bites out of life

Cauliflower and Brussels Sprouts with Breadcrumbs

While many people ooh and ahh and anxiously await spring or summer produce (occasionally, I do too), my heart beats only for the bounty of fall. The winter squash, the apples, even hearty, leafy greensÂ — all are happily fawned over at the markets. But I save my real excitement for the cruciferous vegetables: brussels sprouts, cauliflower and broccoli.*

While this recipe doesn’t manage to feature all three of my faves, it does do an amazing job of showcasing two of them, by allowing them to char ever so slightly in a quick saute with garlic and crushed red pepper, then topping them with toasted breadcrumbs and Parmesan cheese. I found the recipe while sleepily browsing through this month’s Food & Wine, and upon discovery, decided I immediately had to make this. No way I was waitingÂ three-and-a-half years with this one.

Granted, I made a few changes. The original recipe was a pasta dish, with anchovies eww. I omitted the pasta, because unfortunately, balanced meals are not how we do things around here, especially when they involve washing another pot and a colander. What we do like in my kitchen are meals that take less than a half hour to come together, taste divine and are relatively healthy. (Bonus: this would be a great side dish for that turkey dinner you’ve got planned exactly a month from today.)

*Okay fine, kale is technically also a cruciferous vegetable, but in my mind it belongs to the dark greens category, if only because I like it less than my beloved brassicas….

Spanish Migas

In 2008, while on a class trip to Extremadura, in the westernmost region of Spain, I tried one of the area’s specialities: migas*. Traditionally made of stale bread, garlic and olive oil (the most basic ingredients available to the shepherds out in the fields), migas, which means crumbs in Spanish, are the definition of rustic, country food.

At that dinner, I originally thought that the waiter called the dish hormigas, meaning ants, and was therefore extremely apprehensive about my dinner. Almost four years later, I don’t remember exactly what those migas tasted like, but I do remember being interested enough to become slightly obsessed with making them myself.

Sadly, those dreams took until now to actually materialize. Last week, faced with an intense craving for something, anything Spanish (usually, I quell these cravings by dining on Manchego and Rioja … ), I finally got my act together. Bread was torn, chorizo was diced, garlic was sliced and my minimal effort was rewarded with a dish that is so quintessentially espaÃ±ol, I almost ate the whole thing in one sitting.

Thankfully I didn’t, and therefore was able to discover this weekend that possibly the best hangover-killing ~~breakfast~~ lunch in the world is a plateful of reheated migas topped with a perfectly fried egg. Seriously. Better than a bacon-egg-and-cheese. Tell me that’s not life changing.

*Spanish migas are quite different from Tex-Mex migas, which are made with scrambled eggs and cooked corn tortillas, with all the regular fixins’: diced onions, peppers, tomatoes, cheese, refried beans, etc. Quite different, though probably equally delicious. I’m very interested to know if the two dishes are linked at all. …

Pan-Seared Sausages and Apples

So remember that time I went to an apple orchard, and came home with a bag full of apples? Some of them went into scones, some of them were eaten with slices of sharp cheddar or spoonfuls of chunky peanut butter, some of them were eaten just straight plain, and then there were still. apples. left.

Tired of cakes and sweets, I wanted something more savory for my apples. For whatever reason, that means pork. There is no shortage of recipes out there that pair apples and pigs: pork tenderloin with apples, apple-stuffed pork — they even put an apple in a roast pig’s mouth, I hear. I’m not sure why apples and pork are paired together so frequently, but after a few meatless meals, I decided that I needed to give it a try.

Obviously the thing that appealed to me most about this pan-seared sausages and apples recipe was that it takes less than a half hour to make, from unbagging the groceries to washing dishes. Also, there is only one dish to wash. (And a cutting board and a knife and a fork and a plate, but who’s counting really?) If you buy pre-cooked sausages, the recipe could not be simpler, and the best part is, it’s delicious. Peppery and savory with a slight undercurrent of sweet, it manages to taste apple-y and fall-like, but in a whole new way. …

Smoky Warm Butternut and Chickpea Salad

Have you ever discovered a recipe, one of those “must make now” ones, only to realize that its main ingredient is not in season and won’t be for a very, very long time?

While I’m not exclusively tied to seasonal cooking, I do find that there’s just something so right about eating certain fruits and vegetables when they’re meant to be eaten. Peaches are just a quintessentially summer fruit. Asparagus screams spring and winter squash should only be eaten when there’s a bit of a chill outside. (That one’s even in the name!)

So I was extremely disappointed to chance upon this recipe in April, after my boots had been put away and my coats dry cleaned. Naturally, I ~~waited patiently for winter~~ jumped at the first butternut squash I could find, a full six months later. I had to buy pre-cut, since I lack the sharp knife, arm strength and dexterity required for cutting a gourd, but still, I finally had my squash and could make this glorious butternut and chickpea salad.

What’s so good about it anyway? Well, cubes of squash are roasted until sweet and caramelized. To counter the sweetness, they receive a coating in cumin and chile powder (my add — the original recipe calls for allspice), and we all know how much I love the cumin + butternut + chickpea combo. Then, the squash cubes are tossed in a creamy tahini sauce, spiked with lemon juice and garlic. Add the chickpeas and red onion and it’s a colorful mixture of hot and cold, tangy, sweet, savory, smoky, spicy — what more could you ask for in a recipe that takes little effort to make? …

Kale, Potato and Chickpea Stew

Cooking, for me at least, has always been a social activity. The kitchen has always been the center of our home and where I spend the most time, whether I’m sitting at the table ~~watching~~ helping my mom do the cooking or actually making something myself. There’s always someone in the kitchen making something, and then two or three people helping, commenting, critiquing, praising, screaming, laughing and even sometimes singing alongside.

So it’s only natural that one of my favorite ways to spend an evening is cooking with friends. While dinners or coffee catch-ups are nice, spending a few hours making something together that everyone contributes to and then enjoys (preferably with a bottle or few of wine) can be extremely rewarding — and cheap. Plus, there’s no hassle of picking a restaurant, no waits and your dinner comes out exactly as you wanted.

Last weekend, during a trip home, Nila came over one night to make this kale, potato and chickpea stew. According to Food & Wine, it’s Spanish-influenced, which obviously meant that I leaped at the chance to make it. It’s a cinch to make, which allows for plenty of chatting while preparing. Plus, it’s hearty, filling and warming, exactly what one wants on a rainy, dreary night.

Best of all, if you’re using vegetable broth, it’s a great rich stew for vegetarians and vegans. So many fall/winter stews use meat for heft and richness, but here the potatoes and chickpeas provide plenty of both. It’s a keeper, even if you’re not making it with friends. …

Funfetti Cake

“This cake is right on the border between chic and childish … kind of like you.”

My sister made this astute observation while watching me assemble this cake on Saturday.Â Plagued by fears of turning older, I wanted something equally whimsical as last year’s Pink Lady Cake, and Funfetti Cake fit the bill.Â Brightly colored sprinkles dancing through layers of white cake coated by fluffy white frosting and more sprinkles? Yes please!

While the look is all playful, the cake tastes all grown-up — there are distinct notes of almond and vanilla in the cake, and the cream cheese is barely sweetened (if a full cup of sugar could be called “barely”). There is nothing cloying or overly saccharine about this cake. Balanced between the cheeriness of childhood and the quiet grace that one hopes will come with adulthood, it’s a fitting cake for an almost 23-year-old.

Now that I’m on my third layer cake, I’ve got the system down pat: bake and freeze the cake layers the night before assembly, then make and frost the cake a few hours before serving, so that everything can meld together nicely. It also makes the whole birthday cake baking thing no sweat, since you can space the project out over a few days. Basically, I encourage you strongly to make your own birthday cake. There’s no chance of being disappointed, since you made it yourself and everyone has to say they like it, since it’s your birthday. Sounds like a win-win to me.

Cheers to turning 23! ( … tomorrow.)…

Quinoa with Spinach and Walnuts

Betcha thought I was gonna write about apples again, huh?

Growing up, as most Indian families are wont to do, we ate a lot of white rice. Perhaps because I’ve grown tired of eating rice all the time, recently I’ve embarked on a search for new grains. While brown rice is nuttier than white, it isn’t different enough to satisfy my quest for something new.

I’d first heard of quinoa back in college, and quickly dismissed it as “health food.” This pseudocereal (biologically, it more resembles beets than actual grains, which blew my mind) was first eaten by Incas 3,000-4,000 years ago. It contains significantly more protein than oats and rice, which is why it’s considered a more complete food than those grains by “health nuts.” There are two variants: red and white.

Both in cooking method and in taste, it reminds me most of couscous. The little round spheres aren’t quite as pretty as pearl or Israeli couscous, but they are nuttier, with more texture. Toast them in a hot pan for a few minutes before cooking and their earthy flavors concentrate, making them perfect for pilafs.

Because I had some spinach and Pecorino cheese that needed to be used, I made a spinach, walnut and cheese quinoa pilaf. Depending on what you have in the fridge, you can adapt this recipe a million ways. Any combination of greens, nuts and cheese will do, but you can also toss in some roasted broccoli or cauliflower florets, some diced carrots and peas, olives, feta and pine nuts for a Mediterranean take — whatever strikes your fancy. …

An Orchard + Apple Cheddar Scones

Last weekend, while telling you all about the wonders ofÂ applesauce cake, I employed one of life’s greatest literary tools: foreshadowing. By speaking of apples and fall and gasp, even a passing mention of orchards, I left major hints as to what my weekend activity would be — namely, a visit to an apple orchard.

New York is known for its apples* and I found it problematic that I had yet to, in my adult life, visit one of the state’s many orchards. So I decided on a whim to go last week, hoped and prayed for days that it wouldn’t rain, practiced my best twisting and plucking moves, and actually successfully organized a trip (involving Metro North, no less) for the first time in my life. God, I am such a grown up.

My last trip to a farm (a visit to Stone Barns in January 2010, just before this blog was created) was extremely positive, so I was excited to get out of the city and “be one with nature.” A few friends and I went to Harvest Moon Farm and Orchard in Westchester County, sold by reports of its delicious cider doughnuts and free pumpkin cheesecake tastings.

Though the weather was more summer-like than autumnal, the orchard was a great way to experience a different side of obtaining food. It is liberating to be able to pluck fruit off of a tree, take a few bites and toss the rest of the fruit on the ground, where it creates an easy compost for the next batch of trees (or so we were told). Our game plan was to taste, and then if we liked the apple, pick a few from that tree.Â We have zero clue as to what kinds of apples the orchard offered, though my guesses based on taste are Macintosh, Golden Delicious and Pippin.

In an age where you can have an apple appear on your doorstep without even looking at it (coughFreshDirectcough), it’s extremely gratifying to go to a farm and literally choose your food yourself.Â I often think about how unnatural our food sourcing can be. Rather than buying food that was grown 100 miles away, we purchase food that was grown 3,000 miles away, coated in preservatives and chemicals and then shipped to us — more often than not, this is not even a conscious decision, one made by the supermarket instead of the consumer.

I’m not a rabid proponent of locavorism or even eating exclusively organic food, but visiting a farm, where food is sourced so naturally, really made me think twice about where I get my food from. While I try to buy local and visit farmer’s markets and Whole Foods and blah di blah, I simply don’t understand why food that is raised/grown nearby costs so much more than food that come from miles and miles away. At least I have access to it in the city — at home in Maryland, I wouldn’t even know where to look for local food, as I’m not even sure that there are farmer’s markets nearby.

I’d like to say that I spent my entire train ride home pondering this matter, but I think we all know that I mostly looked up apple recipes. Having just baked an apple-influenced cake, I didn’t necessarily want something sweet. Most savory applications of apples involved pork, but I didn’t feel like having a big meaty dinner for once. I wanted something that showcased the apple, but without being overly complicated or heavy.

Enter these apple cheddar scones. Found on my new blog obsession Leite’s Culinaria (I’m about 72,907 years late to the party, but still … ), they promised theÂ savory–sweet combination that I love. Also, I love the pairing of apples and cheddar, and if I had enough counter space to actually roll out a pie dough, I would whip up an apple-cheddar pie in an instant. Oh the perils of an eensy-weensy kitchen.

Lacking an electric mixer, I made these by hand, and since I lack said counter space, these were more like “drop scones” than nicely shaped ones. Their ugliness in no way affected their taste, however, since these are easily the best scones I’ve ever had (clearly, I knew nothing when I said these buttermilk ones were perfect). They are slightly salty but mildly sweet, with chunks of softened apple and cheesy goodness in all the right places. I’ve been eating three a day, as if they’re vitamins. I mean it is technically an apple a day, right?

*I’ve always assumed that the New York City nickname “The Big Apple” was somehow linked to the fact that there are so many apples in upstate New York. Much to my surprise, that has nothing to do with it — the nickname was coined in the 1920s by John J. Fitz Gerald, a sports journalist for the New York Morning Telegraph, and just refers generically to a big city. The things you learn on Wikipedia! …

Applesauce Cake

Without fail, every time we hit late September, I crave apples. Apples with cheddar, apples with peanut butter, apples with honey — all sound good, even though most months of the year, I wouldn’t give a Macintosh or Red Delicious a passing thought.

Most of all, around this time, I crave apples baked with warm spices into a plush morning cake, something that can be eaten for breakfast or for dessert. (It’s no coincidence that exactly a year ago, I was talking about apple cake.) There’s something about the combination of apples and cinnamon that’s so quintessentially fall, like visiting an orchard or going leaf-peeping in the mountains.

Of course since it was raining all day yesterday, I didn’t have time to go to the farmer’s market and buy real apples for a cake, so instead, I made applesauce cake. Since it doesn’t require fresh apples, I suppose you could make it year-round and not be disappointed, but this cake is just so autumnal. It’s fragrant and spicy and steeped with apple flavor. It’s akin to drinking a piping hot mug of mulled cider or crunching fiery-hued leaves under your toes — in short, it’s one of the great pleasures of fall. …

French Onion Soup

Last month, I revealed to you all the shocking confession that I had never made a Julia Child recipe. Even though I have an elaborately created plan to move to Paris (which I’ll implement as soon as the investor money comes through … ), I have yet to make a single dish from that master of French cooking, Madame Sheeld (this is how I imagine the French would pronounce it).

Well, then I proceeded to make a crustless bacon and leek quiche, so far from Child’s original recipes that I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t recognize it. Also, maybe a crustless quiche is a pointless thing because what is a quiche without a crust anyway? Better to just call it an omelette perhaps. I’ve thought about this a lot in the past month, just as I often wonder what to call aÂ reduced-sodium saltine.

Lest we get too carried away in the labyrinth that is my logic, let’s just talk about soup: French onion soup, in the style of Julia Child. While I’ve always been a fan of tomato soup, and I love a good cauliflower soup now and then, I’ve never had an opinion on onion soup. I may order it once it a while at a restaurant, but I’ve never craved it; with an ingredients list that consisted of onions and not much else, I was less than intrigued.

Then I made a gigantic pot of beef stew. Left with a lot of beef stock and little desire to make another pot of beef stew, I began hunting around for soup recipes that called for it. French onion seemed to be the only thing different enough to pique my interest, and plus, I mean, it is time for a Julia Child recipe.

So, with a fictional Julia smiling over me, I powered through the cutting of three onions, tears streaming down my face. Next, I sweated the onions out — the fun part, since you get to watch TV while doing it. Then, I stirred and stirred and stirred, for over an hour, waiting for the onions to caramelize into a deep honey brown. Seriously, this took forever, for reasons I’m not entirely sure of. By this point, I was extremely hungry, a little bitter and kind of tired of moving my right arm.

But all of the effort is definitely (definitely!) worth it. The soup is slightly sweet, earthy, peppery, with layer upon layer of flavor. Smitten Kitchen, where I got the recipe from, describes it as “weepingly delicious.” They may have been onion-related, but there were definitely tears shed — topped with Brioche croutons, this soup is a fall dinner I could eat for the next six weeks. …

White Chocolate Cheesecake with Raspberry Coulis

As evidenced by the long list of recipes featuring it on this site, I have a bit of a thing for chocolate. It is probably the only food that I’ve consistently loved all of my life, and to prove my allegiance to eat, I eat some every day. While milk is fine, my real love is dark chocolate — the darker and more bitter, the better.

But white chocolate is simply unacceptable. The confection assaults my sensibilities, starting with the fact that it shouldn’t even be called chocolate. White chocolate is made with cocoa butter, sugar, milk solids and salt, without the cocoa solids that make chocolate chocolate. On top of that, true white “chocolate” is not even white — it’s usually a pale ivory color.

The worst quality of “ivory not-chocolate,” as I like to call it, is that it’s tooth-achingly sweet, with none of the complexities or richness of a good dark chocolate bar. There are no hints of cinnamon or espresso, no fruity notes, none of the flavor that makes chocolate so mind-blowingly good. It is an impostor, a fake.

Unfortunately, I come from a family of white chocolate lovers. My dad, my uncle, my aunt, my cousin, my sister — all go gaga for it, for reasons unbeknownst to me. For my uncle’s birthday, I decided to combine both his love for white chocolate with his love for cheesecake and create a white chocolate cheesecake that I, admittedly, did not look forward to eating but knew everyone else would love.

Appearance counts when making birthday cakes, and memories of the jagged scar deforming my last cheesecake haunted me as I looked for a recipe. So naturally, instead of viewing this as an opportunity to learn and blah blah blah, I took the easy way out and chose a no-bake cheesecake, one that required minimal effort and required only a spatula for a smooth, perfectly formed top.

Since I hear that that whole white chocolate-raspberry combination is pretty delightful, I decided to make a coulis to drizzle over the cheesecake. While my dad, uncle and cousin didn’t love the raspberry sauce, I thought its tartness balanced the sweet cheesecake nicely.

This white chocolate cheesecake is lighter than most, aided by the airy folds of whipped cream and the less than two bricks of cream cheese. Topped with its blood red partner, it was surprisingly good — enough for me to grab a second slice, and then gasp, a third. …

Beef Stew with Root Vegetables

One of my worst qualities is that I’m extremely impatient. I absolutely hate waiting for anything, whether it be for my nails to dry after a manicure, a cake to finish baking or even the six minutes for a subway train to come. Don’t even get me started on waiting for a light to turn red while driving.

Even though nine times out of 10 I have nowhere to be and no one to see, I still think that waiting for things is a big waste of time, time that could otherwise be spent watching Friday Night Lights. (Yes, I’m still watching.)

Needless to say, I’m tired of waiting for fall. It peeked out briefly before disappearing, and to be frank, I’m tired of ~~perfect blue skies~~ ~~sundresses~~ ~~being able to take walks at lunch~~ living in an apartment without air conditioning (we all know that’s the real reason). Fed up with yet another 80-degree day, I decided to make beef stew with root vegetables for dinner on Sunday. Because if you’re getting impatient waiting around for fall, you may as well skip straight to winter, right?

This stew is perfect for a chilly night, with its wine-y, beefy broth and hearty vegetables. Dried rosemary and thyme make it unbearably fragrant, especially since this is a recipe that will certainly try your patience. It requires at least 2 hours on the stove, an impossible wait once the stew really starts to meld flavors and aromas.

But this is one rare instance in which the delayed gratification is totally worth it. Whether you’re making this on a 20-degree night or a 70-degree one, be ready for a delicious dinner. …

Maple Vanilla Baked French Toast

Generally when I go out to eat, I have a good sense of what I want. While everything on the menu may look delicious, more often than not, one dish calls out to me especially loudly, and I quickly decide “that’s the one.”

But faced with a brunch menu, I fall to pieces. Eggs? Burger? Bacon? Bacon on my burger? Pancakes?! The combination of lunch and breakfast presents too many options, and I often find myself frantically scanning the menu as the waiter stares in disbelief at my inability to make up my mind. (Obviously this occurs on a weekly basis, since, duh, I love my brunch.)

Most of the time, I end up ordering eggs, meaning that my second favorite brunch item, French toast, gets left out of the party.* It’s a shame, because when made well, it’s sweet and eggy and almost dessert-like — a real weekend morning treat. It’s infinitely adaptable to what you have in your pantry and requires only the most basic of pantry staples: eggs, bread, sugar and milk.

Baked French toast makes the whole process even easier. It is similar to a bread pudding, in that you make a sweet custard, pour it over bread, allow it to soak for a while before baking it. It saves you the trouble of having to stand over a skillet and flip bread all morning, and the top forms a nice crisp crust that gives way to a delicious custardy mess. I thought it would be an effortlessly delicious contribution to a birthday brunch, and it was, despite my repeated attempts at self-sabotage.

A) I forgot to buy sugar at the store. Ultimately, this turned out well, since maple syrup is an excellent substitute. B) We didn’t have any casserole dishes, so I used round baking pans instead, making it difficult to retain the shape of the bread slices. C) I forgot to assemble the French toast the night before, and therefore had to put it together in a panic a few hours before the brunch.

And yet the end product was exactly the sweet, eggy, dessert-like dish I wanted. Slathered with Nutella, it was an almost sinfully good way to start the day.

*Bacon is always a given, much like French fries or chocolate. …

Green Chile and Pork Posole

It seems that everyone, including the weather gods, has agreed that Labor Day marks the end of summer. After one last day of warm weather glory, the skies opened and it has rained, nonstop, since Tuesday morning. The air is a little brisk too, a sign that it’s time to pack away the peaches and strawberries, the eggplant, the zucchini — it’s now time for apples and cinnamon and cider and pumpkin and all things orange.

It’s also time for stew. While winter’s long, rich braises are still a few months away (I hope.), now is the perfect time for something hearty but still light, a dish that only takes one hour to make instead of three. I needed comfort food tonight, after facing endless gray skies with not even an umbrella to protect me. (Never buy an umbrella from a street vendor. They last all of 3.2 seconds before quickly becoming a multi-pronged dagger to unknowingly stick in someone’s eye.)

So, while Googling around for a recipe, I chanced upon posole (or pozole), a pre-Columbian Mexican stew that usually consists of some form of meat and hominy, dried maize kernels that have been processed in a method too complicated to explain here. It even has a fancypants name — nixtamalization.

I say some form of meat because, according to Wikipedia, the Aztecs made posole only on very special days, and the meat they used was human. Researchers at the National Institute of Anthropology and History believe that after prisoners’ hearts were torn out in a ritual sacrifice, the rest of the body would get chopped and cooked with the hominy. After cannibalization was banned by the Spanish during the conquest, pork became the staple meat, apparently because according to Spanish priests, it tasted similar.

Obviously once I discovered that, I had to make this stew — nothing beats good food plus a good backstory. In a sort of chili-posole hybrid, I added black beans and lots of heat to the mix, as well as, of course, extra cumin. The end result is a spicy, smoky, warming stew that cushions fall’s chilly blow. …

The Unofficial End of Summer

Today is Labor Day, and if you’re anything like me, you’re scrambling to put together something before you run out the door to enjoy the last little bit of summer. In case you’re on a frantic hunt for a last-minute recipe (been there, done that), here are a few quick favorites that travel well and would be welcome at any picnic or barbecue.

Appetizers and Dips

Baingan Bharta

Guacamole

Fiery Hummus with Crushed Red Pepper

Mango Salsa-Salad

Smashed Chickpea and Olive Salad

White Bean and Roasted Red Pepper Dip

Desserts and Sweets

Airy Dark Chocolate Meringues

Berry Hand Pies

Blueberry Crumb Bars

Loaded Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies

Luscious Meyer Lemon Bars

No-Bake Chocolate Peanut Butter Bars

Salted Cocoa Brownies

Happy Labor Day everyone!

Warm Spinach and Mushroom Salad with Chicken

After a solid month of transferring things from one side of town to the other, I’ve finally finished moving. (Okay, okay, I still have a SUV-sized load of things at my Maryland house, but that’s a worry for another day.) That’s right friends, I’m now a proud resident of the Upper East Side.

I’d introduce you to my humble abode, but it’s in a total state of disarray. There are more tables than we know what to do with, boxes everywhere and so. much. trash. It’s a shame, because I wanted my new kitchen to make a grand entrance on this blog. The first meal in the new apartment should have been something magnificent, spectacular — a first impression you’d never forget.

But instead, it tiptoes in, a glance here, a peek there, until we finally unpack everything and put it in its place. That’s not to say that this salad wasn’t delicious, especially on a day when I needed something light and summery to remind myself that while it may be September, fall doesn’t necessarily need to be here right now.

(It’s September! Where did the year go? Let’s not talk about this, and instead wear sundresses and pretend it’s June.) …

Cinnamon-Chocolate Chip Coffee Cake

Last week was a wild one in New York City. Laughs about a Tuesday afternoon earthquake quickly turned into worries about Hurricane Irene, prompting evacuations, subway shutdowns and perhaps most disconcerting, the closing of Duane Reade.

My roommates and I quickly deserted our already leaky apartment, so I headed home to Maryland, buoyed by the promise of better food, better movies and well, no rainwater in my living room. Faced with the prospect of staying indoors for two straight days, I did what any normal person would do: I made cake.

Cinnamon-chocolate chip coffee cake, to be exact. Made with sour cream in an almost chiffon cake-style, bisected by swirls of cinnamon sugar and chocolate chips, this plush cake is pillow soft, airy and light, definitely worth all of the effort. And there is a bit of effort required (especially compared to these): using at least 3 bowls, separating eggs, washing beaters, folding whites, etc. Of course I made my life more difficult by halving the original recipe and therefore having to figure out how to halve 3 eggs, but what’s a morning in the kitchen without a little egg yolk on your pjs and a few of your favorite four-letter words?

In case you needed further proof that this cake is pretty friggin’ awesome, it even has hurricane-fighting abilities. By the time it had been pulled out of the oven, after wafting its spicy cinnamon air through the house for a good half hour, the rain had cleared and the sun was peeking out. Take that Irene! …

No-Bake Chocolate Peanut Butter Bars

Chocolate. Peanut Butter. Bars. Do I need to say more?

Every day at work, as a mid-afternoon pick-me-up/dessert after lunch, Abby and I eat a peanut butter cup. They sit at a box on my desk, tempting me all morning long with their creamy peanut-y filling and their chocolate shell, a swoon-worthy combination that I’ve already deemed the perfect pair.

I’ve never tried to make peanut butter cups myself, because Trader Joe’s does a pretty awesome job of it already. But last week, I decided I needed to make chocolate-peanut butter something, if only to prove to myself that I don’t need to be dependent on TJ for my fix. Cupcakes and cakes seemed too complicated for my needs, peanutella was too “been there, done that” (same situation with tarts/pies), and cookies, well, eh.

And then I found these no-bake chocolate peanut butter bars. They require minimal effort and no oven time, perfect if you’re in a rush and/or recovering from a deathly illness (coughcough). They feature lots of peanut butter and lots of chocolate, can be made ahead, travel easily — seriously. go. make. these. now.

Best of all, they look super-duper fancy, but take less than 20 minutes (plus chill time) to make. That can be our little secret. …

Plum Galette

A lot of emphasis nowadays is put into how our food looks. Restaurant dishes come out looking like works of art, perfectly composed and almost too pretty to bite into. Desserts are the worst offender — this offering from Upper West Side Spanish restaurant Graffit, “a study of moscatel” that resembles a Kandinsky painting, is perhaps an extreme example of food as art, but even the dessert case at Whole Foods offers shiny glazed tarts and perfectly round chocolate bombs.

Funny thing is, that sort of stuff rarely appeals to me. My favorite dessert at Whole Foods is the decadently rich chocolate pudding, and the dish I’ll remember most from my dinner at Graffit was the succulent lechÃ³n (suckling pig), crispy-skinned and melt-in-your-mouth soft on the inside. Neither are terribly nice to look at (gloopy brown things rarely are), but in my eyes, taste is most important 100% of the time.

A lack of hang-ups about ugly food comes in handy when you make such um … rustic–looking food so often. While the desserts always taste delicious, I have yet to learn how to neatly frost a cake or make evenly round cookies (let’s not even discuss this cheesecake). So rather than fret over yet another misshapen pie, I decided to make a galette, or a free-form tart, where a rustic, homemade appearance is the desired outcome.

I had some frozen dough left over from making hand pies, which made this recipe a total cinch. But due to my inability to properly read a recipe, I didn’t realize I needed to buy almonds at the grocery store, which let to a lot of improvisation. I ditched Martha’s suggestion to make an almond filling and instead relied on the plum’s flavor to carry the tart.

Unfortunately, my plums were very unripe, creating a very tart tart (ha.) that needed some brown sugar and vanilla to brighten it. While they helped a bit, the tart was a little too one-note, so if you have almonds (or pistachios — I think those would be lovely), it’s worth including them.

That being said, this plum galette disappeared within 12 hours of its removal from the oven, 8 of those hours being used for sleeping. Maybe my family is willing to eat anything, but I’ll take it as a sign that the tart was still pretty good. (My own opinion: it was a 6 out of 10.) The crust was buttery flaky perfection, and I didn’t mind the tartness too much — I like a little something something to cut the sweetness of my desserts. I have a few ideas of how to improve it, which I’ve shared below, and I’d love to make it again, maybe with apricots or pluots instead.

Bonus: for once, my tart looked just as nice as Martha’s. …

Bacon and Leek Crustless Quiche

Monday marked what would have been the 99th birthday of Julia Child. I told you a while ago that I was reading My Life in France, Child’s semi-autobiography about her time in Paris, Marseilles and various other parts of France. Well, since then I’ve finished the book, developed a not-so-secret obsession with Julia and spent many an afternoon checking ticket prices to Paris.

But what I had yet to do, shockingly enough, was try an actual recipe of Child’s. I (gasp!) don’t own a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, volumes one or two, have never boiled bacon for a quiche lorraine or lit a coq au vin aflame (that needs to happen though. soon).

Child’s recipes have a tendency to be on the longer side, which usually doesn’t jive with my “quick and easy” mantra in the kitchen. Take this quiche, for example. Daunted by the prospect of creating, then chilling, then rolling out, then chilling and then filling a whole quiche, I decided to opt for the ~~lazy~~ crustless method, baking the filling in what could be called a frittata, egg souffle, or as my cousin so kindly said, “I hate to break it to you, but this is just a fancy omelet.”

Still, I tried. This recipe from Food & Wine’s Grace Parisi combines Julia’s recipe for Quiche Lorraine (with ham and Gruyere) with her Quiche aux Poireaux (with leeks). I’ve never had leeks before, but my new roommate, who is famous for not liking vegetables, said that they’re awesome, so I decided to give them a try. They taste exactly how I expected them too — pleasantly onion-y, mild enough not to take away from the real stars of the show, bacon and cheese.

While a flaky, buttery quiche crust might have made this better, we didn’t miss it much, as the filling was delicious on its own. Even with my attempts to lighten it up as much as possible (turkey bacon, skim milk), it was rich and eggy, perfect with a sharply dressed mesclun salad. Pair it with a crisp rosÃ©, then sit back, relax and remember that, in the words of Julia Child herself, “the pleasures of the table, and of life, are infinite – toujours bon appÃ©tit!” …

Baingan Bharta (Indian Eggplant Dip)

In last week’s New York Times’ Dining & Wine section, Melissa Clark explored the eggplant. A staple of late-summer farmers’ markets, the fleshy purple-skinned vegetable is steamed and fried, grilled and roasted, with dreams of deep-frying, sauteing and broiling for good measure.

When I saw that article in the paper, I ignored it. I don’t particularly care for eggplant, with all its slimy oiliness, and am generally uninterested in reading about it. But when she read the article, my aunt exclaimed in outrage, “I need to write a letter to the editor!” due to Clark’s failure to mention baingan bharta, the popular North Indian eggplant curry. All of a sudden I was intrigued. Not so much by the article (sorry Melissa!) but by hazy recollections of a creamy eggplant dish I vaguely remember my grandmother making.

I brought it up with my parents when I was home this weekend, and my mom immediately said, “oh I used to make that a lot!” Somehow I’ve managed to collectively forget the apparently many, many times my mom made this when I was a child. I’m of the opinion that she maybe made it once or twice and believes that she made it more often, but I’ve been told I’m wrong.

Rather than the traditional roasting of the eggplant on an open flame, she boils the eggplant first, then sautÃ©s it. To me that sounds horribly gross (boiled eggplant? Ew.) but both my mom and dad insisted that it’s delicious. Since my expertise in both the eggplant-cooking and Indian-recipe-making areas is limited, I went with what they said, following my mom’s recipe to the T.

What results is a fiery, velvety dish, perfect for dipping with pita or crackers or even just a spoon. It converted this eggplant non-believer into a “well, I know I like baingain bharta” gal and it may do the same for you. As summer winds down and you hit up the last of your picnics, consider bringing this dish. I promise only good things will follow. …

Kebabs with Mediterranean Couscous Salad

Let’s keep this short and sweet today. It’s a Friday afternoon in August, the start of one of the last weekends of summer, and I’m sure everyone has plans that involve spending time with friends and family, being outside or hopefully, both.

I don’t need to tell you very much about these kebabs: they’re made with turkey and baked, with lots of cumin and coriander. They’re smoky and spicy and taste good hot or cold. I need to tell you less about this couscous salad, full of lemon and dill (my new fav), with some feta and olives thrown in for good measure. It’s perfect on its own, a refreshingly light lunch or dinner. It takes less than 10 minutes to make, tastes better the next day and travels well.

Seriously, you must make either or both of the components of this meal. Make them this weekend, and enjoy them on a patio or a deck or in a backyard. And then close your eyes and soak up that soon-to-disappear summer sun.

That is all. (I wasn’t kidding when I said short.) …

Strawberry Buttermilk Cake

Why do we cook? In my hiatus from the kitchen, I’ve thought a lot about this. What makes people, at the end of a long day of work or school or play, say, “I’m going to go into the kitchen now”?

Sustenance, I suppose, is a large factor. No one can live by ordering or dining out every day of the year, though lord knows I’ve tried. We need to eat to live and in order to eat well, we need to cook.

But cooking can be so much more than that. In one of my favorite books, Como Agua Para Chocolate (Like Water for Chocolate), Laura Esquivel writes of a woman whose tears fall into the wedding cake she is baking, which causes everyone at the wedding to weep. While that was a case of magical realism, I think that cooking and feeding others really does have the power to move people, set moods, uplift, bring to tears.

It is intrinsically linked to memory — certain dishes or tastes or even smells can mean so much. To me, the smell of onions and potatoes together will forever remind me of my grandmother’s aloo paratha, a potato-filled flatbread that will forever and always be the best after-school snack I ever had.

Food can bring people together, drawing friends or family around one pot, tasting and adding, laughing and screaming (if it’s my family at least), building memories. I notice this especially around the holidays, when my family all crowds into the kitchen, everyone working on separate dishes, getting in each others’ way, spending time together around the stove.

Why am I thinking about this now? Well, I’ve suffered through a weird bout of apathy with cooking over the past few weeks. Nothing inspired me — I couldn’t find any recipes that I wanted to make. (For someone who compiles a list of recipes on both her phone and in Google docs, that’s a real problem.) I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do in the kitchen, which led to questions of why I wanted to be there in the first place.

I can’t say that I have an answer to the “why do I cook” question either. I baked this cake last week, mostly because it gave me something to do. It was the first time I had been alone in the kitchen in a while, just me and the strawberries, the homemade buttermilk and the hint of lemon.

It was quiet, lovely, a nice reminder that sometimes, cooking doesn’t need to be anything more than something that you do, on a Thursday evening, just because. …

Potato Pancakes with Dill

I’m sorry to say that I’ve neglected you, my friends. July was an extremely hectic month for me, and I’m sad to admit that I probably spent less than 10 hours in the kitchen the. entire. month. Tres pathetic, I know. But I did find a new home for this here blog on the Upper East Side, so expect a housewarming post in the future (and new roommates!)

Oh, and summer? I’m officially so over it. The easy breezy days of June have now fully morphed into the sticky, heavy dog days of August. You’d think that that would mean that I would spend more time indoors, and therefore possibly in the kitchen, but I’ve become too lazy to do anything other than pick up a phone to order delivery. (Oven usage ended in July.) Instead, I’ve been watching lots of Friday Night Lights, playing a ton of Words with Friends, counting down the days until fall and just being generally unproductive.

And to top it all off, the recipe I bring for you today is not even seasonal! Trust me, I know what you’re thinking: Potato pancakes? In summer? Shouldn’t all summer food involve some form of tomatoes, corn, eggplant and watermelon? I mean, they’re going to leave the markets soon!

Yes, you all are very right. The second I have to start paying $6 for a pint of blueberries again, I’ll miss summer greatly. But right now, I can’t eat another kernel of corn any more. Peach juice has stained all of my clothing. My fingers are permanently blue from all the blueberries I’ve eaten and I’m pretty sure I’ll never need lipstick again, since my lips are dyed red from the cherries. I need something that reminds me of fall (or in this case, Hanukah)*.

And these potato pancakes, or latkes, if you will, are a pretty good reason to return to colder days. The recipe comes entirely from my cousin, who decided one day that he was going to become a hash brown master, somehow ended up with potato pancakes instead and has rolled with it ever since. I added dill to them this time, deemed them delicious for breakfast, brunch, appetizers or dinner, and then waited more than two weeks to tell you about them. I’m very sorry. At least they are well worth the wait.

*So maybe I bought all of this dill for $1 at a summer farmer’s market a few weeks ago. And maybe that same dill will cost an arm and a leg in a few months. And so, in theory, I should be somewhat appreciative of summer’s bounty. But in the immortal words of Joy Behar, “so what? Who cares?” …

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