend, and Sarah brought Italian food the day I had been dreaming of the perfect marinara (which hers was), I felt overwhelmed with love — all through the food I put into my body.

It was more than that, of course — all of these people are dear to us, and it is a wonderful thing to hand over your newborn baby to a friend and watch as she holds the baby’s face close to hers to smell that new baby smell or kisses the top of your baby’s still-soft head or touches tiny fingers and tiny toes in awe of the miracle of new life.

In fact, one of our first friends to bring dinner is one we met through her new baby. Our first Sunday at a new church in a new city, nearly 2 years ago, we sat in front of a couple with a tiny little baby girl wrapped in a beautiful blanket. I will never forget that Sunday because as we walked to the front of this strange sanctuary for communion, I found myself standing right beside this woman and her baby. And I couldn’t take my eyes off of that little face — with the light streaming in from the stained glass windows, she looked like an angel. And, so after the service was over, the couple introduced themselves, and we exchanged phone numbers and, since then, Billy and Garland have become some of our dearest friends.

So, when Garland arrived with black bean quesadillas and a huge container of wonderful, fresh salsa, I wanted to cry — it was just our kind of food, which she knew, and it felt like the continuity in a great big circle of community. When their daughter, Wilhelmina, was a newborn and we were just beginning our friendship with them, David and I kept the baby a few times and cooked for them a few times, and tried to make sure they were occasionally getting out of the house without the little one in tow. Walking with them through the first year of Wilhelmina’s life prepared us for parenthood in ways we couldn’t have imagined at the time: we’ve watched them figure out what to feed her as she started on solid food, how to manage discipline and bedtime routines and, most recently, potty training. Since Josie has been here, they have loved us in so many tangible ways — we have their car seat and their infant swing and their batting gym and plastic bins full of Wilhelmina’s adorable clothes.

A couple of weeks ago, on a Sunday when the temperature had nearly reached 100 degrees, our air conditioner went out. Spoiled as we are by modern conveniences, being stuck in a small house with windows that are painted shut and a sweaty 3-month-old felt like a major catastrophe. After a couple of hours as the thermostat inside climbed towards the 90-degree mark, we called Billy to see if Josie and I could come over for a while to cool off. Garland was out of town, so Billy had Wilhelmina by himself, and Garland’s sister and her daughter were also staying at their house. In the midst of all of that, he persuaded us to come and stay until the air conditioner got fixed. He changed the sheets on their bed, set up a portable crib for Josie in their room, and insisted that we make ourselves at home.

That kindness is the sort that, even after you’ve known someone for a long time, still manages to be surprising and remarkable — perhaps because it is so rare in a culture of busyness and self-sufficiency. It is also the sort that gets communicated in the gifts of food. Long after Garland’s satisfying meal, I found myself thinking about it, especially the salsa. I’m sure partly because nursing a baby causes your body to crave good, fresh, real food. But also, I think, I also craved the care that went into making it: the thoughtfulness it took for Garland to know me well enough to know that I would love it.

And, so I’ve recreated it in a myriad of variations, depending on what I have on hand and what I’ve found at the farmer’s market. Each time I do, it tastes better — not as good as I remember hers tasting, but really good still — packed with fresh, clean flavors and a healthy dose of the sweet memory of kindness.

Exactly what friendship — and the food it brings — should taste like.

Peach Salsa

2 ripe peaches, diced
2 avocados, diced
1 bunch cilantro, rough chopped
2 hot peppers (I used hot banana peppers here, but I’ve also used jalapenos), finely chopped (I leave the seeds for spice, but if you’re sensitive to heat, remove them before chopping)
1 small cucumber, finely chopped
1/4 cup finely chopped red onion (about 1/4 of a medium one)
Juice of 1 lime
Sea salt, to taste

Toss together the peaches, avocados, peppers, cucumber, and onion. Squeeze the lime juice over and sprinkle with sea salt. Toss gently to combine. Serve with chips or quesadillas. I imagine it would also be a nice accompaniment to grilled fish or shrimp.

*Ivonne and Lis are hosting the second annual Festa al Fresco; this salsa would be the perfect thing to take to an outdoor gathering. But, I’ll have to warn you, here in Louisiana, a virtual patio party is the only kind I’d be willing to attend: it is still way, way too hot to spend more than the time it takes to get from front door to car outdoors. But, if I were in Toronto…that would be a different story.

As I have written here before, I do not winter well. Granted, I do not live in a climate with an especially long or harsh winter, but perhaps the perception of the deep south as a relatively warm place tricks me into thinking that I shouldn’t have to suffer winter at all. Adding to the illusion, cold weather doesn’t really kick in here until after Christmas, so I come up from a brisk, chilly holiday season thinking that spring should soon be on its way.

Only, I’d better get through January and February first. This winter has been especially cold and wet — it rained and stayed below 40 degrees every day for the first three weeks of the spring semester — but I’d braced myself to be prepared. After all, aren’t pregnant women chronically hot? I’m afraid carrying an extra person around with me has not made the wet chill in the air easier to endure as I’d hoped.

Just when I thought I could duck beneath the covers and stay until April, the Japanese magnolia in our front yard burst into purple and white blooms, showering the ground beneath with a welcome carpet of petals quietly announcing that the end must be near. Armed with this tiny bit of hope for warmer weather, I determined to make it through the next few weeks of blustery cold. To get me through and provide sustenance for our growing little family, David and I got into the habit of making soup on Sundays.

A fitting winter Sunday afternoon project, making soup requires leaving the stove on for hours at a time and ends with comfort food to last through the week. If you are just barely surviving winter where you are, I highly recommend this seasonal therapy. For me, it accomplishes several things at once: it warms me as I cook it, it warms me when I eat it, and it provides food for us on the nights when I just want to come home, put on my pajamas, and crawl into bed without standing over the stove. Soup has surely saved us from many a night of take-out (although we’ve had our share of those too). If you’re hankering for a warm bowl of something to tide you over until spring, head over to A Veggie Venture, where Alanna has been collecting soup recipes all month long.

This tortilla soup, adapted from the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, is not particularly difficult, although it does require a few preliminary steps before you throw everything into the pot to simmer. The complexly layered flavors reminds me a bit of a hot gazpacho: fresh with garlic and onions, rich with tomatoes and broth, smoky with the heat of the dried chilies. The onions and garlic I used were especially pungent; next time I make it, I might saute half of them to soften their bite just a bit.

A word about the dried chilies: the Lees call for a combination of anchos or mulatos and pasilla or guajilla chilies. I couldn’t find either of the latter two, so I substituted another dried hot variety, chiles de arbol. If you can’t find any dried chilies at all, I would recommend substituting roasted ones (poblanos would work well, I think, combined with a hotter pepper like a habanero or a serrano). Canned chipotles would also add an interesting note of smokiness and heat.

Whatever you do, don’t skip the toppings — they make the soup, in my opinion.

Vegetarian Tortilla Soup
2 cups corn or canola oil
4 whole dried chiles ancho (or other sweet-smoky pepper)
4 whole dried chiles de arbol (or other hot pepper)
10 soft yellow corn tortillas
Ground cumin
Chile powder
Seasoned salt
5 cups vegetable broth (you can substitute chicken broth for a non-veg version)
1 28-ounce can chopped tomatoes, with liquid
1 large yellow onion, diced
6 cloves garlic, chopped,
Kosher salt, to taste
Cracked black pepper, to taste

Toppings:
1/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup sour cream
zest and juice of 1 lime
1/4 t. chile powder
1/4 t. seasoned salt
Cilantro, chopped
Avocado, sliced

Heat about an inch of the oil in a soup pot. While the oil heats up, prepare the dried chiles: slit each one down its side, remove the stem and seeds, and cut into large pieces. (Kitchen shears are well-suited for this job). Add the chile pieces to the hot oil in batches, toasting for about a minute per batch. They should be a little soft and fragrant. Remove with tongs to a plate and set aside.

Add the rest of the oil to the pot and heat to about 350 degrees (medium-high on my electric stove). Meanwhile, cut 6 of the tortillas into thin strips; leave the remaining 4 whole. Line a plate with paper towels. Fry the whole tortillas one at a time for about 1 minute per side, or until crisp. Remove to paper towel-lined plate and season immediately with cumin, chile powder, and seasoned salt. Repeat with tortilla strips, which will crisp faster. Discard the oil.

To the pot (I used the same one), add 2 cups of broth, diced onions, chopped garlic, and the canned tomatoes and liquid. Sprinkle with a palmful of Kosher salt. Bring to a boil. Add the toasted chiles. Crumble in the whole tortillas. Simmer (bubbles just below the surface) until the liquid has reduced by about a fourth, about 10-15 minutes. At this point, you’re going to puree the soup in a blender. Here’s what I recommend: pour the hot soup into the blender and let it sit for a few minutes to cool.

Meanwhile, you can prepare the toppings: stir together the buttermilk, sour cream, lime zest and juice, and seasonings. Wash and chop the cilantro and/or green onions. Slice the avocado. Get out some bowls.

When you think the soup is cool enough not to explode your blender, place a dish towel over the top of the blender, and pulse a few times. If it appears to be behaving, puree until smooth. Return the pureed soup to the pot, add the remaining broth, and bring back to a simmer. Serve with a dollop of the lime cream, a handful of cilantro, slices of avocado, and a fistful of tortilla strips. Be warm and think lovely thoughts of a coming spring!

PS: Thanks to all who have sent pregnancy encouragement my way; your thoughts and words of kindness have brightened many a dreary, tired day!

A sandwich.

And a menu.

I wish I had more to offer, but school is all-consuming at the moment. I’m hoping things will slow down soon.

The thing that makes these sandwiches special is a seasoned black bean spread that will also double as part of the enchilada filling later in the week. Sweet potato fries make a great side for these hearty sandwiches.

Ham and Black Bean Tortas

For the black beans:
4 slices bacon
2 cloves garlic
1 jalapeno pepper
1 14 1/2-ounce can black beans
1 t. cumin
1 t. chili powder
1 t. seasoned salt
Juice of 1 lime

Cook the bacon in a large skillet. When crispy, remove and set aside. Drain off all but about a teaspoon of the fat, and return the skillet to the heat. Saute the garlic and pepper over medium heat until both are tender, a few minutes. Add the beans and their liquid, and turn the heat down to medium-low. Season with cumin, chili powder, and seasoned salt. As the beans cook and the liquid reduces, mash some of the beans with the back of the spoon. The mixture should become thick and spreadable. Remove from the heat, and stir in the lime juice.

For the sandwiches:
Black bean spread
Reserved bacon
6 slices ham
Havarti cheese, sliced
1 avocado, sliced
Thick, crusty bread

For each sandwich, spread each slice of bread with a nice coating of the black bean mixture. Top with cheese, avocado, ham, and bacon. Heat the sandwich if you wish, and save the remaining black bean mixture for enchiladas, fajitas or quesadillas.

For super-easy enchiladas, mix this black bean mixture with cooked, diced chicken, and a fourth-cup of salsa; divide the filling among 6 warmed flour tortillas; roll them up and arrange them in a baking dish; top with 1/2 cup salsa mixed with 1/4 cup half-and-half or whole milk; shred cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese over the whole dish; and bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes.

–Recipe adapted from Intercourses by Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge

My parents might say that I cook this way because I’ve always been one who delights in not following the rules. I attribute it to my adventurous and imaginative spirit (which they would probably say is a nice way of saying I am a non-conformist, a bad word here in the South). Of course, now I’m a grown-up who gets to say, “Rules? What rules?” At least in my kitchen, anyway.

One of the things I love most about experimental cooking is to take flavors and preparation methods from different regions. Quesadillas are a perfect format for experimenting; they are so quick to make, and the crispy tortilla shell can hold just about anything well. For this variety, I chose the classic French flavor combination, pears and blue cheese, and served it with a tangy mango salsa (which didn’t quite make it into the picture).

Before I give you the recipe though, I have to announce the birth of Ren William Partridge, son of Jessie and Jerrod, our good friends from Jackson (Jessie is the one who inspired the idea for this site). Ren was born yesterday around 1:15 (I think that time is close), and he weighed 9 pounds, 12 ounces (!!). Jessie and baby are doing well; I hope to have pictures to post soon.

Here’s how to make the quesadillas (blue for boy!):

Blue Cheese-Pear Quesadillas

2 T. butter

3-4 cloves garlic

1/2 cup green onions, sliced

3 ripe pears (I used Asian ones), sliced thinly

1 T. red wine vinegar

1/4 t. cayenne pepper

1 T. brown sugar

4 large tortillas

8 ounces crumbled blue cheese

2 T. butter

In a large skillet, heat the butter over medium heat. Add the garlic, and sauté until softened. Add the green onions and pears, and cook for about 10 minutes, until the pears are very soft. Add the vinegar, cayenne, and brown sugar, and cook while stirring for another 3-4 minutes. Remove the filling from the skillet, and heat another 2 T. butter over medium-high heat. Arrange one-fourth of the filling and cheese in half of each tortilla, and fold over. Cook until brown and bubbly, about 5-7 minutes per side. Serve with mango salsa.

Mango Salsa

1 ripe mango

1/2 red onion, chopped very finely

1 cup cilantro leaves, chopped

1 jalapeno pepper, chopped

Juice of 1 lime

1 t. Kosher salt

Mix all in a bowl. Can be made ahead and refrigerated. If you have any leftover, it is delicious with lime-flavored tortilla chips.

CHIMI, CHIMI

Friday, September 9 (but not really)

I’m not sure what happened, but somehow my days got mixed up this week. Labor Day? The hurricane week? I don’t know; I’m sure it’s a combination of all manner of things. Baton Rouge has turned into a different city this week (my local grocery store only had one bag of angel hair pasta in the whole store when I went Wednesday afternoon), new students from New Orleans have transferred to LSU for a semester, and traffic is, well, a nightmare. I try not to stray too far from home, fearing I may never return. I, for one, was glad to return to class, see my students’ faces, and know that they and their families are okay (many of them are from the Slidell area). Several of my students lamented not their families’ loss of property, but simply said, “We are thankful to be alive and have food and a place to stay.” These times do indeed put things into perspective, possibly one positive out of this surreal disaster.

So, here is what I cooked on Friday of whatever week this menu comes from (I really am having a hard time remembering), even though I am perfectly aware that today (the day I’m posting) is Saturday. But, whatever. I always buy ground beef in the 2 or 3 pound quantities, so I had about a pound leftover from our hamburger night. By Friday, I’m always looking for something quick, and these chimichangas really hit the spot. Yes, you have to fry them (gasp!) in about a half-inch of oil, but really, how often do you do that? And, look, I’m serving the fried thing with oranges and avocado! Doesn’t that help to balance out the grease? (This is what I tell myself when I have a diet coke with a medium pizza, anyway). You can make guacamole, of course, but these avocados were so perfectly ripe and pretty that I decided not to. The salsa is leftover from quesadilla night (Wednesday, I think?). Next week will be saner (at least I hope so.)

Beef Chimichangas with Orange-Red Onion Salad and Avocado

For the filling:

1 pound ground beef

2 cloves garlic, sliced thinly

1/2 small yellow onion, ciced

1 t. cumin

1 t. chili powder

1/2 t. seasoning salt

1/4 cup salsa

4 ounces pepper jack cheese

Cook the onion and garlic over medium heat, just until tender, about 4 minutes. Add the meat and seasonings. Cook until the beef is completely brown; drain well (I use a mesh strainer so I don’t lose the garlic or onion). Return the beef to the skillet, add the salsa and cheese and heat until cheese is melted and well-mixed in. Remove to a plate lined with paper towels (they will absorb more of the grease).

To assemble:

4 large tortillas

Enough oil to fill the skillet about 1/2 inch-up (I use canola)

Lay each tortilla flat, and place about 1/2 cup of the filling down the center. Fold in from the sides (like you were making a wrap), and then fold the ends up too (to make a closed packet). Heat the oil over medium and lay the chimis in the skillet, folded side down. Fry until brown, about 4-6 minutes per side. (The first ones will take a little longer, but once the oil gets really hot, they cook pretty quickly). I cook them two at a time; they should not touch in the skillet.

While they are frying, in a medium-sized bowl, toss 2 oranges, peeled and diced (I cut it into rings and then quarter each slice), about a quarter of a red onion, chopped very, very finely, 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar, and 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season well with salt and pepper.

Let the oranges sit and soak up the dressing while you finish frying. Remove each chimi, as it’s done, to a paper-towel-lined plate. While they are cooling, slice the avocado and sprinkle with salt. Plate up, and enjoy!

I love to make quesadillas. I love the idea of making an interesting filling, placing it in a tortilla, frying it, and voila! — a crispy, melt-in-your-mouth-good combination of flavors. This recipe is inspired partly by the Black Bean Enchiladas in Intercourses, which are also delish, but more labor-intensive and partly by a smoky black bean pizza that the pizza chef at the Brick-Oven used to make. For these, you just need some good salsa, leftover chicken, a can of black beans, some bacon, and some cheese. My husband really likes these, and the filling makes enough to have plenty of leftovers.

For the filling:

6 slices bacon

1/2 yellow onion

1 cup chopped green onion

4 cloves garlic, chopped finely

Chicken (I had 2 breasts leftover from grilling, so I used them, chopped, but shredded cooked chicken would also work)

1 can black beans, drained

1/2 cup salsa

Monterey Jack cheese (with peppers if you like spicy)

Tortillas (burrito-sized work well, but if you have the smaller ones, just use 2, instead of folding them in half)

In a skillet, cook the bacon slices until done. Remove, and drain off all but about a tablespoon of the grease, and sauté the onions and garlic over medium-low (be careful not to let the garlic burn). Add the diced chicken, black beans, and salsa. Cook over low for about 10 minutes, until you can begin to mash up the beans to get a good, thick consistency. Crumble in the reseved bacon. Remove the filling from the skillet. Fill tortillas with the chicken mixture and top liberally with cheese. Fry the tortillas in a little bit of oil (I use the same skillet–mindful always of my sweet husband who cleans up my messes!). Serve with salsa and guacamole (Ina Garten’s recipe in The Barefoot Contessa is my favorite–chunky, with lots of lemon and salt). The citrusy flavor of the guacamole works well with the smoky intensity of the quesadillas. We like to drink a spicy wine with a meal like this also–Zinfandel is our favorite. Or, of course, margaritas if we don’t have school the next day. Tequila and early mornings, in my experience, are not a favorable combination, but hey, if it works for you. . .