Weekly Dish

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.

After my revelatory butternut ravioli, I had half of a roasted squash left to use (the ones at our market this fall have been enormous). I also had some Italian sausage left over, and that combination worked so well that I came up with this very fall pizza. Super-thin, crispy crust worked well with this robust flavor combination, although now I’m thinking that these ingredients would also work well in a calzone. Maybe I’ll try that next week. Like the ravioli, this pizza would be good without the sausage for a vegetarian alternative.

What follows is not so much a recipe as a suggestion; I’m sure there are tons of ways to vary this with good success. Amounts for pizza are always for me a matter of taste — if you love blue cheese, throw on a hefty portion; if you only like it a little at a time, sprinkle less liberally. I could be wrong, but I think it would be difficult to mess this up.

Fall Pizza

Your favorite pizza dough or shell
Half of a large butternut squash, cooked and mashed (I cook it like this)
Olive oil
One or two links Italian sausage, sliced and cooked
Blue cheese, amount to taste
1 ripe pear (I used an Asian one and it was delicious), thinly sliced
A couple of handfuls of arugula leaves, washed and roughly chopped or torn

Preheat the oven to 475 degrees. If you’re working with uncooked dough, rub it with a bit of olive oil and bake it for about 5 minutes. Spread the warm dough with the mashed squash, using olive oil as needed to thin and spread the mixture. Don’t worry if you don’t get an even coat, just try to cover as much surface area as you can. Top with the pear slices next, distributing them evenly. Sprinkle with as much blue cheese as you desire, and then finish with the cooked sausage rounds. Bake the pizza for another 5-8 minutes, until the pears are very soft and the cheese is melted. Cover the hot pizza with chopped arugula; slice, and serve.

I served this pizza with an extra mound of arugula, dressed with olive oil, fresh lemon juice, cracked pepper, Kosher salt, and shavings of Parmesan cheese.

As you know, I have, over the last few months, lost my taste for food. I’m sure for many pregnant women, those who dread cooking or find it difficult, this would not be the end of the world. But, I have to tell you, for a girl who loves to be in the kitchen, relying on peanut butter sandwiches and smoothies for nutrients has not been much fun. I guess I should have relished the break from cooking, as my husband cheerfully took over, but instead, I felt like a big part of my day was missing.

And I didn’t like it one bit.

In the midst of this cooking hiatus, I often scanned my favorite food blogs, searching for inspiration, hoping that something would awaken my nausea-weary tastebuds. For whatever reason (only the hormonal monsters in my body know for sure), one afternoon, a ravioli recipe that I’d bookmarked months and months ago from Chez Megane suddenly sounded good. Nevermind that I didn’t have sweet potatoes or ricotta cheese. I did have a butternut squash, one that had been looking longingly at me from the pantry for several days since I picked it up from the farmer’s market, and I had wonton wrappers. And, miracle of all miracles, I actually had an appetite!

I put on some music and an apron and went to work. I cut the squash in half, smeared it with a bit of butter, molasses, and basalmic vinegar, and popped it into the oven. I harvested the last good leaves of our sad sage bush (which has since gone on to herb heaven, rest in peace), and carefully laid out all the ingredients I would need. I chopped garlic and beat an egg and grated Parmesan cheese. In fact, I decided while I was there, I might as well busy myself until the squash was finished and cool enough to handle. So I baked some bread and made granola.

And, dear reader, I am happy to report that when the ravioli was plated up and ready, I was starving. It tasted like the best meal I’d had in weeks. I know not everyone understands this, but, oh, the pleasure of preparation — of getting my hands dirty and anticipating the way the flavors and textures will taste in my mouth: this is what I’d been missing.

And, ever since I made that discovery, I’ve felt more like myself every day.

Butternut Ravioli with Sage Butter and Italian Sausage

1 1/4 cups of cooked, mashed winter squash
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/8 t. freshly grated nutmeg
About a dozen sage leaves
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, shredded, plus extra for serving
1 egg plus water
Wonton wrappers or pasta sheets
4 T. butter
1/4 cup pine nuts
1 link Italian sausage, sliced into rounds (you could, of course, leave this out for a vegetarian meal)

In a heavy-bottomed skillet, melt a tablespoon of butter. Saute the garlic over medium-low heat until translucent and very soft. Chop a few of the sage leaves and add them to the skillet. Sprinkle with Kosher salt and saute for another minute or so, until the leaves crisp up a little bit.

In a large bowl, scrape the contents of the skillet in with the mashed squash. Add the Parmesan and nutmeg, and combine well. Set aside.

Now, I am funny about the wonton wrappers: I don’t think they hold up very well unless they’re doubled up. So, I use 4 wrappers per ravioli, brushing one side of a wonton wrapper with egg wash and then laying another wrapper on top of it, pressing to seal. I repeat this process with another pair of wrappers. Then, spoon filling on top of one double sheet, then top with the other double sheet and seal the edges with egg wash. It’s a little extra trouble to do it this way, but I once had a whole batch fall apart in the boiling water with only single sheets, so I prefer to play it safe. (Of course, homemade pasta would be best).

Once the ravioli are assembled, set them aside. Bring a pot of water to boil. Add the ravioli and cook until they float, about 3 or 4 minutes. (You may have to do this in batches). Drain and arrange on plates.

While the ravioli are cooking, brown the sausage in the skillet (the one you cooked the garlic in) until cooked through. Remove with a slotted spoon. Add the butter and cook over medium until it’s just beginning to turn golden. Add the pine nuts and remaining whole sage leaves. Stir and cook until the sage leaves are crispy. Watch carefully so that the butter doesn’t burn. Divide the sauce evenly between the plates of ravioli. Top with the sausage and sprinkle with Parmesan cheese. Serves 2 hungry people for dinner, with a couple of extra ravioli left over.

–Inspired by Megan’s recipe for Sweet Potato Ravioli

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.

You may not know that because I make way more pasta than I post about. Mostly because I keep dry pasta in the pantry for nights when dinner needs to be thoughtless and fast, throw some noodles on to boil, and top them with whatever strikes. No measuring takes place on those nights, to be sure.

I made this pasta dish several weeks ago in this fashion, and it was so good, I wanted to recreate it both so I could take the time to photograph it and share it with you and so I would remember what I did.

Some people immediately dismiss a pasta recipe if it has heavy cream in it, largely because restaurants have given cream sauces a bad rap. A plate of fettucine alfredo at a place like Olive Garden is probably at least 2 whole servings (maybe more) of pasta, and the noodles are usually swimming in a bath of butter, cream, and cheese, for a grand total of, what, at least 2 days worth of calories and fat grams? Not to mention the bread…

But who wants a bath of cream anyway, when you can add a small amount of cream to coat the noodles and soak into the vegetables, giving the dish the rich flavor you want without all of the fat? Some, yes, but not a week’s worth.

Dusting the artichokes in a bit of flour and seasoned salt and then pan-frying them in olive oil with the garlic deepens their flavor and makes them a little bit crispy on the outside, which I love, but it isn’t necessary. You can also just add them in with the olives and sundried tomatoes. I also added a grilled chicken breast because I had one leftover, but leaving it out won’t compromise the flavors in the least if you want a vegetarian dish.

Good feta cheese and high-quality olives (I like the Greek ones from the deli counter at my grocery) will make a difference, and I like the sudried tomatoes packed in oil for this, rather than rehydrating the dried ones.

Oh, and I love olives, so I use a lot; strongly flavored ones like kalamatas can overwhelm, so if you’re not a huge fan, you may want to reduce the quantity.

The best part? The sauce was ready to toss with the noodles by the time they were finished cooking, AND it tastes fabulous. My kind of meal.

Ziti with Olives, Pan-fried Artichokes, and Sundried Tomatoes

1 pound ziti
2 T. olive oil 1 14 1/2-ounce can artichoke hearts, drained
Flour
Seasoned salt
1 clove garlic, minced
1/3 cup sundried tomatoes, slivered
1/3 cup roughly chopped black olives (I like the Greek ones)
1/4 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup lowfat milk
1/3 cup feta cheese, crumbled

Put the pasta on to boil. Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over high heat. Drain the artichoke hearts and lay flat on paper towels. Dust with a bit of flour and sprinkle with seasoned salt. When the oil is hot, lay the artichokes in the skillet in a single layer, as many as will fit at once. Press down with a spatula and let them fry undisturbed for a couple of minutes. Flip them over and fry until brown on both sides. Remove that batch (if you need to do two), and repeat with the remaining artichokes. Reduce the heat to medium and add the garlic. Saute the garlic until fragrant and soft, a couple of minutes, then stir in the tomatoes, olives, and fried artichokes. Turn the heat up to medium high and add the cream. It should reduce quickly; add the milk, and stir continuously until the sauce is thickened. Stir in the feta. Drain the noodles and add them to the sauce; toss until the noodles are coated and the vegetables are evenly distributed. Serve immediately. A simple green salad with mint, lemon, and olive oil makes an excellent accompaniment.

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.

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!

I have written often about my culinary heritage, particularly the influence of the composers of the Aunts’ Recipe Book, my dad’s four younger sisters. The youngest, Emily, is the only one who’s made a career out of food; for years, she ran her own catering business and is now the director of the cooking school at the Everyday Gourmet in Jackson, MS. Interestingly, my memories of her contributions to my love of food include really sugary cereals, Butterfingers, and bowls of melted cheese: when I stayed at her house as a kid, she let me eat WHATEVER I wanted.

These days she often sends me interesting specialty food items from work, for which I am constantly on the lookout for creative preparations. The most recent packages have included these gorgeous white and black beans, labeled Calypso Beans on the bag, and a bright, fruity Meyer lemon olive oil, which I have been rationing.

I had visions of a lemony salad including both gifts from Aunt Em, and a few weeks ago, I planned to make such a concoction, adding leftover grilled chicken for a substantial weeknight supper.

One of the things I love about reading other people’s food blogs is that I am constantly inspired to create new dishes. The only problem is that I find myself with vague memories of recipes I saw one place or the other, but no idea exactly where.

For instance, I knew I had somewhere read of just such a salad–with beans and a lemony dressing. But, for the life of me, I could not recall where I saw it. I did some searching and nothing looked familiar. I emailed the resident veggie expert, Alanna, to see if it was perhaps a recipe of hers. No, she replied, but she’d keep her eyes open.

And, she found it!

Of course, by the time we’d figured it out, the salad had long been made and eaten, with no guidance from a recipe, so my version looks very different from Gabriella’s.

So, why am I telling you all of this? Well, just in case you find yourself in such a predicament–a vague recollection of a recipe and no help from Google–I thought I’d share a few tips I’ve learned along the way to help me solve this organizational problem (and then the recipe for the salad).

First, Google’s Blogsearch. Alanna alerted me to this handy tool, and if you want to search for a recipe, but you only want results from bloggers, this search page will help you do just that.

Second, del.icio.us. If you’re looking for a super-easy, user-friendly way to store bookmarks to recipes online, this site might be for you. Elise at Simply Recipes posted a helpful tutorial on how to use it, and I finally got around to following her suggestions. You can see my list of recipe links here, and if you start yours, you can add me to your network and we can share. Isn’t that fun?

And now, for the bean salad! Once the beans are cooked, this is a snap to throw together. It keeps well and would be perfect for a picnic. (Not that anyone can stand to be outside around here!)

The inspiration for this recipe, it turns out, comes from Gabriella at My Life as a Reluctant Housewife, and I’m pretty sure I spied it at an ARF/5-a-day round-up at Sweetnicks. Since my version turned out much differently (since I didn’t find the recipe until after the fact), I’ll contribute this variation to this week’s Tuesday event.

Thanks to Alanna for helping me locate the recipe, to Gabriella for inspiring this creation, to Elise for the lesson about del.icio.us, to Cate for hosting ARF/5-a-day Tuesday’s every week, and to Aunt Em for the ingredients.

And who says cooking isn’t collaborative?

Calypso Bean Salad

3 cups dry calypso beans (white beans would probably work just as well)
2 cups water
1 clove garlic, quartered
2 lemons
1 t. lemon pepper
1/4 cup lemon-flavored olive oil (of course, I’m sure regular would work too)
1/2 t. Kosher salt
1 T. fresh oregano, minced
1/4 cup sundried tomatoes, chopped (it strikes me now that the first time I made this salad–and photographed it–I used fresh tomatoes; either will work)
1/2 cup artichoke hearts, chopped
1/4 cup Greek olives, minced
2 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
2 chicken breasts, sliced (optional)

Cover the beans with water and soak overnight. They should absorb most of the liquid. In a small saucepan, bring 2 cups of water to boil. Add the quartered garlic clove, the trimmings from the two lemons, a sprinkle of salt and lemon pepper, and the beans. Simmer the beans for 2-3 hours, or until they reach the consistency you like. (I’m really funny about bean texture; I don’t like them mushy, especially in a salad, so I tend to undercook them. 2 hours was a perfect texture for me.) Drain and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the juice from the 2 lemons, lemon pepper, salt, and fresh oregano. Add the oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly. Mix in the olives, tomatoes, artichoke hearts, and chicken if using. Toss this mixture with the beans and top with the feta. Serves 4; refrigerates well.