With apologies to the people of Bologna, and everyone who takes their meat sauces seriously: here’s a variation for those of us who don’t eat meat. It’s quicker (great for a weeknight) but every bit as hearty and warming as a traditional bolognese.More
We must have eaten this summer, and I must have cooked, but I can’t remember doing either. What I remember is a dark smudge of days, in which I often seemed engaged in a protracted struggle to not cry. Somewhere in there, we had meals, but I did not make ice cream, or roast peppers, or pack my freezer with pesto or roasted Early Girls. There were very few early evening cocktails.
It’s only in the past month, with the kids settled in school, the carpools worked out, the games firmly anchored in our weekends, that things have begun to feel normal again. The return to health–physical, psychic, emotional–was stealthy. But it must have been steady, too, because last week, as I stood over the kitchen counter eating ice cream straight from the freezer bowl I felt a twinge of joy: I had made something new. Things must be better. That the thing was ice cream, in September, and not in June, July, or August, slayed me a bit, reminding me of just how much summer we’d missed, and how much of that sweet, bright period was stolen from our family. But life is like this sometimes. Families, sons, daughters, parents, spouses…we take the bitter right along with the sweet. And we are lucky. We’ve healed. We’ve moved on.
So the ice cream was also providential, a kind of transition, a sweet thing welcoming our family back to itself. And I realized I’d been cooking other transitional things, too, meals to usher us from sickness to health, from instability to stability, from summer into fall. I cooked the bright Brandywines and Pineapples and Purple Cherokees that we always eat raw into a light but comforting heirloom tomato sauce. I barbecued tofu instead of sauteeing it. I turned the salmon backs into cakes. And I made this pizza, loaded with the last of summer’s fresh pesto, the final crop of sweet 100s, and the bitter bite of grilled raddichio. A little sweet, a little bitter, completely ravishing.
Pesto pizza with fresh mozzarella, grilled radicchio, and sweet 100s
Grilled Pesto Pizza with Radicchio and Sweet 100s
Finn does not sit still. Not much. Unless there is a pile of Lego in front of him, or a build-your-own remote control robot arm, or a book of 888 1/2 facts about the Titanic. Then, he is immoveable. But other times? He jumps, he squirms, he dances, he rolls, he hops. He runs, skates, and twirls. He giggles and climbs. He falls. He is all energy, all the time. He is my exuberant one, buoying the spirits of the house.
In his honor: Chicken Saltimbocca. It means jumps in your mouth. It jumped in his mouth. He sat still. He ate.
Chicken Saltimbocca
As Caroline and I are readying our book for the publisher, we are more than usually pressed for time, facing deadlines, making decisions, and still taking care of the kids, the field trips, the soccer tournaments, the homework….Suffice to say, dinner has been put under pressure, too, and I often feel like I’m cooking that on deadline, too.
The other night, I had loads of fresh produce, some good meat, potatoes that needed to be used. It was cold. The obvious choice: meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I had fleeting visions of shephard’s pie, or meatloaf covered w/potatoes, but that was just two more steps than I could handle. Also, I had in mind, Stacie Stukin, one of our contributors, whose essay includes a great anecdote about how her own mother made meatloaf, without ever touching the meat. I find this inspired, and while I didn’t manage it entirely, I did use one of her techniques. See if you can guess what it is.
As I was prepping, I discovered I had no onions. I’m not quite sure how that happened. But I did have a large, fresh bunch of chives, so I used them instead, and it was good.
Chive Meatloaf
for each pound of ground beef:
Mix all ingredients together well and mold as desired. Top with tomato sauce or a thin layer of ketchup.
Bake at 325 degrees for about 1 hour.
Salmon Backs are a seasonal favorite around here. If salmon is in season, we’re sure to eat this cut of the fish nearly once a week. It’s fast, flavorful, and really economical. I can’t afford to keep my family in salmon filets or steaks, but I can afford to feed them piles of salmon backs: in tacos, “ceviche” flavored, lox style, etc.
Earlier this week I made some on the grill and we ate it in soft Middle Eastern flatbread with cream sauce, cabbage, and lime. As usual, it was delicious. I had to stop myself at two, and Finn at a pile with his spoon. But we still had some leftover, which Ella called dibs on, but then I had not a tortilla in the house. I offered her crackers, a range of breads, fresh sesame rolls. She chose the rolls and made this sandwich, which is basically taco fillings on a bun. Of course you can use another cut of fish, but it wouldn’t be the same, because this is basically the fish equivalent of a sloppy joe: piles of light, loose grilled fish, a creamy sauce, a squeeze of lime for flavor, a bit of cabbage for crunch.
I was happy to let Ella take control of her meal, and even happier that she gave the family another way to keep seasonal eating fresh.
Grilled Salmon Back Sandwich