I dove head-first into my new position this week, with my first trainee joining the department on Monday. Things are going great, but I’m still effectively doing my old job as well, and people, I am *beat* by the time I get home. I did myself a favor by writing up a meal plan for this week’s dinners over the weekend, but I had to fall back and punt last night when I realized that the fillets from the whole black sea bass I had in the fridge were not going to be nearly enough for two (particularly since breakfast and lunch are luxuries I haven’t had much time for lately).

Thankfully, I had portioned out some lovely little Maine shrimp a couple of weeks back and tucked them away in the freezer for future meals. After a quick water bath to thaw them, I gave them a quick saute with sliced leeks and a bit of grapeseed oil in my new favorite pan. They needed just a couple of minutes to cook through, and were delicious served alongside sauteed red cabbage and carrots on a bed of black rice. I whisked together the juice of a lime, some tamari, and a bit of toasted sesame oil to drizzle over the top of our bowls, a simple sauce that provided just the right notes of salt and acidity to complement the sweet shrimp and nutty rice.

I’m nearing the end of what has been a very long week, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I’m tired, and I am so looking forward to a 3-day weekend to relax, connect with family and friends, and process all that has happened this week at home and elsewhere.

One reason for my lethargy is that as we’ve tightened or belts even more at home, I’ve had to change my commute. I still leave home at the same time each morning, but I’ve been lucky to get home before 7:30, and as you may have noticed, I haven’t had much to say here (which sucks, especially in light of the sweet shout-out I got this week from the ladies at food52. To those of you who found your way here via their introduction, welcome).

I’ve been a bit off my game in the kitchen as a result, but last night’s dinner showed signs that I might just be getting my groove back. It wasn’t exactly as I had envisioned (and in fact, this dish was originally planned for Wednesday night, but was rescheduled due to a few major oversights and errors on my part), but it was really satisfying, and it’s a preparation I’ll definitely play more with.

One of the things I picked up on my last visit to Mercato del Mare was a gorgeous slab of line-caught tuna, which I portioned out and froze as soon as I got home that day. I thawed the tuna and had intended to crust the portions in some nori from She Sells Seaweed at our farmers’ market, but the nori didn’t grind as finely as I had hoped when I put it in the food processor (too fresh and pliant, I presume).

I ended up saving the shards of nori to sprinkle on top of the finished dish: a bowl of fragrant green rice, the tuna seared and sliced and arranged on top, with steamed spinach and gingery pickled radishes. I made a quick little dressing with Meyer lemon and toasted sesame oil to drizzle over the fish, and while the acid in the dressing dulled the color of the sliced tuna, the flavor was a really nice addition to the meal overall.

One of the more interesting items available at our farmers’ market these days is seaweed harvested from Maine. Before I even knew what I’d do with it, I had decided to pick some up, and I did just that a couple of Saturdays ago. The variety I chose is called dulse, which is, apparently, the “gateway” variety – mild and easy to work with, with a flavor that complements a variety of other ingredients. I’m told that some people in New England eat it like potato chips, popping crispy bits directly into their mouths as a snack, and after Mike and I tried it, I can see why: there’s something really familiar and satisfying about the taste and texture of it.

Deciding how to use it was a bit difficult for me. We had been told it could be sautéed with leafy greens like kale or spinach, or used in a soup or stir-fry, but I was a bit concerned about over-cooking it, rendering its unique character lost in the dish, so in the end I decided I would barely cook it at all, instead snipping it with kitchen shears and folding it into a mix of hot cooked rice and vegetables.

Our rice bowls were built on a base of organic wild and Wehani rices, cooked in the leftover porcini soaking liquid from Monday’s dinner until they were just tender, and then tossed with a drizzle of toasted sesame oil to lightly coat the grains. I added a mix of barely sautéed vegetables next: some sliced shiitake caps, grated carrot, thin slices of spring onion, and a handful of watercress. I tossed a good cup or so of chopped dulse in off the heat, stirring it through before spooning the mixture into our bowls, then I topped each serving with a sunny-side up egg, a sprinkle of salt, and some snipped scallion tops.

The combination was really delicious, with the earthy rices and mushrooms providing a nice canvas for the little bursts of onion, sweet carrot, and the slightly salty and almost bacon-y dulse to shine against. The egg, when chopped up and stirred through, gave it all a nice creaminess. This first foray into cooking with seaweed was a big success, and I’m really eager to try new ways of incorporating it into our meals.

I’ve tried and tried over the years to duplicate my mom’s cabbage rolls, but despite the relative simplicity of the dish, I just haven’t been able to pull it off. If I didn’t end up with crunchy rice, the seasoning would be off, or the cabbage would be unpleasantly tough. Since our produce haul from last weekend’s farmers’ market was a bit on the paltry side, I’ve had to plan meals around what we have on hand, and last night, that head of cabbage that had been hanging out in the crisper for almost too long was calling my name.

After a quick phone call with Mom to check in with respect to the weather we were expecting and to get a bit of guidance about dinner, I got things rolling. To address the rice issue, I decided to partially cook some before adding it to my ground meat mixture. I boiled about a half cup of uncooked rice in double the amount of water, just until it was translucent at the edges, then I drained off the excess water and spread the rice out to cool. I crumbled about a pound of Bobolink’s suckled veal in a big mixing bowl (Mom uses ground beef, but we were out), and added kosher salt, plenty of freshly ground pepper, and a minced shallot to the mix. I added a good amount of dried marjoram next along with the cooled rice, and combined everything well with my hands.

Next I trimmed the cabbage and separated out some leaves. Since I had a smallish head of cabbage, it was relatively easy to scale down the dish; I think I pulled off a dozen or so leaves to blanch, which would be plenty to feed the two of us with a reasonable amount of leftovers. I dipped the leaves a few at a time into a pot of boiling salted water, then set them aside on towels until they were cool enough to handle. I mounded spoonfuls of my meat mixture in the middle of each leaf, wrapped up the sides and rolled them into little bundles, securing them with bamboo picks (our box of toothpicks has gone missing).

I placed my bundles into a lightly oiled Dutch oven, then covered them with some thawed roasted tomato sauce from the freezer, seasoning that with salt, garlic, a splash of white vermouth and more marjoram. I lidded up the pot, brought it to a boil, then reduced the heat to a simmer and let the cabbage rolls cook until the filling was fully cooked and the cabbage wrappers meltingly soft and translucent. At that point I pulled them out and placed them on a plate, covered them with foil, and reduced the sauce down a bit until it was thick and rich.

Mom always served cabbage rolls with buttery mashed potatoes, and I did the same, ladling plenty of sauce all around. These were not my mama’s cabbage rolls, but they were pretty darned tasty – at any rate, they’ll have to do until I can indulge in the real deal again.

Well, my first week at my new gig is behind me. It was a good one, though exhausting, and I am woefully behind on the internets. I have, unfortunately, had NO time to blog, but here’s a quick recap of what we ate this week:

Monday’s dinner was a light and simple combination of nutty purple jasmine rice, some Rancho Gordo flageolet beans which I had pre-soaked the night before, some frozen peas and favas, asparagus, thinly sliced tiny green onions, dill and a good crumbling of Narragansett Salty Sea, a delicious feta-style cheese.

I dressed it all in a lemon vinaigrette, and while I would have preferred to have fresh peas and favas, it was a really satisfying combination of flavors and textures.

Mike was responsible for Tuesday’s meal, a version of Suzanne Goin’s wild salmon salad with roasted beets, potato and egg using arctic char in place of the salmon. This was a colorful, beautiful dish, and I always love tucking into a big salad filled with lots of tasty things.

Wednesday’s dinner was a team effort, with Mike putting together Mario Batali’s tuna and ricotta polpette (from Molto Italiano) during the day, which I breaded and fried when I got home. I also whipped up a batch of basic tomato sauce to serve with them. These little fritters were fantastic – light, creamy in the center and crisp and golden outside. It was hard to stop eating them!

We dined out on Thursday, at a little place called Oak, and to round out the week we did something that still feels a little strange:

We ordered a pizza. Not as good as homemade, but sometimes it’s nice to let someone else do the cooking.

I stopped off at Eno and brought home a really nice wine to go with the pizza, as well as this lovely bottle of Champagne – a great way to ring in the long weekend.

We’re off on food safari soon, and hope to bring home lots of goodies for the days ahead. Hope you’ve got some delicious things planned!

What with all of the excitement around the city and around Chez Dietschyblossom recently, I somehow missed this site’s first birthday. It’s pretty amazing how this little blog has grown since then, and I want to thank all of you out there for your inspiration and support. As Peter Murphy once sang, “We love our audience!”

While I’ve been a bit frazzled, I did remember to plan a Mardi Gras meal for our dinner last night, a tribute to one of my favorite cities. Just like he did last year, Mike started us off with a round of Sazeracs, and just like last year I made red beans and rice, though this time around I made a few changes.

I was inspired by Leah Chase’s recipe which was reprinted in a Williams-Sonoma catalog I recently received, but I noted that her method called for a pressure cooker. Since I don’t yet have one of those in my arsenal, I went with our trusty Le Creuset pot instead. I didn’t have a chance to run around and track down some good andouille, so I used some beautiful chorizo we recently got from Tamarack Hollow instead. I sliced that up and got it browning in a bit of olive oil, added one whole onion, chopped, and softened it in the fat. I added a pinch of salt and cayenne, plus a little bit of smoked paprika and stirred them through, then added about two tablespoons of fresh thyme and one bay leaf.

I had soaked some gorgeous Anasazi beans from Rancho Gordo overnight, so I added those next along with their soaking liquid and two cups of my homemade chicken stock. I lidded up the pot and let the beans cook over low heat for about an hour and a half, until the beans were very tender. I added a bit more salt at this point, as well as a dollop of tomato paste for richness, then mashed some of the beans with a potato masher and stirred everything through.

I ladled the beans over some steamed Carolina Gold rice, topped each serving with some sliced scallions, cracked open a couple of Abitas and we drank a toast – to the city of New Orleans, and to the future. It’s going to be an exciting year and I look forward to sharing the ride with you all.

I recently received a copy of Judith Jones’ wonderful memoir, and as I read through it (twice!), I spent a lot of time thinking about my own food memories and how I came to love cooking. It all goes back to my paternal grandmother, Marina. Some of my earliest memories involve walking into her big old house in southwest Detroit, the aromas and warmth that emanated from her small kitchen filling every room, or of the showers, First Communions and other parties held at the nearby Mexican-American hall, where Grandma and a small band of her comadres would head into the kitchen and deftly prepare enough delicious food to feed an army of guests. I loved hanging around and watching her in action, and once I reached an age where I began dabbling in the kitchen myself, I wanted to learn how to recreate her dishes.

Grandma’s a natural cook, rarely measuring seasonings, tasting and testing as she goes along, and turning out consistently delicious dishes. I’m sure some of that comes from 80-plus years of cooking, but I also feel that she has the gift of knowing instinctively what works, how much chile or garlic or liquid is just the right amount, and how much is too much. The days of watching her turn out dozens upon dozens of tamales for holiday dinners are behind us, but she still relishes cooking meals, big and small, and she loves watching cooking shows, reading recipes, talking about food, and answering questions about how she prepares the dishes we love. My dad makes his guacamole just like Grandma does, my mom has learned to turn out a nearly spot-on version of Grandma’s rice and has also mastered her chicken tacos, and my brother and his wife were delighted to get a lesson in making migas during their last visit to our hometown.

For my part, I’ve learned to make several of her dishes: borrachos, which are a favorite accompaniment to summer barbecue; guacamole and salsa, which I am often enlisted to make for office socials; and my favorite chicken soup, fragrant with onions and cumin – which incidentally, is the very first recipe I wrote up for a food blog. And of course, her chicken tacos and Mexican rice, which were part of so many family gatherings. I have yet to attempt her tamales, but you can bet that when I have a kitchen with a little more space, I’m going to round up Mike and some good friends for a tamale-making party.

As a bit of an aside, it’s interesting to me that I should be thinking so much about food memories and my grandma’s cooking this time of the year, because although I am of Mexican descent, I don’t recall my family ever celebrating Dia de los Muertos. It is without question a beautiful holiday, with rich traditions and plenty of good food, but I feel that for me to do a Day of the Dead-themed post would be a bit disingenuous – it just wasn’t something we celebrated when I was growing up, and I wouldn’t want to take away from those of you for whom the celebration holds real food memories.

When I reflect on my heritage, my upbringing, and those who have most influenced me both in and out of the kitchen, I think first and foremost of my grandmother, who I love so very much, and who I am grateful to share the love of food and cooking with. We don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like, but every time I step into the kitchen, she is right there with me in some way. So on this day, when Mexicans and Mexican-Americans are celebrating the lives and spirits of loved ones who have passed on, I celebrate my grandmother, who is full of life and who continues to inspire me.

Mexican Rice

I can recall very few meals at Grandma’s house at which this rice wasn’t served – it is as much a staple as warm tortillas and the little Sanka jar filled with homemade salsa.

2 tablespoons vegetable oil, lard or bacon fat
1 medium onion, diced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 cups long grain white rice
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup tomato puree
2 Knorr chicken flavored bouillon cubes, dissolved in 4 cups hot water (For some reason, if you use other bouillon or stock, it just doesn’t turn out right. So trust me on this one.)

Warm oil or fat over medium heat in a large skillet. Add onion, season with salt, and cook until softened. Add the rice, stirring to coat the grains with oil, and cook until toasted and beginning to turn translucent. Add the garlic powder and black pepper and stir well. Add tomato puree, bouillon and water, stirring well to incorporate. Bring to a boil, then cover and reduce heat to low. Continue cooking until rice is tender and all liquid is absorbed, 20-30 minutes.

Chicken Tacos

The proportions below will yield about a dozen tacos. I’ll warn you right now, they are addictive – Mike and I polished off the full batch in one sitting, and my family has been known to fight over any leftovers. If you have cats, don’t leave them unattended on the countertop – Tom the grey tabby, who belonged to my Aunt Romelia years ago, was on probation for a very long time after my aunt walked into the kitchen to find him happily munching away on the tacos she had brought home from Grandma’s one afternoon.

For the filling:
1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken thigh meat
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 cup tomato puree
2 cups water

Place all ingredients into a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to low and cook until chicken is very tender. Break apart with a fork and continue to cook the shredded chicken, uncovered, until all of the liquid has cooked off (you want it still juicy but nearly dry so it doesn’t make the tortillas soggy).

For the tacos:
Corn tortillas
Oil, lard, or bacon fat for frying

Heat about 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon of fat in a small skillet. Fry tortillas one at a time until soft and pliable, gently turning once – each tortilla should only take a few seconds per side. Add additional fat as necessary.

As the tortillas finish cooking, set them on a baking sheet until cool enough to handle, then spoon a bit of the filling in the center and roll into small cigars, finishing with the seam side down. Repeat until you have used up all of the filling.

The tacos can be held in a warm oven for a few hours or served immediately with your favorite garnish – salsa, guacamole, grated Monterey Jack cheese, or sour cream are all good with these.

When I was in my twenties and just beginning to experiment with different cuisines, I cooked enough paella that I received an authentic (and pricey) paella pan as a gift from a beau. I still own that pan, but it has been parked on top of the refrigerator for the entire three years Mike and I have lived in our apartment – which should tell you how many paellas I’ve cooked in that time. It’s a dish that I love, but it fell off my radar until recently, when Mark Bittman’s Minimalist Tomato Paella recipe appeared in the Times. I wasn’t the only one seduced by visions of sweet roasted tomatoes, smoky, earthy seasonings, tender rice and that gorgeous crust – in fact, Luisa’s mouthwatering photos practically haunted me. I needed to make this dish.

Since most of our useable kitchen space is covered with platters and such for our party this weekend I didn’t end up dusting off my old paella pan, but our trusty cast iron skillet worked just fine. I followed Bittman’s recipe, using a mixture of white vermouth (1/2 cup) and water (3 cups) for the liquid component, and sprinkling a bit of fresh thyme over the top instead of chopped parsley (it was too dark out by the time I got home to grab parsley from the garden), and let me tell you, this was phenomenal. The depth of flavor in this dish, the textures of the rice and of the roasted tomatoes just floored me, and the fact that it came together so quickly and easily made it that much better. If you’ve been thinking about making this dish and you haven’t yet, do it.

I love rice, but aside from risotto, I rarely make it the centerpiece of a meal. Since looking at Derrick and Melissa’s yummy rice bowl (which also inspired my attempt at stuffed squash blossoms), I’ve wanted to change that, and I finally did last night.

The base of the dish was Bhutanese red rice, a short-grained, nutty variety that is a gorgeous deep brownish-red. The add-ins I chose had a decidedly Italian flair: the rest of the cranberry beans we bought at the Greenmarket over the weekend, a few toasted pine nuts, some diced and lightly sautéed zucchini and Rocambole garlic, chopped raw heirloom tomatoes and basil from our garden, all dressed with a bit of olive oil and fresh lemon juice.

This was a real hit – a beautiful mix of textures, colors and flavors which combined to make a simple but satisfying meal. This is a dish that will lend itself very well to seasonal variation, and what a great way to use up the little odds and ends hanging around in the veggie bin.

I haven’t been to New Orleans in over ten years, but I think of her often, especially during Mardi Gras season. Cooking up a proper gumbo is a bit much for a midweek meal, so I decided to go with something a bit lighter and easier which still incorporated some of the flavors of New Orleans cuisine. Mike started us off with a round of Sazerac cocktails and fried oysters, and then I got to work on the rest of our meal.

To make a quick version of red beans and rice, I softened a cup of onion in some olive oil, then added a dab of tomato paste and stirred in a half-teaspoon each of cayenne, thyme, marjoram and smoked paprika. A pint of my homemade chicken stock went into the pan next, along with a can of red beans, drained and rinsed. I added a bay leaf and a healthy pinch of kosher salt, then covered the pot and let it simmer for 15 minutes. I stirred in half a cup of white rice and a bit of water, re-covered the pan, and let it cook about another 20 minutes until the rice was cooked.

While the rice and beans were cooking, I steam-sauteed some chopped collards in a bit of olive oil, placing them into a hot pan with a pinch of salt, and (again – it’s my new favorite ingredient) a bit of smoked paprika, allowing a little bit of water from rinsing to cling to the greens. I gave them a stir and let them soften while I turned my attention to our fish.

I got a shallow layer of canola oil heating in the cast iron skillet while I prepped a couple of beautiful catfish filets. I poured a couple of cups of fine cornmeal onto a plate and seasoned it with salt and cayenne pepper. I coated each of the filets with the cornmeal mixture, pressing it into the flesh lightly, and then placed them into the hot skillet, cooking them on the first side several minutes until they were golden brown, and turning them very carefully with two spatulas to finish them on the other side for a couple more minutes. Once the filets were cooked, I removed them from the pan and sprinkled a little bit of smoked paprika over the tops before serving.

We cracked open a couple of Abita Restoration Ales and dug in. I’m sure our dining experience would have been improved had we been sitting on a covered balcony, overlooking the French Market and the river beyond, but I can’t complain… good food and good company makes every meal a celebration.