Long-Cooked Broccoli: aka Broccoli That Is The Opposite Of Raw

Raw broccoli is not an interest of mine. It tastes too much like what I imagine an actual plant or fern would taste - and yes I know how ridiculous that sounds given that it is of course a plant itself, but it tastes too grassy and woody and just plain raw when it's uncooked for me to ever want to eat it in that state.

This will become "luscious, unctuous"...yeesh.

I love it steamed, though, and especially roasted...and now, now my friends, I have found the best possible broccoli recipe EVER. You will balk at how long you cook the broccoli for - about two hours! - but I swear, it transforms this familiar vegetable into the most luscious, unctuous dish ever. It's not at all reminiscent of the gross, over-boiled vegetable that you may know from childhood. It is AWESOME. You blanch it briefly in boiling water, then you saute it on low, with some garlic, chilies, and anchovy paste...add a heavy hand with the olive oil and you will open the pot after a seemingly stupid long time elapses and you will find heaven. I'm not even exaggerating. I seriously loved this so much. Also, don't be hating on anchovy paste. It doesn't taste fishy, for reals. It just adds depth and a kind of earthiness, or something, to the dish, and it's absolutely crucial. Trust.

Long-Cooked Broccoli
adapted from Food52:  http://food52.com/blog/2860_roy_finamores_broccoli_cooked_forever

1 big head of broccoli, florets cut into fairly large chunks, and stalks cut into 1/2 inch coins  (broccoli stalks always hit the trash too fast, and they're perfectly delicious - I chop off the very end, and then peel the stalks with a vegetable peeler - then slice away)
3 big cloves of garlic, sliced thinly
3 small red or green chilies, halved vertically      (for this recipe, you want the thin, long-ish chilies, often called thai chilies) 
anchovy paste, about half of a 56 gram tube      (I checked the tube, it's actually 56 grams)
olive oil, about a quarter cup
salt and pepper

Broccoli, I never knew what you were capable of.

So, set a bit pot of water to boil. Once it's boiling, (carefully) plop in your stalks and florets, and leave them to boil for 5 minutes. Drain them off. Once the broccoli has gone into the water, heat up the olive oil over medium heat in the biggest frying pan you have (that has a lid - if not just use a plate. Man, I am FULL of good ideas). Add in your sliced garlic. Once the garlic starts to sizzle in the oil, add the chilies and the anchovy paste. Let it all sizzle together for a few minutes, then reduce the heat to low. Once you remove the broccoli from the boiling water, put it into the pan with the garlic, chilies and anchovy paste.  Give it a good stir, and cover the pan. Let it do its thing, on low, for about an hour and half. No joke. Stir it maybe three or four times throughout, and taste for salt and pepper and add if you think it needs it. Anchovy paste is pretty salty, so watch out for that. The dish will come out at the other end as a rich, luscious, unctuous (ah, just kidding, I have other words!) mushy-but-in-the-best-way broccoli.  

It's long-cooked broccoli on pasta, but from a dream!

I served this whole green mess on penne rigate. It's ridged penne, okay? I also grated some parmesan over top at the end, just to gild the lily, as I am wont to do. You will honestly have a deeper respect for what broccoli is capable of after you make this. Not to mention what a low heat bath in garlic, anchovy, and chilies can do for a vegetable you thought you knew.

Summer Mac 'N Cheese: An Ode to Me Ma

It's my Mom's birthday today, so I thought I'd make a classic dish of hers, and then write a bit about just how much I friggin' love her.

So, she's funny. And she laughs A TON. Often, in the summer when the windows are open, driving up to the house you can hear her laugh before you see her. She is empathetic, and compassionate, and generous. I mean generous in an almost criminal way. Do you know people like this? People that will give until they're too tired to stand if it's necessary? That's my Mom.

She's feisty as all get out, but she also has a knack for fighting the right battles, the really righteous battles, the ones that matter. Her whole (groundbreaking) career was predicated on helping women who look after children in their homes, so that they in turn could provide better care for kids. Also, she once boycotted a local dry-cleaner because they charged way more to launder a women's 'blouse' than they did for a men's 'shirt'. She was PISSED. She's never been back.

She is low-maintenance and doesn't get bogged down with all the upkeep-y junk that so many women are so dug into. She's pretty and vivacious and she taught me that having perfect make-up or hair really didn't (or at least shouldn't) make much of a difference.

The food she cooks is simple and delicious. She makes a mean soup and can do fantastic things with dried mushrooms. I have the most wonderful taste memory of a meal she used to cook when we were kids:  baked chicken breast with boiled onions and white rice, all smothered in a most delightful Campbell's mushroom soup sauce. Sure, it was an all-white meal, and sure, there were little to no vitamins and nutrients in it, but I swear, it tasted amazing. Her lobster rolls are also famous throughout Ottawa town. And her yorkshire pudding? Hold the phone.

Everyone should have panko at their house. Not to be bossy, but it's just a better breadcrumb.

This mac and cheese, a classic recipe of my mother's, is a good way to make a dent in an abundant crop of summer tomatoes (which we had, and my parents still have, every year thanks to my also awesome Dad's keen tomato-planting skills). It's a lovely, creamy mish-mash that gets nice and brightened by the addition of all that red summer fruit. It's also great if you have a bunch of cheese ends hanging in your fridge that are too small to have much of an impact all on their lonesome.

Just as an aside, when I called my mother to ask her for the recipe, she laughed like it was the most hilarious thing a person could ever ask her. Once she could get a full sentence out, through the laughing, she told me she 'oh, god, I mix some butter and flour together, and add milk, a fair bit, I guess, and then I add a bunch of whatever cheese I have, and then I boil macaroni, kind of to al dente, but I mean, whatever, and then I add the macaroni to the cheese, layering the whole thing with tomatoes, and then I bake it with some breadcrumbs until it's bubbly and browned'. A joyful, warming, straightforward recipe, just like its creator.

The tomatoes get a bit crinkly and warmed but still keep
their shape and some texture. So damn good.

Macaroni and Cheese with Fresh Tomato


1 big pat of butter
2 tbsp (or so) of white all-purpose flour
2 cups (or so) of milk
2 cups (or so) of cheese, shredded or crumbled accordingly      (I used a pretty dynamite combo of old cheddar, goat cheese, and blue cheese - my Mom says that blue cheese is one you don't want to leave out, and I wholeheartedly agree)
500 grams (or about half a regular-sized bag) of pasta      (so, traditionally one would go with elbow macaroni, but I saw the little baby seashells you see in the photo above and I couldn't resist. The key is to go with a pasta shape that has a few nooks and crannies for the sauce to slide into)
3 large tomatoes, sliced thickly
1/4 cup or so of breadcrumbs    (I always use panko now, which is a traditional Japanese style of breadcrumb - it's a bit less pulverized than typical 'Italian' breadcrumbs, and therefore has a bit more heft, while still being delicate and getting nice and crunchy when given the opportunity to broil)


First things first, put a pot of water, heavily salted, on to boil. When it comes to a rolling boil, add in the pasta of your choosing and cook until it's just about done, but not totally done.  It will continue to cook once it gets mixed up in the cheese sauce and goes into the oven. Speaking of ovens, preheat yours to 350 degrees Farenheit.

So, the butter, flour, and milk are all going to get together to make a roux. This is the white, binding sauce that often shows up in mac n' cheese, and some lasagnas. Melt the butter in a big enough pot that will hold the roux, the cheese, and the pasta once it's ready. Once the butter is melted, add in 1 tablespoon of flour, and whisk it in.  Do your best to avoid lumps. And by 'do your best to avoid lumps' I mean, really, you don't want lumps.  Once you've got the first bit of flour incorporated, add in your second tablespoon and keep whisking away.

Serious whisking action.

The photo at right shows some serious whisking action. Once the flour is all incorporated, start by adding in about a cup of milk, and continue whisking. Add milk until you get a consistency that coats the back of a wooden spoon, but is still nice and loose, about 2 cups. Add in all of the cheese, and stir it up well. At this point, you have cheese sauce - which could also be ladled over broccoli or cauliflower, and so on. A multi-purpose recipe! So, drain your pasta, and add the pasta into the pot with the cheese sauce mixing everything up together.

Now, the layering. I used a cast iron pan (which I am obsessed with, they're just so hefty and powerful feeling), and put a layer of the pasta and cheese mix in first, then a layer of sliced tomatoes, then another layer of the rest of the pasta, then the rest of the sliced tomatoes. I had a bit of extra sauce, so I poured some on top (which was not really a show of restraint, but whatevah), and then sprinkled the panko on top of the whole shebang.  I popped it into my handily pre-heated oven for about a half an hour, and then I broiled it for about 5 minutes to brown the top. So, so good. This recipe would serve between 4 to 6 people.

Happy birthday Mom. You are, in my humble opinion, simply the best broad in the whole wide world.

Orzo Salad: Mildly Greek, Strongly Delicious

I'm not a huge fan of pasta salad. And I'm about to say something even more controversial here:  I'm not a huge fan of pasta, period. I know, that's crazy talk to a lot of people. But here's the thing - I always want more sauce, or more of what's on the pasta, than I want the pasta itself. Same with pizza. More toppings, less dough. Mind you, I've never made pasta from scratch, which I know makes a huge difference, and I have had some pretty ridiculously tasty pasta dishes in restaurants (I'm thinking of a major splurge at a place on College, involving gnocchi and lobster and probably 1.5 pounds of butter.  Now that.  That I would eat again). Also, I wasn't born in Italy, so maybe I just don't get it. Shocking, I know, what with all the freckles and fair skin.

Having said all that, I have a bit of a thing for orzo, the little rice-shaped beads of pasta. Orzo is cute-looking, cooks in no time, and really works well with others. And it makes for a really delicious, fresh salad when paired with some roasted vegetables, feta and olives.

I forgot to add the fresh basil prior to consumption. So sue me.

Do not leave me alone with this pan of vegetables.

As an aside, I eat roasted vegetables like candy. Not to be all holier than thou, because I also eat actual candy like candy (and potato chips? Shut the door), but I seriously can knock back vegetables, especially those that are a touch caramelized, and salted and peppered assertively, like it's going out of style.

Orzo Salad with Feta and Olives

A panful of roasted vegetables - I chopped up (in big chunks) half a big zucchini, a yellow pepper, a handful of mushrooms, and some green onions cut in 2-inch or so lengths     (you could also use eggplant, any other kind of pepper, red or white onion, any kind of squash, tomatoes - roasted tomatoes are crazy delicious, asparagus, the list goes on)
olive oil and salt and pepper to coat vegetables
1 cup of shelled, cooked edamame beans
1 cup of orzo
1/2 cup of crumbled feta
a handful of pitted black olives, chopped up a bit, optional
1/2 can of chopped artichoke hearts
1 tbsp of olive oil
2 tsp or so of white balsamic vinegar (or apple cider, or regular balsamic)
juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste

Plop your chopped vegetables onto a sheet pan, and toss with a bit of olive oil and salt and pepper. The best instrument for this is your very clean hands. Put the oiled, salted and peppered pan of veg in a 350 degree oven for about 20 minutes or so, shaking them up once or twice during cooking.

In the meantime, briefly cook your shelled edamame beans in boiling water. Drain and reserve. Use the same pot and put your water on to cook the orzo. Once it's come to a rolling boil, put a good whack of salt in the water. The water should taste salty. This is your one chance to actually season the pasta itself, so don't miss out on this fantastic opportunity. Cook the orzo for about 8 to 10 minutes, tasting as you go. Once it's ready, strain it and place in a big bowl, and add the edamame.

The edamame aspect is definitely the least Greek thing
happening here.

Once the vegetables are ready, place them in the same bowl as the orzo and edamame. Throw in the pitted, roughly chopped olives, the feta, and the artichoke hearts. Taste it at this point. It might be olive oil-y enough for you, in which case feel no obligation to add more, but do what you feel. Add your vinegar as well, and add salt and pepper to your taste. Squeeze your lemon juice over the whole shebang, and mix it up well. Serve with fresh basil on top.

Makes about 4 servings. This salad keeps really well and is a perfect lunchable.