Cauliflower Compote

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by Caroline

So, remember last week, I wrote about single words that can draw you into a recipe? Well, compote is definitely not one of those words for me. It just sounds like a food dump; I guess it sounds a bit too much like compost.

But the combination of ingredients in this recipe from our CSA caught my eye here. It’s not a novel mixture for us — we roast cauliflower with olives all the time — but it’s a familiar mixture cooked in a new (and faster) way.

I showed the recipe to Ben, expecting he might like it, and I was surprised at his reaction. “Compote! I LOVE compote! Do we have any fruit? Can we make a fruit compote?” And then he spun off, looking at the pears and apples, reminiscing about the spring’s strawberry-rhubarb compote, before coming back to me and my giant head of cauliflower. “Oh, sure. That’d be good.”

With that endorsement, I got cooking, and this is a lovely new way to do cauliflower.

I’m giving you the ingredient amounts as they were listed in the recipe, but of course one of the benefits of compote is that you can adapt according to your taste (and your supplies):

1 large head of cauliflower, chopped into small florets (I obviously had purple, but any kind will do)
1 large shallot or a couple cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 c olive oil
12 kalamata olives, roughly chopped
3-4 wide strips of lemon peel, minced
1/4 c chopped parsley
1/3 – 1/2 c chopped tomatoes (I left these out at first — my kids don’t like tomatoes — but added them to my leftovers the next day, and they tasted great)
1/4 c toasted pine nuts

In a large skillet over medium-high heat, heat the olive oil, then add the cauliflower and shallot or garlic. Saute briskly with some salt for 2-3 minutes, then lower the heat and cover the skillet. Sweat for about 5 minutes, or until the cauliflower is tender.

Raise the heat and add the olives, lemon peel, parsley and tomato (if using). Saute just until everything is heated through and the dish smells fragrant. Finish with some pepper, sprinkle with the pine nuts and serve warm, as a side dish or over pasta.

Chocolate Almond Apricot Biscotti

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by Caroline

You never know what will draw you into a recipe. A picture? An ingredient? Sometimes it’s a word; any recipe with the word “caramelized” in it gets me. Or it can be a phrase, as in the line that grabbed me several years ago when I spotted this recipe in Sunset magazine and made it part of our regular cookie repertoire: “These biscotti are crumbly delivery systems for chewy apricot bits, hunks of dark chocolate, and crunchy almonds.”

I got out a bowl and got to work.

Ingredients:
1 3/4 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
2 eggs
3/4 cup diced dried apricots
2/3 cup slivered almonds
4 ounces chopped bittersweet chocolate

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350° and line a large baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a food processor, pulse flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt 5 to 6 times to blend.

In a small bowl, whisk together melted butter, vanilla, and eggs; add to flour mixture and pulse 10 to 12 times to form a dough.

Turn dough out into a large mixing bowl. Add apricots, almonds, and chocolate, and stir to mix thoroughly.

Put dough on baking sheet and form into two 12-in.-long loaves. Flatten tops slightly and bake until loaves are golden but give slightly when pressed, 25 to 30 minutes.

Remove loaves from oven and reduce temperature to 325°. Let loaves cool 5 minutes, then cut on the diagonal into 1/2- to 3/4-in.-thick slices. Arrange slices flat on baking sheet and bake until lightly browned, 10 to 15 minutes. Cool completely on racks.

The clothes made the food

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By Lisa

Last night, we came home from Ella’s soccer practice at about 5:15 pm, and I set to preparing dinner.  Ella and I had about 45 minutes before Finn and his dad returned from their soccer practice. Plenty of time for me to get dinner done and Ella to finish her homework and shower and have a little pre-dinner snack.  Since Kory has been coaching Finn’s rec-league team, Mondays are the only weeknight we eat together. So I set the table, lit the spooky house candle, and we were all set up to go when Kory and Finn walked in the door at 6:02 pm.

And then, as dads are known to do, Kory hijacked the orderly schedule. He ducked into the office and pulled out a tall box that had been delivered while Ella and I were at her practice. “The HALLOWEEN COSTUMES!” Ella screamed. Then Finn began screaming. Then they both began jumping up and down. And screaming.

“After dinner,” Kory said.

Before the kids could bellow, “NO. FAIR.” (which they did) I gave him a look  and said, “No way.”  These costumes have been anticipated since August.  Family dinner–and my sanity–depended on immediate access.

So the box was slit open, and in less than three minutes, we had a sort of scary ninja and a super cute witch leaping around the living room. I cannot show you the pictures because that would ruin the fun. And the kids would kill me.  There was much talk of accessories. Knives and ravens and stuff.

The costumes came off for dinner, but the magic prevailed.  The food was nothing special, but it did include a bunch a family favorites; picadillo, warm tortillas, a big pile of padrones, a bowl of really fresh raw carrots, a can of cuban black beans. It was delicious. But what was even better was the family harmony. We talked and talked about halloween, and costume ideas for me and Kory (rejected by the kids:  Phineas and Isabella, anything Star Wars, Leonardo and Mona Lisa, Mr. & Mrs. Dursley, The Weasleys), chatted about Finn’s birthday, and soccer, and a whole lot of other things.  We ate and ate and talked and talked, and just were. And I was grateful for them all. And Halloween.

A really casual dinner

Pasta Romanesco

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by Caroline

Of all the new vegetables we’ve met via our CSA — the cardoons, the agretti — I think my favorite might be romanesco broccoli, the fractal vegetable. It’s firmer than standard broccoli but sweeter than cauliflower, and it tasted great the other night in an easy pasta with lemon zest, sliced almonds, and asiago cheese. Here’s the recipe:

12 ounces campanelle or penne pasta
7 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 heads roughly chopped Romanesco broccoli (about 1 1/4 lbs. total)
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon red chile flakes
Zest of 1 lemon
1/2 cup toasted sliced almonds
1/4 cup shredded asiago cheese

Cook pasta according to package directions.

Meanwhile, heat 3 tbsp. oil over medium heat in a large frying pan. Add Romanesco and 1/2 tsp. salt and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender-crisp, about 5 minutes. Add 1 tbsp. more oil to pan along with garlic and chile flakes. Cook until garlic is fragrant and light golden and Romanesco is tender, about 5 minutes more.

Drain pasta, reserving 1 cup pasta water, and return to pot. Stir in Romanesco mixture, lemon zest, almonds, cheese, remaining 3 tbsp. oil and 1/4 tsp. salt, and enough pasta water to moisten (about 3/4 cup).

The Breakfast Score

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By Lisa

If it didn’t make the kids happy, you’d call it a rut because they’ve been eating the same thing for breakfast nearly 5 days a week since August. It’s true, that on weekends we mix it up with pancakes, and there’s french toast, or oatmeal, or granola thrown in on occasion, but for the most part, they eat the same thing every single school morning.

This is familiar to me: as a child I ate pb & j on cocktail rye for at least a year straight, along with probably 5 other foods.  My kids aren’t picky, and there’s some variety in their lunches and lots in the dinners.   It seems they’re just hungry for the same thing at this particular meal. Also what changed is that I am now making breakfast. This used to be the husband’s domain, but I took over when we was on deadline illustrating this book, working around the clock.  I figured I could pitch in, and for now, its stuck.

For me, the advantages of consistency are just that: I have a routine. No decisions, no second-guessing, no options.  I know exactly what dishes to pull in what order and how to assemble and cook the parts so that there is food in front of them in less than five minutes, which is less than the time it takes to brew the pot of coffee. I pre-slice and freeze the bagels. I use the same dishes. I pour and slice in the same order every single. I am a breakfast machine.

The magic meal is a fried egg, over easy, a mini-bagel and cream cheese, fresh fruit. and juice. Some times they get toast instead of a bagel.  If we’re out of juice they have milk.  And  plums have replaced the berries of summer, but basically, this is the meal.  I get the eggs at the farmers market, so I feel okay about eating a lot of them.  As I’ve written before, we’ve discovered that small amounts of protein really make a difference in the energy and mood of our athlete daughter, which is how eggs on a weekday first came about.

And this morning, I discovered that unbeknownst to me, they have been competing over this meal. Not only do the eat the same thing every day, they eat the same thing in the same way every day. First they eat all the white away until only the round eye of the yolk is left, then they carefully scoop up the yolk and eat it in one bite. Whoever manages not to spill or break any of the yolk is the winner.  The score is now 27-22, in Ella’s favor. Which proves I’m not exaggerating about how many eggs they eat. Repetition. Routine. Consistency. We don’t think much about these things, and certainly, they’re not as easy to write about, but they’re as a much a part of how we eat as new food, traditional food, celebratory food.

It’s true, he’s not winning the breakfast series, but his picture came out better.

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