Giving Credit

When you glean ideas from the interwebs,* sometimes it's hard to give credit where it's due. For example, I got this recipe from the divine Luisa, who not only recognizes a promising recipe when she sees it, she also writes about it and about her life in a lively and amusing style that I'd give my eye teeth to emulate.

She got this one from Pamela Sherrid who, no doubt, was inspired by yet another cook - and so on!

Whoever deserves the kudos, there is huge credit to be given here. Pamela Sherrid's Summer Pasta is one of the best meals I have made in my cooking life, one of those that goes directly into the recipe file and comes out time and again to become spattered and dog-eared from frequent use.

I don't normally think of pasta dishes as "light." Richly sustaining, yes. Flavorful and filling, yes. But, light? Maybe not. This one is light, believe me, despite the gutsy measurement of olive oil and the pillowy, unctuous fresh mozzarella. I made it when Cousin Jan came for a swim and a lunch - we both agreed it was delightfully summery.

For one thing, it isn't served piping hot. The time spent "resting" the pasta gives it time to cool off a teensy bit, so it doesn't heat you unduly on a hot summer evening.

I used two colors of heirloom tomato to pretty it up, and it needed salt and pepper at the table but, other than that, I followed the recipe exactly. I won't try to describe it because Luisa does a much better job than I could - go there and read what she says. I'm not being modest, folks, I'm just giving credit where it is richly due.

The only thing I would add is confirmation that Luisa is absolutely right about tipping up the bowl to get every last drop of the goozle this dish creates in the bottom - it is pure goozle heaven.

*Another example: I got the word "interwebs" from the ever-creative Cookiecrumb.

Goodbye, Tomatoes

Even here in NOCA, where we have a nearly year 'round growing season, we get lousy tomatoes in the winter. Even when shipped with a Sasquatch-sized carbon footprint from distant lands where summer is in full sway, they taste like cardboard, their color is pink rather than red, and they simply aren't worth the cost.

So, as I sliced the last of my little round, late-season red beauties for a tomato tart, I was bidding a fond farewell to summer. I was lucky they lasted this long.

The idea of making a tomato tart sprang into my head just before Thanksgiving and, when I looked on the interwebs, I saw that it was far from an original idea. So I cobbled together a hint from here and a treatment from there and came up with my own version which, if the rave reviews when I took it to Thanksgiving dinner are any indication, was a huge hit.

Those of you Down Under can try this right away. Those of you in the Northern Hemisphere who have preserved some of last season's harvest can probably make a good approximation. For grasshoppers like me, we have to wait until summer rolls around again.

Ripe Tomato Tart

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

1 package frozen puff pastry, thawed (I prefer DuFour brand because it is made with real butter and, thus, tastes better)

Dijon mustard

6-8 small ripe tomatoes, sliced

Feta cheese, coarsely crumbled

Fresh thyme (or oregano, or whatever herb you especially like with tomatoes)

Honey

Fresh fennel flowers

Unfold the puff pastry to a single layer on a baking sheet; it will measure approximately 14" x 8". With a sharp knife, score around the perimeter about 1/2" in from the edge but don't cut through the pastry; this part will rise and form a barrier to errant juices while the middle stays relatively flat.

Spread the middle of the pastry sheet inside your incised line with Dijon mustard to taste - I laid it on fairly thickly. Arrange tomato slices in a single layer on the mustarded part, sprinkle with feta cheese, again to taste. Strip the leaves from the woody stems of the thyme by running your fingers backwards along the stem from tip to base - you don't want the woody stems but if the tip breaks off it's okay to add that.

Drizzle the top very lightly with honey - no need to overdo this step, just a light striping is plenty.

Slide into a 375 degree oven; DuFour brand pastry does best at this heat. Bake for about 30 minutes, until the rim rises and browns, the tomatoes have sagged and softened, and the cheese is lightly browned on top.

Remove from the oven and add the fennel flowers scattered where everyone gets a taste of them.

I cut my tart into sizes easily eaten by hand as an hors d'oeuvre for 10 eaters, but if you plan to serve it at the table, it would make a nice first course or even a light lunch for about 6 people.

It's That Time Again

It's that time again - the part of the year where the weather can't decide if it's summer or fall from one day to the next. The day I ate this sandwich, it was full-on summer with sunshine from birdsong to sungone. Sheer heaven.

The sandwich was sheer heaven, too. This is my very favorite sandwich but I can only have it for a few weeks in late summer, when the tomatoes are perfectly ripe and the avocados reach buttery perfection. I've told you about this before - if you weren't paying attention, I hope you are now.

First, you need wheat toast, as hearty as you can find, and if it has wheatberries in it, so much the better. I used to use toasted whole wheat English muffins but recently they have been oversweetened, so I have gone to wheatberry toast.

Then, a scrape of mayonnaise, just enough to keep the tomato juice from immediately soaking the toast. It will eventually do that; the mayo is just a delaying tactic with a fillip of flavor.

A slice of ripe, summer sun-perfected tomato, like this one that Chilebrown gave us. No lesser tomato will do, take my word for it.

Topped with a couple of slices of rich avocado, then sprinkled with freshly ground black pepper and a generous squeeze of tart and tangy lemon juice.

Most likely, you'll need a knife and fork for this but bust out the silverware, sit yourself down and indulge in a sandwich that sings of summer. Quick, before fall returns.

Burrata

Last weekend, I had a peak experience.

On a deck in Grass Valley as the sun was setting on a warm, bright afternoon. Of course, My Beloved was there. So were our friends Irene and Guy.

Kinky? No, burrata.

Fresh mozzarella cheese with a soft middle like smooth ricotta. In a salad with the ripest, sweetest yellow and red heirloom tomatoes I have yet tasted this summer. A quick chiffonnade of basil and a drizzle of Dijon vinaigrette.

Everything was at it's peak. Memorable.

The Secret Ingredient

Are you one who shares their recipes, secret ingredients and all? Or are you the kind who gives your recipe but sneakily leaves out that one addition that makes it great? I recently discovered, almost by accident, a "secret" ingredient - strong coffee.

A few weeks ago, I made cold-brewed coffee and My Beloved and I have been enjoying tall glasses of iced coffee ever since. It's a hit in this household - powerful and smooth, it has jazzed up several sagging afternoons.

Fast forward to last night, when I was making a quick pasta sauce with meatballs. Squeezed Italian sausage out of its casing to brown in a wide skillet, then removed the "meatballs" and sautéed garlic chips, chopped onion and chunked mushrooms in the same pan. Added a 16 ounce can of organic tomato sauce, two fresh chopped tomatoes, a handful of dried herbs (use your imagination) and a big glug of red wine. Simmered for about half an hour, then turned it off and went about my day, returning at dinner time to simmer it again. It was good in that rich and friendly way that Italian food always is, but not spectacular until I added the secret ingredient.

A splash of that crazy-good coffee. The sauce darkened and deepened dramatically, changing from Margaret to Sophia Loren. The coffee also made the sauce just a little too bitter, so I added about two teaspoons of sugar and stirred it all in together. Tossed with some straw and hay fettucine from Eduardo's of San Francisco, it was like love - messy, delightful and lifegiving. Next time you make red sauce, don't forget the secret ingredient.

Late Summer in NOCA

It's just a celebration picture, no special touches at all today. All I did was slice 'em and serve 'em. Any gilding of the lily would have been blasphemous. We ate the entire platter full in a single sitting.

As Jon Stewart said to the then still-President Bush, "Man, I'm going to miss you so much!"

My All-Time Summer Favorite Sammy

And while we're talking ripe tomatoes, don't forget this one. I know, I know, you've seen it before, but it's worth another mention at this time of year.

Nubby, crunchy whole wheat toast (I used to use whole wheat English muffins but they've changed the recipe and the darned things are now sweet! What were they thinking? Crazy! Anyway, now I use wheatberry bread). Top with a scrape of mayo, then a layer of ripe, perfect tomatoes, then a layer of ripe avocado, followed by a generous squeeze of fresh lemon juice and a nice grinding of fresh black pepper.

I recommend a knife and fork as those avocado slices are slippery little devils. Plus, it makes one feel so civilized to eat a sandwich with utensils, even in high summer when fingers are acceptable.

The only thing on the planet, and possibly in the universe, that beats this is a BLT made with similarly ripe and ready tomatoes.

"Mater" Magic

Salads are ridiculously easy once the tomatoes come ripe. My neighbor went on vacation just as his were coming in - big mistake. He asked me to take in his mail and water the plants in exchange for some ripe tomatoes. Since mine are still a-coming but not yet really here, I jumped at the chance to be a helpful neighbor.

Slice a ripe tomato. Top it with a little yogurt or creme fraiche. Plop on a spoonful of pesto and presto!

Progress Report

Last year, I planted two tomato plants and got a total of two tomatoes from them. Discouraged.

Somehow, over the winter, my optimism returned so, again, I planted two this year. Already, my Juliet has fruit set, five little oval cherry tomatoes, one even yellow on its way to red! The plant itself is already twice the size of last year's plants, and still growing like crazy.

Paul Robeson is the variety of the heirloom plant I bought. He's both weightier - he's three times the size of Juliet - and waitier - he's just now coming into flower and has yet to set any fruit. However, he has already reached impressive size, sending out clusters of flowers and dwarfing all the herb plants I set around his base in the pot. Things are looking good in the tomato department this year. Can't wait for a taste of my homegrown beauties, fresh off the vine and warm from the sun.

Progress indeed!

Pottering Around In The Garden

Spring means planting things, even though I decided to give over my garden to flowers this year and put my two tomato plants into rolling pots instead. After a foray to the tomato sale, My Beloved and I went to the local hardware store last weekend and puzzled over various pots, saucers, rollers and soils, coming away with two pots of graduated size that we are hoping will be a good home for our seedlings.

Last summer, the garden wasn't sunny enough to grow tomatoes so this year I can move the pots so they get sun all day. There are already nodding yellow flowers on Paul (right) and Juliet (left).

The Master Gardeners over in Marin county started my Paul Robeson (heirloom) and Juliet (cherry) but good old Longs Drugstore seems to have started the herbs I planted around the tomatoes.

I have sweet basil, garlic chives, lemon thyme (regular thyme and rosemary already well established in the flower garden), sage, dill and oregano. I can hardly wait for the herbs to grow big enough to yield something for the kitchen. Several of these are new to me, at least in fresh form, so I'm looking forward to cooking with them all.

I admit to having also purchased a packet of greenie beanie seeds, which I will sow amongst the flowers - they did well last year and I do love beans fresh from the garden.

An avid gardener I will never be, but spring brings out what few farming genes I have. Here's to another great season!

Damning with Faint Praise

Just as my zucchini plants are revving into high production gear, we are looking for new ways to serve a veggie we've been eating all summer a little at a time.

Here's the latest iteration, zucchini tossed in dill butter in a pan over medium heat until the skin turns brightly green, then throwing in some colorful cherry tomatoes at the very end. I didn't want to cook the tomatoes, just to heat them through so they retained their integrity and bright color.

It was fine, okay, acceptable - but not what in my family we called "acceptable plus," our highest accolade. The warmed and dilly tomatoes were the best part. Another time, I think I'd try a fresh basil chiffonade - or just warm tomatoes alone in the dill butter. Luckily, we have more zucchinis growing in the garden and I invested in a basil plant a couple of weeks ago, so stand by for the next experiments. In the meantime, this one wasn't half bad.

Cutesy Caprese

It's Sunset magazine's idea, again, and a good one because even after the big tomatoes are finished for the season, often one still has producing cherry tomato plants.

You can toss them in a bowl with the small fresh mozzarella ciliegini and basil leaves, or you can thread them like this onto skewers and splash them with vinaigrette.

I fell for the presentation but the taste whisked me back into summer, a bonus!

The Blessings of Orangette

There are reasons why I read Orangette regularly and await each week's new post with anticipation. That girl can write!

She makes even simple dishes sound like a piece of heaven and often gives the reader insight into her life while writing about what she's cooking this week. She gives me inspiration to try dishes I might never otherwise attempt. I find that if Molly says they are good, they are really, really good!

An example is these roasted tomatoes stuffed with rice, about which she blogged last week. I've tried stuffed peppers, zucchinis and mushrooms but I had never tried stuffing tomatoes, except fresh ones filled with shrimp salad or the like. The dish was so simple that I actually had all the ingredients (except the fresh basil, which I borrowed from a neighbor) on hand so I followed Molly's stern orders and tried them out.

These are killer tomatoes. Absolutely rich tasting, despite the simple ingredients. The tomato shells relax and turn a little sloppy in the oven but they retain their beautiful colors. I used three different kinds of heirloom tomatoes and all were lovely, just perfect beside whatever else you're serving, or terrific on their own. Molly's recipe, which she borrowed from the Wednesday Chef (I love that about the interweb - trading recipes with friends you've never met) asks for fine bread crumbs but I went for coarse ones just to be contrary, and either would be fine.

The last few blessings of really ripe tomatoes are upon us - make the most of yours by preparing them this way!

Peach Futures

At this time of year, talented gardeners like Chilebrown and his wife, Ms. Goofy, have cornered the market on heirloom and cherry tomatoes, chili peppers and Gravenstein apples. You may think of him solely as a meat guy, but their tomato plants are in full production mode, their tree is dropping apples like crazy and the habanero peppers are blazing (literally and figuratively) along.

For newbie gardeners like me, however, the results are somewhat less impressive. You have heard my laments before so I won't repeat them; suffice it to say that when Chilebrown offered to trade me some current produce for future peaches, I jumped at the chance.

We met at the Catahoula Coffee Company and Roastery in Richmond to share a cup of coffee and to make the drop. Dr. Biggles showed up, too, a pleasant surprise, and helped us to break the ice. Meeting other bloggers is like first dates with people you met through the "personals" ads - they always choose somewhere safe and neutral first to size you up. The conversation turned immediately to (big surprise!) food, food and techniques for smoking food. I took away some great ideas, by the way - smoked onions! - what a concept!

And, during the course of the conversation, Chilebrown and Ms. Goofy laid on me a couple of weighty bags of produce from their garden, only some of which is pictured above!

The apples are already in a crisp, some of the tomatoes are roasting in the oven with the ripest ones set aside for salads this week, and the chili peppers are leering at me from the countertop, daring me to try them. I've got some pasture-raised ground beef in the freezer and some beans in the pantry; I think tomorrow I'm going to make chili, thanks to some truly talented gardeners.

Welcome Back, Old Friend

Here's a salad we haven't been able to enjoy since 'way long ago last fall when the last of the ripe, locally grown heirloom tomatoes was available. Good old caprese salad, with colorful tomatoes plus fresh mozzarella* and basil, drizzled with a little balsamic vinaigrette. Oh, yum! Welcome back! We missed you!

*I learned a new trick since the last time I made this - use an egg slicer, the kind with the thin, thin wires, to cut the mozzarella. Much tidier than trying to cut that soft, squishy cheese by hand!

It Takes a Village to Raise a Garden

Since I began urban farming, I have become intimately acquainted with poops.

Cookiecrumb advised me that chicken poop would grow great veggies and Moonbear had some as a by-product of her egg-laying chickens, so I was in business, so to speak. However, I learned that the chicken poop I retrieved from Moonbear's idyllic back yard is too new, too "hot" to put straight onto the garden, being this year's "issue." So, I have started a compost pile with the contents of the big bag the hens contributed, some soil and vermiculite knocked out of pots of flowers I have saved, and the yard waste from my latest biomass reduction foray into the garden.

That's fun, but it didn't solve the need for some kind of fertilizer for the growing things so I took Dagny's advice to visit Annie's Annuals in search of plant food. They were closed on the Monday I chose to go so, undeterred, I went to my favorite haunt, Pastime Hardware in El Cerrito and, lo and behold, they had poop, but theirs was bat poop, nicely aged and attractively packaged with assurances as to its potency and organic nature.

It has taken, so far, four adult college graduates to get this tiny garden going and I'm pretty sure I'd save money by simply buying ripe tomatoes when they come in season but what a great bonding experience for four diverse bloggers and what an education I have received in the nutritive value of poops!

Early Brandy

I cheated. I wasn't going to plant tomatoes this year - I missed the critical date to plant seeds and, besides, aren't green beans, zucchini, Swiss chard and lettuce enough, for heaven's sake? As my Mom used to joke, "What do you want, egg in your beer?"

Well, apparently, I do want egg in my beer because when I found these two cheater plants at the grocery store, they fairly leapt into my cart.

The brawny, strapping lass on the left is "Early Girl" and is bred to fruit early in the much-anticipated tomato season. The smaller one, an heirloom variety called "Brandywine," supposedly will fruit later in the summer, even though she has a flower open and buds already set. Don't you love plant names? I was tempted by Sun Gold and Beefsteak, also, but mostly for the names and I only have room for two.

I'm already imagining how good the fruit will taste in 50-100 days. Halfway through June with a little luck we should be snacking on our own tomatoes. I don't even feel guilty for cheating.