Toasted Prosciutto and Brie Sandwiches with Sauteed Pear and Thyme

In the mood for something decadent? Look no further. A perfect holiday sandwich. Or morning sandwich. Or evening sandwich. Anytime, really. Especially as an antidote to a gray wintry day.

For a variation on the theme, or if you can't get your hands on a pear that's even halfway ripe, sub sliced apple for the pear and add a pinch of lemon zest.

Ingredients (per person)
1/2 - 1 red or green d'Anjou pear, peeled, sliced, and cut lengthwise into 1/2" strips
1/2 tbsp butter (optional)
1/2 tsp honey
2-3 pinches minced fresh thyme
2 slices sourdough bread (like Village Bakery's walnut levain)
Several thin slices brie or triple-cream (like Cowgirl Creamery's blissfully decadent Mt. Tam)
2 slices prosciutto
1 small handful baby arugula
Olive oil

Heat a pan over medium-low heat. Add the butter (or sub olive oil, if you prefer), then add the pear and sauté, stirring, for 2-3 minutes. Add the honey and stir to coat, then sprinkle lightly with thyme. Continue cooking another minute or three until the pears are soft (they should bend easily). Remove from the heat and set aside.

Assemble your sandwich: Cover a slice of bread with slices of brie in a single layer, then the
prosciutto, your arugula, and finally the pear. Top with the second slice of bread.

Use a paper towel to wipe out your pan, then heat it over medium heat. Drizzle with olive oil, then set your sandwich in to toast. When the bottom is golden brown (1-2 minutes), flip carefully and toast the other side as well.

Remove from the pan, cut in half if desired, and serve hot.

Mushrooms with Sherry and Thyme

I realize that I claim bests a lot. And that this habit has led to deep philosophical conundrums in the past. But I can't help myself. These right here. These are the best mushrooms ever.

Make them. Eat them. Love them. We'll cross the conundrum bridge when we come to it.

Ingredients
1 tbsp pastured butter
Olive oil
About 10 oz. crimini mushrooms (whole if very small; halved or quartered if larger)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper 
1 small shallot, finely chopped
1 medium to large clove garlic, minced
1/4 tsp finely chopped fresh thyme
1 tsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley
A slosh (about 2 oz.) sherry
Fleur de sel or kosher salt

Heat a wide nonstick pan over medium-high heat (make sure it's wide enough to cook the mushrooms without crowding them, or they won't brown). When hot, melt the butter and add the olive oil. Swirl to coat the bottom of the pan, then toss in the mushrooms. Stir once or twice to coat lightly, then cook until the mushrooms turn golden on the bottoms. Toss or turn with a spatula, then continue cooking until golden again.

When the mushrooms are nicely browned, turn the heat down to medium or just below. Sprinkle the mushrooms with salt and freshly ground pepper, stir, and push to the side of the pan. On the other side, add a bit more olive oil, the shallot, and the garlic. Sauté for a minute or two until they soften slightly, then stir to combine with the mushrooms. Stir in the thyme and parsley, and cook for another minute or two.

Add the sherry, stir, and allow to cook off for about a minute. Serve hot, sprinkle with fleur de sel, and garnish with a sprig of parsley.

Serves 2-3.

Slow-Baked Salmon with Lemon and Thyme

I recently found myself in the alarming position of agreeing to cook dinner for 25 people.

Actually, I should rephrase. "Agree" implies that I had some say in the matter. I was unilaterally volunteered to cook dinner for 25.

I raised the possibility that perhaps this was an egregious error. Maybe they meant 2.5? 2.5 people seems feasible. I could do 2.5.

"2.5 people?" I asked.

No. Definitely 25. And they definitely meant me.

At this point, I may or may not have seriously considered moving to a small island off the coast of Thailand.

Here's the thing: I don't cook for 25. I don't cook for ten. I cook for one or two or sometimes four. And a lot of the things I make aren't particularly scale-uppable...you can't quintuple a risotto and expect it to cook the same way (in fact, we tried once in college and dinner was about three hours late). Pan-frying is obviously limited to the number of things you can fit in the pan. Homemade pasta would take days. My obsession with vegetables is heavily contingent on them caramelizing in some way, which gets harder or impossible if you crowd them together.

Plus: Most people tend to expect dinner to involve some central meat thing, and I don't really do central meat things. (Let's be clear: I haven't the foggiest. I would undercook, or overcook, or accidentally make kale instead of a pork roast.) The point being, I had no idea what to do. None.

Fortunately, I was saved by the miracle of slow-baked salmon. Miraculous because—are you ready?—it is easy AND dreamily delicious AND scale-uppable AND fancy-looking. Oh, and it tells you when it's done. The technique was made for a dinner party. Or in my case, a small team of intrepid chefs determined to serve up California cuisine to a couple of dozen hungry academics in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Adapted from this recipe, and perfect over Israeli couscous (especially if after cooking the couscous, you stir in a tab of butter, a pinch of thyme, some chopped parsley, a bit of lemon zest, and some lemon juice).

Ingredients
12-13 oz wild salmon fillet*

1 tbsp olive oil
Zest of ½ lemon (about 1 tbsp)
½ tbsp chopped fresh thyme
1 small clove garlic, pressed
Small slosh white wine (just enough to moisten mixture slightly)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Lemon wedges & parsley for garnish

Preheat oven to 275°F.

Combine the olive oil, lemon zest, thyme, and garlic. Add about 1 tsp of white wine—just enough to make the mixture easier to spread, without being runny. (If you're scaling the recipe up, still start with this much wine and then add a little bit more if needed.)

Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil. Lightly oil it, then place salmon skin-side down. Spread the lemon zest mixture evenly over the top, then sprinkle with salt and (lightly) with pepper. Let sit 10 minutes for flavors to blend.

Bake for 20-21 minutes until the fat melts out the sides (it will often start by melting in little pools on the top, but you're waiting for the tell-tale sign of it melting at the bottom of the sides of the fillet, just like you see below).

Garnish with lemon & parsley. Serve hot, or warm, or cold—this fish can really do just about anything.

Serves 3, or multiply by six for a crowd.

And, if you are feeding a crowd, other suggestions include:
Quinoa Salad with Slow-Roasted Tomatoes
These Fish Packets
Grilled Asparagus with Balsamic Reduction
Roasted Bell Peppers
Israeli Couscous
Jasmine Rice

*Definitely splurge on wild salmon for this recipe—and in fact, if you can only find farmed, do something else with it. Slow-baking salmon changes the texture completely, in a wonderful way if it's wild, but in a mushy way if it's farmed. Note also that if you are scaling up, you can leave the fillet (or fillets) whole and let people cut their own, or cut before cooking into individual portions—it works either way. I left them whole, just because it was easier.

Celeriac and Potatoes with Sauteed Leeks and Thyme

Celeriac. [suh-LAIR-ee-ak] n. An under-appreciated root vegetable in the carrot and parsnip family. Coming to dinner soon at a table near you.

Seriously, make this. It's dreamy. It's also easy—you can prepare most of the ingredients as you're cooking, and just toss them in the pot as you go.

Adapted from Jamie Oliver's recipe here. 

Ingredients
Olive oil
1 celery root (celeriac), peeled and cut into 1/2" cubes
2 small to medium yellow potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" cubes
1 medium leek, white and light green parts, halved lengthwise, washed carefully, and sliced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tsp chopped fresh thyme
1/4 cup chicken broth
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat a nonstick, medium-large pot or dutch oven over medium heat. When hot, add a generous glug of olive oil. Toss in the celeriac, then add the potatoes, leek, garlic, and thyme as you prepare them, stirring occasionally and adding another drizzle of olive oil whenever it starts to dry out. You want the celeriac and potatoes to start to brown in places, which will take at least 10 minutes and not too much stirring.

When the mixture is golden in places, cover the pot and continue cooking for 3 minutes. Stir, add a slosh (about 2 tbsp) chicken broth, replace the cover, and simmer for 5-10 minutes more or until liquid is evaporated. Stir, add another slosh of broth, and simmer for 5-10 minutes again. Continue cooking until the celeriac and potatoes are very tender.

Turn off the heat. Sprinkle with a little olive oil and salt to taste, and stir while smashing the celeriac and potatoes a bit. (This improves the texture. Also, it's inordinately fun.)

Serve hot, topped with freshly ground black pepper.

Serves 2-3.

Fresh Flageolets a La Creme

Fresh flageolet beans are apparently hard to come by, but if you live in California, you just might come across some in a farmer's market this summer. We found them in our CSA box this week, with a warning to cook them immediately (they apparently spoil quickly). Since they're French, we figured they deserved French treatment. This recipe (loosely adapted from here) has just a hint of butter and cream, but all the rich flavor of French cooking.


Ingredients
2 cups fresh flageolet beans
Olive oil
1 tbsp or so pasture butter
1 shallot, chopped
1 carrot, diced
2 small to medium garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 tsp chopped fresh thyme
Handful flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Splash chicken or vegetable broth
Salt and freshly ground white pepper
2-3 tbsp half & half or heavy cream


Bring 2 cups of water to a boil in a small pot. Add the beans and a couple pinches of salt, turn down the heat, and simmer for 4-5 minutes until just tender. Drain and set aside.

Meanwhile, heat a nonstick pan over medium heat. Add a glug of olive oil and a small pat of butter, then stir in the shallot and carrot with a pinch of salt. Saute for about 3 minutes until soft, stirring occasionally and turning the heat down slightly halfway through.

Add the garlic, saute for another minute or two, then add the thyme and parsley and saute a minute more. Next, add the beans and stir to coat. Cook for another minute, then add a splash of broth and stir. Simmer gently until the liquid has mostly steamed off. Turn off the heat, add another small pat of butter and let it melt, and stir in the cream. Sprinkle with salt and white pepper to taste, and serve hot. (If the flavors don't pop out at you when you take your first bite, it means it's undersalted—add another pinch of salt until it brings out the butter and garlic and thyme.)


Serves 2 for a hearty lunch with some crusty bread, or 4 alongside bread, cheese, and a salad.

Ginger Tea with Lemon Verbena and Honey

We're pretty sure this tea is magic. It keeps colds at bay if you're well and calms even the most tenacious lingering cough if you're not, resets a lost voice after a long first week of lecturing, helps hangovers, warms thoughts and fingertips, and cures winter blues in a heartbeat.

Plus, it's delicious.

Ingredients
A few slices fresh ginger
10-15 dried lemon verbena leaves (or sub about twice as many fresh)
1 2-inch sprig fresh thyme
1 tsp honey


Add about 4 cups boiling water, brew for at least 8 minutes, and enjoy. (You can try a sip after about 5, if you'd like, and adjust any and all ingredients to taste. I didn't quite get the point of homemade tea until we started blending things like this. Even tea skeptics seem to like it.)

Sorrel Soup

Spring arrived in our CSA box last week in the form of sorrel, which is apparently the gastronomic equivalent of a robin. When you acquire sorrel, you are to make sorrel soup, just as when you see a robin, you are to shout "Hey! The first robin of spring!" Now usually, when I shout about the first robin of spring, my husband smugly informs me that he saw a robin yesterday, to which I smugly reply that I actually saw a robin two weeks ago, and so begins the first faux-argument of spring. In contrast, the sorrel soup produced murmurs of contentment on both sides, and no season-specific altercation. I'm not saying I don't like robins, but if I had to vote in a bird vs. plant run-off for most beloved springtime indicator, I think I would pick the leafy green one.

Regardless of your relative preference for sorrel versus robins, here is what you should do with the former, adapted from this recipe.



Ingredients
1 tbsp pasture butter

1 tbsp olive oil
2 large-ish red spring onions, halves lengthwise and sliced (white/red part only; about 1 cup)
1-2 stalks green garlic, chopped (2-3 tbsp)
2 sprigs fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
2 large yellow potatoes, peeled, halved, and sliced
3 cups chicken broth
2-3 big handfuls spinach, briefly steamed or blanched, drained, and chopped
1 bunch sorrel, sliced
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
Splash cream

Heat the butter and olive oil in a pot over medium heat. When the butter has melted, add the spring onion and saute until soft, then add the garlic and herbs and saute for a minute more.

Next, add the potatoes and stir to coat with the onion and garlic mixture. Saute for 3-4 minutes, then add the broth, cover, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for about half an hour, until potatoes are tender.

Meanwhile, put the sorrel in a Cuisinart and blend until finely chopped.

When the potatoes are soft, remove the bay leaf and thyme stems. Stir in the spinach and then use a hand blender to puree the soup (or pour the soup into a regular blender to puree, which may be easier to do in small batches). Add salt and a little freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Just before serving, stir in the sorrel and a splash of cream (you want to do this moments before you bring the soup to the table, since sorrel turns grayish green as it cooks and after a few minutes your soup will lose some of its vivid green color. The spinach helps with this, and so does adding the sorrel raw right at the end, but it will still be prettier if you serve it sooner).

Ladle into bowls, and serve with some crusty multigrain brain and aged gouda.

Serves 3-4.

Roasted Pumpkin with Cilantro, Chickpeas, and Thyme

I should be posting something from this past week, which has been stuffed, one might say, like a turkey (or perhaps, like a homemade ravioli) with collective cooking and shared food...starting with a homemade pasta party on Sunday and continuing through yesterday with a vaguely Thanskgiving-themed gourmet feast.

But all this will have to wait, because, as everyone knows, the first question that pops into your head after you've cleared out your houseguests and leftovers and emerged from your post-Thanksgiving food coma several hours or days later is: Can I eat that? And if you're gazing at the pie pumpkin you bought up at Apple Hill several weeks ago because it looked like it would make a nice autumn-evoking centerpiece, the answer is a resounding and emphatic YES.



Ingredients
1 smallish pumpkin (ours was a pie pumpkin about 8-9 inches in diameter, or substitute an heirloom or butternut squash)
Olive oil
2 small yellow onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, pressed
1 large jalapeno, minced
1/2 tsp dried thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
A big handful of cilantro, chopped
1/4-1/2 cup veggie broth
1 tbsp brown sugar (or less if using a sweeter squash)
2 cups well-cooked chickpeas

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut pumpkin in half, scoop out seeds, and rub cut sides with a little olive oil. Roast face-down for 25-40 minutes or until just tender, turning heat down to 375 if it starts to get too brown. Let cool until it's easy to handle, then cut into 1-inch slices, peel, and cube.

Meanwhile, heat olive oil in a large, wide pan with deep sides over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion and saute until soft. Add the jalapeno, cook for another minute or two, then add the garlic. Saute for half a minute and then add the pumpkin, thyme, a pinch of salt, and a little more olive oil. Stir to coat.

After sauteing for another minute or two, add the cilantro and 1/4 cup of the broth, turn the heat down to medium-low, and cover the pan. Simmer for 5-10 minutes to let the flavors blend, and until the pumpkin is soft, adding more broth if it starts to dry out.

Next, add the brown sugar, another pinch of salt, and a dash of black pepper, and use a potato masher to gently mash the squash to form a coarse puree. Fold in the chickpeas and cook for another few minutes until heated through. Adjust salt and pepper to taste, and serve garnished with cilantro.

Goes well with brown basmati rice simmered with cumin and saffron.

Serves 4.

On the Grill: Roasted Potatoes and Summer Squash

Found at Trader Joe's: Local tri-color potatoes
Found at the Coop: A panoply of summer squash, in season and on sale (zucchini and yellow, but also gray, pattypan, and a round, zucchini-like hybrid apparently called eight ball squash), portobello mushrooms, fresh garlic*

*Apparently, garlic comes from a plant. This may not have occurred to you, if, like me, you had never actually seen, felt, or tasted garlic that wasn't at least a week old. That hard, papery, tough wrapper was once soft and translucent and plantlike, almost moist, and the cloves inside were so fresh that the juice splattered when you pressed them. They taste better, too (garlicky in a crisp, clean kind of way, and less strong than their aged counterparts). Worth finding at a coop or farmer's market.

Ingredients
Assorted summer squash, cut lengthwise (for oblong squashes, like zucchini) or crosswise (for round squashes, like pattypan or eight ball) into half-inch thick slices. Try to avoid the smallest pattypans, which might be easy to lose in the grill.
Portobello mushrooms, stemmed and left whole, or any other vegetable that strikes your grilling fancy
2 cloves garlic, peeled
Olive oil
Salt & pepper

Assorted small to medium potatoes (yellow, red, and/or purple), whole if small and halved if medium
5-6 more garlic cloves, not peeled
Sprigs of fresh herbs (e.g., oregano, sage, thyme, rosemary)

A little meat, as a side dish rather than the main course (e.g., local lamb andouille sausages)

Bring a pot of water to a boil, add potatoes, and boil until just soft (a fork should go in fairly easily, but they shouldn't be mushy). Drain in a colander, rinse briefly with cool water, and leave in sink to dry off.

Press 2 cloves of garlic into a small bowl and mix with some olive oil, salt, and pepper. Brush lightly onto summer squash and mushrooms, and set aside. (If you have fresh thyme, you might chop some and rub it onto the mushrooms with some salt and pepper.)

Preheat the grill.

Brush a large piece of foil with a little olive oil, pour the potatoes onto it, and then brush the rest of them with a little more olive oil (or toss them with olive oil in a separate bowl, depending on the lengths you will go to in order to avoid having to clean an extra dish). Add the unpeeled garlic cloves and sprigs of herbs, sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and close up the foil.

Set the potatoes on the grill for 10-2o minutes, depending on how much time you have and how roasty-on-the-outside and soft-on-the-inside you like them to be. Grill the vegetables and the sausages, and serve. (Note that you can eat the garlic cloves -- they will be all sweet and mushy and should come right out of their skin with a knife and fork -- and the herbs, for that matter.)


If you cook extra potatoes and veggies, lunch the next day is easy:
Heat the potatoes on a plate in the microwave for a minute or two, sprinkle with a little crumbled feta or cheddar, and heat a little more. Serve with leftover grilled summer squash (cold or also heated).

Lentils with Parsley and Thyme

Ingredients
2 1/4 cups yellow lentils (half chana dal and half toor dal works well, because the smaller toor dal cooks to mush and automatically thickens the lentils)
2 cups chicken and/or veggie broth
1/2 tsp ground turmeric
1 onion, chopped
Minced jalapeno pepper and/or Aleppo pepper, to taste (depending on how hot the pepper is and how hot you like your food)
1 1/2 tsp finely chopped fresh thyme leaves
1 1/2 tbsp finely chopped flat leaf parsley
Olive oil
3/4 tsp cumin seeds
2 garlic cloves, pressed


Rinse the lentils well, pick through them to check for rocks, and drain. Add them to a pot with 2 cups broth and 3 cups water and set over medium heat. Just as it comes to a simmer, add the turmeric and turn the heat down to low (make sure it doesn't boil over -- if it comes to a rapid boil, the lentils will get all frothy. If this happens, turn the heat down and skim the froth off the top). Cover and simmer for 30 minutes.

Stir in the onion, pepper, thyme, and parsley. Cover and continue to simmer for 10-20 more minutes, or until the lentils are tender. (If it's very liquidy, leave the lid ajar to let some of the water evaporate. If it's too dry, add a little more water. The lentils need to be in some liquid in order to cook, but I don't like my lentils very soupy, so if I'm not using toor dal, I puree 1-2 cups of this near the end to thicken it up a bit.)

Turn off heat. In a separate pan, heat 2-3 tbsp olive oil over medium-high heat. When hot, add the cumin seeds and toast in the oil for 10-20 seconds. Turn off the heat and immediately add the garlic, stir for a few seconds until it turns yellow or golden, then pour the mixture over the split peas and stir.

Serve with a scoop of basmati rice (underneath or on top) and vegetables on the side (carrots or greens stir-fried with mustard seed and ginger tend to go particularly well).

Serves 3-4

Leek and Four Mushroom Risotto

Found at the Coop: Local gourmet mushrooms, leeks, baby rainbow chard
Found in our garden: Fresh thyme, flat-leaf parsley
Found in the cupboard: Arborio rice

Ingredients
Extra virgin olive oil
1/2 onion, chopped
1 cup Arborio rice
2 ladlefuls of white wine
3 1/2 cups chicken and/or veggie broth*

1 large leek (or two small), halved, rinsed, and thinly sliced into half-rings
More mushrooms than you would think, sliced
(e.g., 6 crimini, 10 shiitake, 10 alba and brown clamshell, 4 royal trumpet)
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
4 sprigs fresh thyme, minced
Small handful of parsley, finely chopped (reserve a few pinches for garnishing)
Small tab of butter
Couple handfuls of baby rainbow chard (could substitute baby arugula)
Handful or two of baby spinach
Half-spoon of Aleppo pepper

Small bowl of grated Parmesan for table


Put broth in a small pot, cover, and heat until simmering, then turn off heat and set aside. Meanwhile, heat a medium dutch oven or other large pot over medium-high heat. Add about 2 tbsp olive oil, then add onion and saute until it smells sweet and looks slightly translucent. Add rice and saute for another minute, reducing heat to medium. Ladle in white wine and cook, stirring, until it evaporates. Add broth by the ladleful, stirring and cooking until each evaporates before adding the next.

Meanwhile, set a wide pan over medium-high heat and add 1-2 tbsp olive oil. When hot, add leeks and saute until soften (about 5-6 minutes), turning down heat a little if necessary to keep from browning. Add mushrooms and continue to saute until they begin to release a little liquid, salting and peppering as they cook. Add thyme, parsley, and greens, and cook until just wilted. Turn off heat.

When the rice is just cooked through, gently fold in the sauteed vegetables, butter, and Aleppo.

Serve (can let sit for 1-2 minutes to cool slightly) garnished with chopped parsley and a bowl of grated Parmesan at the table.


Serves 2 (or maybe 3 with a salad)


* My former favorite, Swanson's vegetable broth, turns out to have high fructose corn syrup and MSG nestled within its paragraph-long ingredients list. I switched to Trader Joe's organic vegetable broth, which surprised me by tasting strongly of...wait for it...vegetables. Half veggie and half chicken made a nice balance here.