bites out of life

Fresh Peach Cobbler

Confession time today: I like to pretend that all of the South is like Paula Deen’s backyard, with a large white picket gazebo and porch swings and grassy knolls overlooking the ocean and lots and lots of iced tea. Since I’ve never actually been to the Dirty Dirty*, I have no reason to believe that Paula’s South isn’t the real South, and let me tell you, I am 100% enamored by it.

(This is much like my belief that all of the Hamptons must be exactly like Barefoot Contessa’s house, with Adirondack-style lawn furniture and herb gardens and fancypants grocery stores that probably sell bananas for $1 each.)

More important than my fascination with Southern-style locales is my interest in Southern food. Crisp and juicy fried chicken, buttery biscuits, creamy grits, pecan pie — do I need to go on? Southerners, in my very rudimentarily formed opinion, have a much respected appreciation of all things butter, cream and sugar, which is always very welcome in my book.

Sadly this peach cobbler does not have very much of any of those things. Sure there’s a bit of butter, a little sugar, some flour, some spice. But mostly, it’s all about peaches. Fresh, so-juicy-they’ll-stain-your-shirt peaches. Peaches might be my favorite thing to ever come from the South (this is a very closeÂ second) so when I saw a recipe for fresh peach cobbler, I got very excited. I’ve never had or made cobbler before, but biscuits + fresh fruit can only be a magical combination.

The recipe seemed pretty foolproof, but being a cobbler novice and really afraid of ruining a half-dozen very delicious peaches, I was a nervous wreck the whole time. And when the batter didn’t seem to set quite as nicely as the photos taken by a sweet pea chef, I started to sweat bullets. (Also, I turned the oven on on a day when it was literally 100 degrees out. Or if you’re the AP, close to the boiling point. Of 212 degrees [#ReporterFail]).

But the end result is pretty darn good. While it was a tad too sweet for me, the fam demolished it, calling the buttery cake-y cobbler a nice foil for the syrupy peaches. I had to omit the lemon juice and zest from the original recipe because I was out of lemons, but I think they would have added a much-needed tartness to the dish. I swapped in brown sugar for some of the white, creating a peachy brown sugar caramel that might actually be the sauce of the gods. People, if you learn nothing else from this post, go make this peachy caramel sauce and then pour that over everything. It gave my favorite salted caramel sauce a serious run for its money.

*I have been told repeatedly by a friend in Nashville that no one actually calls it that there, but it’s too good of a name to not use. …

Zucchini Bread

In the past, I’ve heard a particular label bandied about when discussing my eating habits: “picky.” I’ll admit, I have a fair few objections as to what I will or won’t eat, and I’m not the most adventurous soul when it comes to trying new things. But every now and then, I’ll venture outside of my culinary comfort zone, and most recently, that involved dreaded zucchini.

Chief amongst zucchini’s offending qualities is that it looks almost exactly like a cucumber from the outside. The same oblong shape, the same smooth shiny green skin (okay, maybe not the same exact green, but pretty darn close). As someone who loves cucumber with a borderline obsessive passion, their twins were nothing more than disappointment during my childhood.* Biting into a cucumber is cold, refreshing bliss. Biting into a zucchini? Not so much.

Zucchinis fall into the category of “summer vegetables I could do without,” alongside tomatoes and eggplant. But not only is this food blog blasphemy, it’s also difficult to visit a farmer’s market in July or August and not be confronted by the fact that sometimes, pickiness gets in the way of enjoying summer’s bounty. (I have no such issues in the summer fruit department, which is why I have cherry stains on my clothes and peach juice on my computer.)

Naturally, the best way to introduce yourself to something new is to envelop it in sugar and flour and eggs and oil and cinnamon and nutmeg and walnuts. As my cousin so astutely observed, “it doesn’t taste like zucchini at all … which is a good thing.”Â The bread does taste of spice, and of nuttiness, aided by the walnuts and a good amount of whole wheat flour. This bread is quite earnest, with the whole wheat, the use of oil instead of butter and of course, the vegetable as its base. Far from dessert, it’s perfect for breakfast or as something to nibble on with your afternoon tea.

And well if zucchini tastes this good in other forms, I may have to switch it to “summer vegetables I like.”

*I think this is the reason why I hate pickles, which also share a resemblance to the cucumber. If it looks like a cuke, it darn well better taste like a cuke in my opinion.

Note:Â The awesome folks atÂ Butter LaneÂ selected me as theirÂ Blogger of the Week, for which I’m extremely thankful (not just because I get half-off on cupcakes all week). AsÂ I’veÂ saidÂ before, their cupcakes are delicious, so if you’re in the NYC area, check them out!

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A Charred Summer Steak Salad

After a weekend of barbecues, beer and pie, I’m sure we could all use a return to vegetables, salads and lighter summer fare. And since the farmers’ markets are bursting with fresh produce, that return is all the more exciting. Even as someone who doesn’t like fresh tomatoes, I can’t help but be fascinated by how pretty and red and round they are, or how yellow and sweet the corn are, not to mention the juicy orange-red peaches and the fat garnet cherries.

But instead of you know, enjoying summer’s bounty in its original form, I committed the cardinal sin of warm-weather cooking: I went and turned on the oven. Suckered in by grape tomatoes but unwilling to actually eat them fresh, I decided to char them until the slimy innards dry up. They looked so sad all alone on the big bad baking dish, so I tossed in an ear of corn and some onion too.

Roasting the vegetables just caramelizes their innate sweetness, which pairs nicely with the salty feta and olives and the sharp, peppery arugula. If you’re vegetarian, this is all you need, and I promise you, neither you nor your belly will be miss anything.

BUT. If you like steak, then let me tell you — this is one of the best steaks I’ve had in a long time. It takes almost no effort, thanks to the trusty garlic press I found somewhere, and best of all, you don’t even need a grill to make it. (You know, for those of us who aren’t fortunate enough to have a large deck … or don’t like to actually use their deck … those people.) One note of caution: there will be lots of smoke, so I recommend opening your windows, turning on vent fans and having someone stand underneath the smoke alarm and fan it with a towel (what, you’ve never done this before?) to keep the firemen away.

The end result is a perfect summer steak salad — sweet and salty and beefy but light. Only a large hunk of bread and a cold glass of Pinot Grigio could make it any better. Try it, tomorrow even. You won’t regret it. …

Berry Hand Pies

Everything about the Fourth of July screams summer. A) It is exactly at the midpoint of the season, when the days have begun to warm up enough that an ice-cold lemonade feels like a small sip of ambrosia, but before it becomes unbearably oven-like. B) Barbecues and picnics are fiercely encouraged, as is daytime/outdoor drinking, ~~one of my favorite pastimes~~ an activity I enjoy responsibly and with moderation. C) Summer produce could not be more on display: corn blistered from the grill, tomatoes, zucchini and peppers skewered and seared as kabobs, juicy watermelon and sweet cantaloupe mingling together in a fruit salad bowl.

And berries! Fat, luscious, dress-staining berries! Summer minxes, they tempt with their brightly colored, voluptuous shapes and tease with their promises of heaven, then disappear far too suddenly and always leave one wanting more. Sure, you can buy strawberries and blueberries and raspberries and blackberries year-round, but who wants to pay $6 a box for something that bears only a passing resemblance to its summery sibling?

And for the Fourth, for all those picnics and deck parties I didn’t go to, those berries are folded carefully into flaky, buttery pie dough and baked until they become jammy, sweet but slightly tart, and best of all, extremely portable. So while it would have been service journalism to tell you about these berry hand pies a few days ago, before you had celebrated America’s 235th birthday, it’s just as worthwhile for me to tell you about them now. You see, if you make them this weekend, you may not even have to share.

These pies require a bit of work, what with making the dough, then chilling it, then macerating the berries, then rolling out the dough and cutting and filling each pie. I used the same dough that I used for strawberry-rhubarb tartlets, as it was incredibly rich and flaky without being too much effort. This time, I ditched the food processor for some good old elbow grease, and found the dough a little easier to make, though a pastry cutter would really work wonders.

Since I was going for a Fourth of July theme with these berry hand pies, I made two versions: strawberry-raspberry and blueberry-lemon, though you could certainly mix all of the berries together to make mixed berry pies. The blueberry pies were a little on the tart side, so you may want to omit the lemon juice if you’re very sensitive to sour food (my dad didn’t like them). Since I was making two kinds of pies, I made double the amount of pie dough.

All the effort is so worth it, by the way. The finished product could not be a better showcase for summer’s stars. I’m sure you could fill them with other fruits, like cherries or peaches or even apples in the fall. But I guarantee you they’ll never look as pretty as these. …

Crunchy Parmesan-Crusted Pork Chops

To make life easier, I occasionally like to think in broad generalizations. Not a very good or intelligent quality, I know, but sometimes it’s just easier to believe that all politicians are lying to me and that all cats just want to scratch my eyes out.

I’m also of the opinion that anything breaded and fried will be fantastically delicious. I mean, if dipping a paper-thin chicken cutlet in flour, then egg, and then breadcrumbs can transform it from cardboard-like to gloriously crispy and moist and flavorful, then why not the pork chop too? They are equally bland, and often possess a similar texture and flavor to sawdust. They also could use a prolonged dip in crunchy panko, preferably spiked with a plethora of dried herbs and spices. And if you’re gonna go there, you may as well add a heaping pile of Parmesan too. Was there ever a dinner that wasn’t improved by the presence of Parm?

In a word, no. These pork chops were juicy, spicy and sharp — a sassy cutlet, if you will. Using olive oil to fry them adds fruitiness to the chops, which balances the saltiness of the cheese very nicely. Your pork is a blank canvas (I promise — there’s not much flavor there) so feel free to use whatever spices you like. I guarantee, there’s no way to really mess these up. …

Brown Butter-Sauteed Brussels Sprouts

In case my new kitchen gadget crush didn’t tip you off, I tend to plan ahead in life often, especially when it comes to shopping. Sure I may not have my own kitchen right now, or you know, the capital for it, I need a stand mixer in Pistachio for all the layer cakes I’ll be baking soon. I also need a Coq au Vin cocotte in Basil, with the adorably French rooster on top, because you know, I braise things all the time. I won’t even start with all of the teapots and teacups that I’ve been obsessing about (no literally, this has been in my dreams).

I’m fully aware that none of these will magically appear in my nonexistent kitchen any time soon, but a girl can hope right? (Let’s sidestep the fact that I dream about kitchen appliances entirely.) But I do have some realistic items on my kitchen wish list, things that I know I should buy but forget about every time I’m in the store. A mandoline is high on that list.

Since my knife skills are pretty embarrassing, a mandoline would be pretty great for quickly putting together salads and sautes, and for accomplishing my life-long goal of making my own potato chips. It would also be clutch when shredding Brussels sprouts, since slicing or shredding them can take a verrrrrrry long time. I speak from experience, as it took me 15 minutes to shred the sprouts for this recipe.

Thankfully, that’s the only work needed, as the rest of the dish comes together in less than 10 minutes. It’s just as delicious right off the stove as it is straight from the fridge, so it’s the perfect partner for a meat dish. Preferably one that met its demise on a grill … if you know, you were into that sort of thing on a Fourth of July weekend. …

A Cupcake Class at Butter Lane

For my birthday last year, Keith got me a cupcake baking class at Butter Lane. The East Village bakery is an old favorite on this blog, as they very kindly let me go in and take pictures of a frosting session last year. Their cupcakes are delicious — less sweet than many comparable places, which is a big plus for me, with thick swaths of fluffy frosting in delicious flavors. And I was extra excited to go to the class because (I hope you’re sitting) I’d never baked a cupcake before.

That’s right, she of the trifles and banana bread, the layer cakes and tres leches cakes, had never ever baked a wee little cupcake before — how embarrassing. Sure, I’d baked gigantic Texas-sized muffins before, but we never had a cupcake tray growing up, and truth be told, they weren’t so haute cuisine then. The cupcakes of my childhood were nothing more than a convenient way to celebrate birthdays in grade school, not gourmet luxury items that retail for $3-4 a pop.

And what better way to start my cupcake-baking journey than at Butter Lane? Alas, months and months of conflicting schedules and sold out classes meant that I didn’t actually get to go to the class until mid-June, a good eight months after my birthday. No worries — it was well worth the wait!

In the two-hour class, groups of three or four baked three types of cakes: vanilla, chocolate and banana, and then made three large batches of frosting: vanilla, chocolate and cream cheese. We then split each of the frosting batches in half and made one peanut butter-chocolate frosting (mixing peanut butter into the chocolate base), one raspberry frosting (raspberry preserves in the vanilla base) and one cinnamon frosting (cinnamon in the cream cheese base). It must’ve been my lucky day, since our group got to make both the chocolate cake and the chocolate frosting, much to the chagrin of Keith.

Once the cakes were baked, the class had a frosting contest to see who could frost a cupcake the best. I, um, did not win, as it took me 10 tries to get a passably well-frosted cupcake. My favorite combo was the raspberry frosting on the chocolate cake, seconded closely by the peanut butter-chocolate on the banana cake. I literally ate so much frosting that I couldn’t even look at a cupcake for a good five days without getting queasy. …

Loaded Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies

No matter how long or little you’ve been cooking, everyone suffers those off nights in the kitchen. You know, you spent an hour at the grocery store and still forgot to buy that crucial ingredient, the onions made you cry so much that you nicked your finger, the cake came out much more … well done than you had hoped. While making her famed kheer with orzo, my mom once added a full cup of salt instead of sugar. I say this not to embarrass her, but to prove my point: it happens to the best of us.

A year and a half(!!)’s worth of recipes aside, I’m still a novice in the kitchen. Most of the time I bumble from counter to counter, frantically scanning Google to determine how to clean and trim spareribs and how long to broil salmon for. Over time thankfully, I’ve gotten much more comfortable in my apron. I’ve improved on chopping skills and I can improvise with increasing success (though now I forget to write down exact amounts of what I’ve added — the problems never cease).

But yesterday was an off day. It took me forever to do simple steps, such as chopping chocolate or measuring ingredients. I even got that wrong, as I accidentally added too much oats. Then we were out of vanilla so I had to swap in orange juice. I even grated my finger, which in all the years and years I’ve been zesting and grating things, I had never done before. In the process, I made a mess of my aunt’s recently cleaned kitchen, then had to spend time returning it to its spotless state. Baking, which has always been my forte, suddenly became a challenge. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I was home alone, as there may have been a temper tantrum or two, but there were no witnesses and I’ll never tell …

It’s a testament to how amazing these chocolate chip cookies are that despite my best efforts to destroy them, they still came out pretty friggin’ amazing. The combination of oats and dark chocolate is pretty irresistible to me, especially since I chose to use fancy Callebaut intense dark chocolate.* Since I was out of vanilla extract, I added a teaspoon of orange juice to go with the orange zest, which added a fruity undercurrent through the cookie. They reminded me of one of my favorite candy bars, the Lindt Orange Intense bar, which is never a bad thing. The whole wheat flour adds an earthy nuttiness to the cookie, matched by the walnuts and oats.

In fact, these cookies were so good that they almost made me crave that exalted partner of all cookies: a glass of milk. Though I am currently wearing an obscenely old version of this shirt (in pink, that’s how old it is), I don’t love cookies and milk, mostly because I hate milk. Blasphemous, I know, since an ice cold glass of milk pairs with a gooey chocolate chip cookie like peanut butter pairs with jelly (or better yet, chocolate) and wine pairs with cheese.

I’ve hated milk since childhood, and only tolerated it as a child if it was mixed with a healthy dose of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. But while nibbling on a warm, melty chocolate chip and a slightly toasted walnut, staring at the glass of milk I had poured for picture purposes, I thought “maybe just a sip. For research purposes.” And then I … walked back into the kitchen, poured the milk back into its carton and finished my cookie. And let me tell you, milk or not, these cookies hit the spot.

*My grocery store sells rough-cut blocks of Callebaut in plastic wrap near the seafood (don’t ask me why), which is actually cheaper than the Ghirardelli bars in the baking section. Apparently, once in a blue moon, deals can be had at Westside. …

Oven Roasted Spareribs

For years and years and years, living at home in Maryland, I had a deck that I rarely ever used. Summers came and went, and I would spend nary a day or night there because, oh, well … it’s hot … and there are bugs … and the TV is inside … and I am a world-class complainer.

But after two summers in the city that never sleeps, I miss that deck. Lounging in the sun with an iced tea and a good book* seems like a distant dream, especially when I’m caught in the daily grind of pavements and subways and buses. And as the days go by and I don’t go home, the deck seems more and more idyllic — a place for backyard barbecues (that never happened), blackberry brambles (also never happened) and nights spent laughing under the stars (I have a very vivid imagination).

This weekend, feeling a particularly strong bout of nostalgia for a memory that doesn’t actually exist, I decided to make spareribs. I’ve never actually made anything approaching ribs before in my life (these short ribs aside), and neither has anyone I know, so I was going in very blind. And given the total lack of confidence the butcher at Whole Foods showed me (“You want 5 pounds of ribs? You know you can’t eat that by yourself, right?” — no, I did not make this up.), I was a little worried about how this affair would turn out.

Thankfully, the oven does all the work for this recipe. Literally, there is no way to mess it up. You can throw in a little or a lot of any of your favorite spices (I jacked up the cumin natch), wrap it up in a packet of tin foil and then just bake. The ribs mellow and soften, the spices toast and roast and you, the intrepid chef, ~~watch hours of a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon~~ do nothing. And at the end of 6 long hours, your hard work is rewarded by a pile of ribs so tender that tongs can tear the meat from the bones — the spicy, slightly sweet, tangy glorious meat. Could there be a more perfect recipe?

*If you have any good book recommendations, please let me know! I’m road-tripping to Michigan with the family soon and I need a good distraction … …

Indian-Spiced Pea Soup

Given that I’ve spent a lifetime eating things that began with a garlic-ginger paste, it’s a little surprising that I only have one recipe that calls for it on this site. Well maybe not that surprising, since I haven’t quite lived up to my goal of cooking more Indian food … So today, I bring you an Indian recipe courtesy of ~~my mom~~ ~~my aunt~~ ~~my grandmother~~ Heidi Swanson of 101 Cookbooks.

Vegetable soups are my thing. While a nice chicken soup can hit the spot when I’ve got the flu, I’m all about the cauliflower (or tomato or white beans) pureed until thick and smooth, spiced up ever so slightly but allowing those delicious veggies to shine. So it’s no surprise that when I saw Heidi’s delicious and super easy recipe for pea soup, spiced with flavors I grew up with, I had to make it.

Clearly fate was on my side, as my boss gave me a stick blender at work one day because she had two. They make life much easier, as who wants to clean a blender? (Also, blending hot soups is very dangerous and there are always safety disclaimers in recipes and as an incredibly accident-prone person, it’s maybe good that I avoid this whenever possible.)

Heidi uses frozen peas, so I blindly followed. Since peas are in season now, it might be nice to try this soup with freshly shelled peas, if you have the patience to sit there and shell a pound’s worth of peas. If you go the frozen route, the soup takes less than 15 minutes to make, perfect for a busy weeknight. It tastes even better after sitting for a few hours, when the ginger and garlic and chilis and cumin have melded together with the sweet peas. Topped with salty feta cheese, the soup is a perfect lunch — or I hope it will be, since that will be my lunch for the next week. …

Tabbouleh-Stuffed Peppers

Rather than complain ohemgeeit’sbeensohoti’mmelting!, I’m going to talk about my solutions for beating this heat. Lots and lots of iced green teas, sundresses and sandals, subway riding (no 4.5-mile walks home now, thank you), and very light dinners, preferably involving food that can be eaten cold. Salads, quick sautes and chilled soups are my go-to, as is anything that requires minimal heating.

Stuffed peppers aren’t usually on that list. I think of them more as hearty winter food: a heavy, meaty filling that is baked for almost an hour inside a hollowed-out bell pepper, the oven keeping the apartment hot as everything cooks. But after seeing an amazing recipe for tabbouleh on David Lebovitz’s site, I began dreaming of tabbouleh-stuffed peppers. The Lebanese salad of parsley, mint and bulgur, a type of grain, is herbaceous, fresh and light, with a lemony kick. It’s eaten cold, so it would be perfect for my summer palate.

Traditional tabbouleh is more herb-based than bulgur-based, but many versions include a much larger ratio of bulgur, almost like a pilaf. (Un?)Luckily, my aunt had bought a box of pre-mixed tabbouleh a while before, so for these stuffed peppers I used that. Blasphemous for blog purposes, I know, but what’s a girl to do?

If you’re making tabbouleh for stuffed peppers, I would recommend going a little heavy on the bulgur, as it provides more of a meal than the traditional version might. Either way you’ll end up with a delicious, light summer meal, perfect for when the weather hits triple digits. Yes, okay, there’s a wee bit of broiler time, but sometimes a little heat is totally worth it. …

Spice-Rubbed Salmon with Sauteed Greens

You may have noticed that in the almost year and a half that I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve only put three seafood recipes on the site. (And in one, seafood is only in a supporting role!) If you’re concerned that I’m sneaking around behind your back, eating seafood and not telling you, fret not. There have been no encounters with creatures of the sea that I’ve hidden from you.

The truth is, I’m not a too big a fan of fish. Okay, maybe it’s more accurate to say that I don’t like it. Fine fine, you got me — I actively avoid it. It’s just so fishy. There are some forms that I’ll tolerate when in the mood: shrimp, lobster, mussels, scallops, flaky white fish fillets like tilapia and cod, and salmon fillets. But nothing else. It’s a little surprising, since both my mom and my aunt eat fish like it’s their job. And apparently when I was very very young, I could eat an entire fish myself, so I did love it at some point. But somewhere along the way, I decided that I didn’t like fish and I just can’t bring myself to love it as an adult.

So why am I bringing you a salmon recipe today? Well, I recently adopted a new life mantra to say yes to everything (see: flying trapeze class). And now that I’ve started trying new foods left and right, I figured I should try my hand at salmon, my aunt’s favorite thing to eat ever. I’ll eat it now and then, mostly because she makes it about once a week, and for the most part, I don’t mind it — without the slimy skin and only fillets, but I’ll eat it.

Like my aunt, some of you out there might love salmon. For you folks, this recipe is a godsend. You can literally go from fridge to plate in under 10 minutes. The ground fennel and coriander seeds fill your kitchen with a fragrant, slightly sweet aroma, brightened by a squeeze of fresh lemon or lime juice. Paired with a side of garlicky, quick-sauteed greens, it is the perfect light dinner, fresh and easy — a summer classic. …

Homemade Pesto with Fusilli and Sausage

Summer is the season of fresh and light cooking. When it’s 80 (orÂ shudder, 90) degrees out, I only want salads, fruit, lightly tossed pastas — basically anything that requires minimal effort and as little heating as possible. Who wants to waste time in the kitchen when there is sunshine, glorious sunshine, to play outside in?

To me, basil is one of those quintessentially “summer” things, right up there with watermelon, corn and barbeques. Its spicy sweet smell permeates the farmer’s market only in the warm months, just begging to be torn and tossed with quickly charred cherry tomatoes, fresh mozzarella and fruity olive oil in a bastardized version of a caprese (the tomatoes must be cooked — no fresh caprese salads here).

Pesto, its saucier counterpart, is a blend of basil, garlic, olive oil, Parmesan and pine nuts. I inhale it on salads, pasta or even just baguette, but sadly, it never occurred to me to make it myself until two weeks ago, on a pizza that Mili, Milan and I made together. It’s a shame, since it takes less than five minutes to make, with ingredients you probably already have on hand.* But now that I know how easy it is, I’m never going back to store-bought. If fresh and easy are a prerequisite for summer meals, it doesn’t get any better than this.

*As you’ll notice, my recipe below does not include pine nuts. They were $10.99 (!) for a small tub at Whole Foods, which is about $5.99 more than I would even have considered paying. …

Mango Coconut Tres Leches Cake

While I not-so-mysteriously disappeared from the blogiverse, summer finally sashayed into New York City. The omnipresent rain clouds that had all but drowned Milan’s visit cleared, leaving behind 80-degree days of sunshine and blue skies. All those dresses and sandals I’ve been stockpiling finally got to make their appearance last week, as did my pale and pasty (ick.) legs.

Naturally, warm weather had me dreaming of the tropics — aqua blue waves, beaming sunshine, fruity cocktails and sandy beaches. (Click on the link. You’re welcome.) Nothing to me screams summer like mangoes. Their juicy goodness is delicious on its own, but perhaps even better when pureed to frothy goodness in a lassi or tossed every so casually with black beans, cumin and cilantro in a perfect summer salad.

Now let me add a third item to that list: mango coconut tres leches cake. The idea for the cake came from an ode to mango in the New York Times almost two months ago. Melissa Clark described her concoction as “the sweetest cake in the universe, a syrupy, coconut-and-condensed-milk-infused tres leches cake [that] is further sugared with a purÃ©e of soft, ripe mango. You couldnâ€™t ask for a more luscious spring dessert.”

Truth be told, nothing in that sentence really appealed to me. Overly saccharine desserts tend to make me sick, plus I hate coconut. But I do love me a good tres leches cake, with its light and airy chiffon-cake base, syrupy sweet milk mixture and, most important, the billowy clouds of barely sweetened whipped cream that top each slice. And when Mili and I were plotting a birthday surprise for Milan, I thought a mango-coconut cake would be her number one choice as a cushion for 22 candles.

Alas, time was not on my side and after diligently buying ingredients more than a week in advance, I never actually got around to making the cake for her. So when my aunt asked if I had any dessert ideas for a Memorial Day lunch with friends, I leapt at the chance. The timing worked out perfectly — I made the cake Sunday evening and left it to soak in the milk overnight. In this regard, it’s the perfect cake for parties, since you’re actually encouraged to make it in advance.

Terrified of recreating “the sweetest cake in the universe,” as Clark put it, I cut out the sugar in both the mango puree and in the whipped cream, and only used 3/4 cup in the cake. While I haven’t tried it Clark’s way, the decreased sugar was perfectly sweet for me.

I won’t lie, this wasn’t an easy dessert to put together. Chiffon cakes, which require separating eggs, making meringues and then folding egg whites into egg yolks and flour, are kind of a pain, and there were a lot of steps to creating a finished product. But it’s well worth the effort, as the cake is a summer showstopper — bright and light and refreshing on a hot sunny day.

And in case you’re asking yourself, “coconut in a recipe on this site?” here’s my defense: Milan loves coconut so I thought I’d be nice and keep the recipe as is. Then I had to use the coconut milk, since I had bought it already and needed to get rid of it. Turn out I didn’t mind it — it was slightly nutty and complemented the tropical flavor of the mango nicely (think Malibu Mango rum). It didn’t turn me into a coco-nut, but it certainly didn’t stop me from getting seconds. Or thirds. …

Apologies + Guacamole

Hi friends, are you still there? I know it’s been two very long weeks since I last posted and truth be told, I have no answer for my long hiatus. No trips to France, no exciting life events, just a visit from M. that involved lots of dining al fresco, high tea, the Highline, bursts of rain and oh, a little flying trapeze.Â I could say that I was super busy and had no time to cook or photograph or blog, but many fellow food bloggers juggle work and husbands and children and therefore know what it’s like to be really busy.

To make up for my absence, I brought you guacamole! As previously mentioned, I have a lot of hang-ups with guacamole. I really want to like avocados, with their verdant innards and buttery texture, but something about them weirds me out. To me, they don’t really taste like anything other than fat. And while I love to squelch pieces of ripe avocado into guacamole (there’s something cathartic about the mashing process), I eat very little of it. Even the small dips here and there are usually to avoid judgment and bewildered questions from others. (What kind of person doesn’t eat guacamole? Is it because you’re on a diet?) In my experience, telling a group of people that you don’t like guacamole leads them to consider you in a whole new light.

But everyone else I know loves guacamole, and truth be told, I’ll stand it if I can get unfettered access to a fat pile of tortilla chips. There are about a million different versions, but my favorite is this recipe, which my aunt and I made up. With its kick of cumin and burst of lime (we all know I’m a sucker for this combination), it’s bright enough to make even the most guacamole averse give it a shot. ItÂ just calls for a deck, some sunshine and an ice cold beer. And with the unofficial start of summer here, you know you want some.

If you’re hosting a barbeque this Memorial Day Weekend, make sure you add some guacamole to your spread, keeping the masses sated while you slave over the grill. And if you’re attending a barbeque this weekend, endear yourself to your hosts and ensure you get the best food and the coldest drinks by bringing some of this along. You won’t regret it.

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Strawberry Rhubarb Tartlets

For the past week, I’ve been reading My Life in France, Julia Child’s autobiography. So far, I’ve only read about her time in Paris, when she discovered the wonders of French cuisine and began to learn how to cook herself. Her life seems idyllic, from her discovery of seasonal produce at the farmer’s market to chicken that is very “chicken-y” to fresh chevre at la fromagerie (if you couldn’t tell already, I really really want her life).

Child’s story is inspiring. I’d always assumed that the great Julia Child was born and bred in the kitchen, but she was a relative novice until her time in Paris. She began cooking at home, and then taking classes at Le Cordon Bleu. Reading about her first attempts in the kitchen reminded me that everyone has to start somewhere, and even Julia Child needed a few tries before dicing an onion properly.

But a terrible side effect of reading the book is my newly reawakened-with-a-vengeance desire to be in France 365 days a year. Like the more chicken-y chicken, butter tastes better in Paris, the air seems fresher, the people seem so incredibly French and I just can’t wait to go back.

So to quench my thirst for all things French, I made tarts. I’ve never made anything with a pastry crust, as pate brisee scares me immensely. The Interwebs are littered with stories of failed pastry crusts, and my aunt has had a few bad experiences before as well. But bolstered by the knowledge that even Julia Child didn’t get pastry dough right the first time, I decided to forge ahead.

And because they looked so pretty and pink at the grocery store, I decided on rhubarb. I’ve never had rhubarb before, so when my coworker told me she hated them I grew borderline worried about the fate of my tarts. The tall, glittering magenta stalks are tart, slightly citrusy and mellow out beautifully when paired with sweet ruby-red strawberries.

The tart was flaky and light, and the filling was bright and perky and almost jammy. The strawberries and rhubarbs sparkle brightly, little gems of fruity goodness. Of course I didn’t fold and pinch properly, so the majority of them opened up and looked very uhh… homemade, but with dreams of blueberry tarts and passionfruit and lemon raspberry and pear and cranberry and apple, I’m sure I’ll get plenty of practice. …

Airy Dark Chocolate Meringues

It will surprise exactly no one to hear that I love chocolate.* While smart people live by the rule “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” I follow the much less well-known adage “chocolate each day puts a smile on my face.” It’s why I keep a large tub of peanut butter cups on my desk at work, why I grew up exclusively drinking chocolate milk, why we have at least four different types of baking chocolate at home and also why this will never fit me.

But so many chocolate desserts are rich and dense, so laden with cocoa and sugar that eating more than a few bites is a Herculean struggle. Flourless chocolate things are usually the worst offenders, tortes and bombs so thick that they may as well be bricks.

Don’t get me wrong — I would never complain about such things. They are often the first item that calls out to me on a restaurant dessert menu. (What, you’ve never had a menu speak to you?) But sometimes, I really want something that won’t weigh me down, something fit for the warm lightness of spring.

These meringues are like little bites of air. Their fragile crisp shells and soft chewy innards dissolve, literally, in your mouth. They are fluffy clouds with intense flavor — weightless but packing a hefty punch of dark chocolate. While theyÂ taste similar to the Mini Chocolate Crackles I made last year, those were clearly a winter cookie. These are all spring: picnics and sundresses and tulips. Just a warning: it literally feels like you’re eating nothing. Don’t blame me when an entire batch disappears.

*When I say chocolate, I really mean dark chocolate. Milk is okay, but in my world white chocolate does not exist. A) it’s not even really chocolate since there’s no cocoa content and B) some things are just better brown. …

Black Bean Tacos with Cumin and Lime

In case you didn’t pick up on it here, here, here or here, I kind of really like cumin. I can’t get enough of the smokiness and slight spiciness that cumin brings to everything it touches, the quiet kick that it adds to dishes.Â It’s an occupational hazard of growing up eating Indian food seven days a week, where cumin seeds and cumin powder reign supreme.

A lot of Mexican food relies on cumin as well, which may or may not be why I love it so much. The sharp tanginess of many Mexican sauces brightens even the blandest of ingredients. (A nice heaping pile of cheese doesn’t hurt matters.) Yes, I’m talking about beans. While I know that they’re good for me and I should like them and blah blah blah, I often find them underseasoned, overcooked and just plain mushy.

But spiked with cumin and lime? They jolt out of their doldrums, awakened by the citrus and the spice. They hardly need anything else — just a wee bit of cayenne and a few cloves of garlic. Topped with a cumin- and lime-scented salad and salty feta, these are easy and delicious black bean tacos, perfect for any fiesta (but especially a Cinco de Mayo one … ). …

Hey Look, I’m Famous!

Well, not exactly. But last week was a great week for this little old blog. After weeks of submitting photos to the food photography sites Food Gawker and Tastespotting, I finally made the cut! Yours truly is now featured on both sites, and I could not be more shocked or surprised or excited. (You like me, you really really like me!) The sites are full of some truly awe-inspiring photos, and I can’t believe I’m one of them.

I also received an email last week from the good people at Foodista, who wanted to let me know that they plan to feature my Mango Lassi recipe as the Drink of the Day on May 4. I encourage you all to check it out — Foodista is an awesome resource for recipes and general cooking info, and I’m so glad they found me.

Thanks to you all for being so amazing, sending me recipes and good wishes (and loads of free PR!). Your feedback makes all of this all the more fun, and your encouragement on those days when I’m just. so. tired. is literally what keeps me going. Thank you, thank you and I hope you’ll keep reading!

Royal Wedding Shortbread Cookies

After finally making peace with the fact that my invitation must just have gotten lost in the mail, I must admit today that I have total Royal Wedding mania.

I obsessively check the news to see whether Kate’s dress designer will reveal him- or herself, what they’ll serve at the wedding (canapes? My aunt and I are still outraged!) and who her wedding cake baker will be. Kate and William seem so normal, with their boring “we met in college” romance and 8-year courtship. But the glamour of princes and princesses and tradition and Westminster Abbey, coupled with my inherent love of all things British (I really like Harry Potter.) means that all I’ve talked about for the past few weeks has been royals.

Though I have yet to buy a commemorative dinner plate or um, lots of other royal couple-emblazoned items, someone from England recently gifted my aunt with a large tin of Walker’s shortbread cookies. Guess who was on the cover? Yes, that’s right, William and Kate.

While the outside of the tin was pretty darn cool, the inside of the tin was even more exciting. Walker’s shortbread are my absolute favorite store-bought cookie (a close second are the Petit Ecolier 45% Dark, in case you’re thinking of gifting). They’re light and crumbly, buttery and slightly sweet, but with a slight salty tinge. Plus, they pair perfectly with both coffee and tea, which is a really big deal if you find yourself suddenly shunning coffee.

Making your own shortbread cookies is a cinch. Most recipes call for 3-4 ingredients, and odds are, you already have them at home. This version requires you to grate the butter into the flour, creating fluffy clouds of buttery goodness. (Warning: these butter pillows look deceptively similar to shredded cheese. Don’t be fooled. Obviously I don’t speak from experience or anything.)

So if you were planning on, you know, waking up before dawn on Friday morning to maybe attend a royal wedding party and you need something to bring, look no further. These shortbread cookies are positively regal. …

Spring Frittata

A couple of weeks ago, I watched Morning Glory, a mostly generic rom-com with Rachel McAdams, Harrison Ford, Diane Keaton and the guy from Phantom of the Opera who isn’t Gerard Butler. The movie was semi-memorable for two reasons: 1) it was about journalism, which automatically made it interesting for me, and 2) it made me really want a frittata.

In the movie, Ford plays cantankerous “serious journalist” Mike Pomeroy, who refuses to do typical morning show segments because he deems them beneath him. (Thankfully Matt Lauer has no such convictions.) But in the movie’s turning point, he finally relents and makes a frittata, even going so far as to use the ultimate morning show term to describe it: “fluffy.”

Frittatas are easy to make, delicious whether hot, cold or anywhere in between, travel easy (perfect for packing for lunch) and depending on what you put in them, can be as wholesome or sinful as you like. Eying bathing suit season warily? Sub in egg whites and pack it with vegetables. Looking to indulge for a weekend brunch? Hello bacon and cheese, my favorite morning friends. As Pomeroy says in the movie, “the secret to a good frittata is in anything that happens to be in the refrigerator can be used, but you have to have a really hot pan to start with.”

As it happens, this weekend I had one eye on eating healthy and the other on bacon. So, eschewing the heavy cream of this extravagantly rich frittata, I added my favorite spring vegetables (asparagus and peas, of course), though I kept the hefty helping of cured pork. I also swapped in some egg whites for good measure. I mean, spring is around the corner and my winter-padded derriere isn’t going to just magically shrink. …

Baked Falafel

It’s literally been a week since I had my last home-cooked dinner. Somehow, over the past seven days, I’ve done tapas-style small plates twice, veggie burgers twice, Belgian once and the same Mediterranean place two nights in a row. Â (In my defense, it’s literally a block away and really good.) Everything was very good and it’s always fun to catch up with friends, but my goodness do I miss some good old home cooking.

This baked falafel was the last dinner I made before my week of restaurants. I had never heard of falafel before coming to New York City. I was an innocent, naive freshman, but the moment someone introduced me Mamoun’s in the Village for a late-night snack, I was hooked. When I realized that the Chickpea (a popular falafel chain in the city) down the block from my dorm accepted NYU’s campus cash, it was on. While my roommate chose chicken or beef shawarma pitas, I only had eyes for the little fried balls of chickpea, spicy and dense and full of flavor.

But given my ~~failed attempt at~~ new focus on healthy eating, my desire to wolf down deep-fried anything has waned slightly. So I decided to bake the falafel, broiling them at the end for some crispiness. Haters (ahem.) said that I’d lose the quintessential element that makes falafel so good, but I’d like to think that it’s the chickpeas and spices that make them swoon-worthy, not their short stay in a vat of oil.

Guess what? I was right. These just might be the best falafel I’ve ever had, which is saying something because I eat a lot of falafel. The incredibly easy process of smashing chickpeas together with spices takes about 10 minutes, and the spices can be switched up in a million different ways to suit your flavor preferences. Seriously, if you’re in a time crunch, just make the chickpea mixture and scoop it onto some pita chips for a very chunky hummus (similar to and as delicious as this chickpea and olive salad).

Given how easy and delicious these were, I’ll definitely be making these more regularly. Maybe even tonight, to remind myself how spectacular a meal cooked at home can be. …

Luscious Meyer Lemon Bars

There are certain things in life that I really want to like. Avocados, for example, or Wuthering Heights. People consider it weird that I like Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte but hate Emily, and that I like making guacamole but don’t like eating it.

Lemons are high up on the list. They’re yellow and sunny, and brighten things up wonderfully, both in savory and in sweet dishes. I really should like them. But while I like lemon juice in my hummus and lemon zest in my desserts, I’m not a fan of too-lemony things. Tarte au citron? No thank you. Lemon-roasted chicken? I’ll pass.

Why? Well, they’re sour. (Duh.) I hate sour things. They make my teeth hurt and my face pucker and my eyes water in pain. It’s not a pretty look, and I avoid it at all costs. Which is why I thought it was odd that one morning I woke up craving lemon bars. Specifically, Meyer lemon bars. Stat.

I’ve only had a lemon bar once in my life. I took one bite, immediately felt a searing ache in my teeth and trashed the rest. But I’ve been told (by the Amateur Gourmet) that Meyer lemons are sweeter and less acidic than regular lemons, which convinced me that my craving might actually be worth satisfying. And since it coincided perfectly with the Meyer lemon season, I deemed it fate and got out the butter and sugar.

If you’re looking for a treat to tide you over until spring stops being a tease and actually seals the deal, look no further. These Meyer lemon bars are little pieces of sunshine. They’re sharp without being bitingly sour, candied without being cloyingly sweet. Go, buy up the rest of the Meyer lemons and make these tonight. They’ll make your week so much better. …

Turkey Chili with Corn and Black Beans

I’ve been suffering from a terrible case of writer’s block recently. Stories about lassi and poppers spark in my brain but fizzle in my fingers, refusing to type themselves into coherent English. I get distracted by the best show ever and thoughts of shopping and taxes and spring flowers and cooking and cravings.

But somehow, something prevents me from sharing my adventures with you. I want to, I really do. Every night, I sit with my laptop, hoping for inspiration to come. I write one sentence, then another, then read them over, only to find utter drivel. Phrases flop and flounder, never quite finding their place — that crystal clarity that comes from a well-woven sentence. I read voraciously, everything from favorite blogs to newspaper articles to Anna Karenina, expectantly waiting for some of that greatness to rub off on me. I even ordered My Life in France, calling upon the great Julia Child to be a pinch-hitter and knock my writer’s block out of the park. (I’ve been watching a fair amount of baseball during this downtime too.)

Nothing seems to work. Granted, I got my Julia Child book a week and a half ago and haven’t opened the box yet, but minor detail. I try to take my mind off of it, and instead think of other things. But I really like to think about food, and I really like to talk about food, and when you’re constantly thinking about food and talking about food, it’s really hard to forget that all of a sudden, you can’t write about food. For the life of you.*

Thankfully, I haven’t stopped doing things or trying things. Spring is kind of sort of tiptoeing its way in, which means more time for me to enjoy the city. I really want to tell you about the awesome things going on in the kitchen and elsewhere (three words: luscious lemon bars. They broke my “diet” this weekend. And I don’t even like lemons). I want to, I really do. But I just don’t know how.

So instead I’ll talk about turkey chili. WhileÂ this beef chili may be the only recipe you’ll ever need, turkey chili is a nice, lighter addition to your chili repertoire. It’s a late-winter kind of meal, for those days when it’s not quite cold enough for the scarf-hat-gloves combo, but you still need your winter coat. Black beans and corn give it almost a Mexican style, and the beer, as Emeril might say, kicks it up a notch. While I take issue with seasonings blends (I blame Tom Colicchio and his attitude towards green-tinnedÂ Jambalaya spices), I caved and added some here, because my aunt had a half-packet left fromÂ ~~1985~~ … we’re not sure when … and she decided it had to go. The chili was spicy and sharp, warming enough to tide you over until the sunny days of spring.

*After going through a period of intense stress about actual important things, recently, I’ve been inventing problems to fill the void in my new-found relaxed life. I obsess over the number of calories in the chocolate cupcake I just downed (I’m on a “diet”) or the fact that I can’t seem to write anything worth reading on a blog that was meant to be a leisurely past time. Sometimes I think I’m too Type A for my own good.

Also, if anyone has some tips on how to beat writer’s block, please (please!) send them my way! …

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