Faux Pho: Dinner with the BEST Friend

all photos courtesy of LEO

The morning I moved out of my last apartment into my new apartment, Lauren arrived at 8am with coffee. The movers, of course, were four mysterious and unapologetic hours late. After they ripped me off in every possible way, on the only unbearably hot day of the summer, Lauren took me to Target to buy toilet paper and a new shower curtain, then made me a dirty martini and slept over so I wouldn't feel lonely in my new place.

One of the movers - I suppose it wasn't his fault the truck broke down - observed,

"Is she your sister? Or your mother?"

(This might seem offensive except for the fact that Lauren is so obviously not my mother, let alone my sister, that it's only hilarious.)

"No," I laughed. "Just a friend."

"Ooooh," he nodded vigorously. "A very good friend. The BEST friend."

He had a point. I mean, who else - besides my actual mother - would come over and make me soup when I'm all hoarse and coughing and feverish and watch 4 episodes of 30-Rock with me that she'd already seen? Who else but the BEST friend?

no secret pork here.

We'd been plotting a reprise of Bittman's Faux Pho for a few weeks, and in light of certain revelations made on this very site my love of all things MB has escalated to a minor frenzy (or maybe it was just the fever). I wanted this soup, urgently.

God bless Mark Bittman: I always eye the Pho in restaurants, but even at the place my vegan friends go on Argyle, I have a sneaking suspicion that there's some secret fish in the "vegetarian" soup, if not also some secret pork.

Ew. Pork shouldn't be a secret.

lime, chili, broccoli, scallion, napa, basil, sprout, cilantro, tofu, carrot, udon.

something mysterious happens to the basil in this soup:
it begins to taste like coconut, and then like licorice.
i can't explain it; i can only savor it.

As I lined up the accessories for the Faux Pho's photo shoot, Lauren remarked, "Peter is never this patient. He always complains that the food will get cold."

Well, that's what friends are for.

(for those of you who missed out: a great piece on why we maybe can feel hopeful about our food culture by MB.)

Faux Pho (Mark Bittman! You're so clever!)

(adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian)

Ingredients:
6 oz udon noodles (I like to have this kind on hand)
2 tbs peanut oil
2 tbs minced garlic
1 tbs fresh grated ginger
1/2 tsp freshly ground coriander seed
1/2 tsp freshly ground cinnamon
1/2 cup soy sauce + more to taste (I love you, Salt. Let's get married.)
1 cup of diced tofu
2 bay leaves
a handful chopped cilantro
a handful chopped basil
1 fresh thai chili, sliced
2 scallions, sliced
1 lime, cut into wedges
a handful of fresh bean sprouts
2 leaves napa or purple cabbage, shredded
1 cup of broccoli florets, briefly blanched
1 carrot, grated

Method:
In a pot of salted, boiling water, cook the pasta for 5 minutes or until just tender. Drain, rinse in cold water, and set aside.

In a deep skillet or medium saucepan, heat the oil over medium-high heat. When shimmering, add the garlic and ginger, and stir until just fragrant. Add the coriander and cinnamon, and stir until you begin to feel sort of dizzy and intoxicated by the smell of it all (or maybe it's just the fever). Add 6 cups of water, soy sauce, and bay leaves, and simmer while you prepare your vegetables.

Ideally, once Lauren has finished doing all the hard work (i.e., chopping one million vegetables), you'll arrange them in austere little dishes just like CYY's. Just before serving, add the tofu to the broth and simmer for a few minutes.

Finish:
Put a mound of noodles in the bottom of a comically over-sized bowl (LEO prefers a larger ratio of noodles to broth; while CYY prefers a larger ratio of broth to noodles) and ladle broth over the noodles. Garnish with vegetables, herbs, and accouterments as you please, and toast to friendship with a mug of fresh ginger-lemon tea.

The spaghetti squash and the very old cheese.

A few nights ago I wanted some nice cheeses to go with the lovely avocado, grapefruit and endive salad I made. I headed over to Provenance where I found two seminal cheeses: the first an immaculate handmade double-cream cheese that is about the freshest cheese I've ever tasted, and the second an eight year old gouda that is so tart and rich and full that the tiniest bite got the best of me.

The gouda, which stars in tonight's meal, was bright white, dry and crumbly, freckled with those mysterious little crunchy specks that you find in high-quality parmigianos or pecorinos. And the taste of this cheese was really quite astonishing - I cut myself a thin slice to dress my excellent albeit overpriced crackers - and I could not even finish that mere sliver of cheese. It was simply too strong (and I fancy myself quite brave when it comes to strong cheeses)! So this is what happens when one ages a cheese for Eight Whole Years!

Since its texture reminded me so much of a parmigiano, I thought I might be able to use the gouda as I would that more familiar cheese. I looked to the lovely little spaghetti squash perched on my baker's rack, just waiting to be all roasted up and then shred to bits. Surely this bright and vivacious fruit could mellow even the sourest and crotchety-est of old cheeses!

Spaghetti squash with caramelized onions and the very old cheese

The surprise of this dish was all the many layers of sweetness: the rich roasted garlic, the creamy onions, the tangy tomatoes, and the fresh sweetness of the squash itself.
I, unfortunately, grew weary of waiting for my onions and didn't allow them to caramelize properly; I have since learned a valuable lesson about patience.

One small spaghetti squash, halved and seeded
4 cloves of garlic, peeled
2 bay leaves
Olive oil, pepper and salt
2 tbs of olive oil
1 tbs of butter
5 small sweet yellow onions, halved through the poles and thinly sliced
1 scant teaspoon of sugar
8 sun dried tomatoes (not packed in oil), thinly sliced
1/4 cup dry vermouth
1/4 cup grated very old cheese (for example, an eight year old gouda)
1/4 cup grated parmigiano reggiano
1/2 cup roasted salted pecan halves

Roast the squash:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Pour just enough water into a 9 x 11 baking dish to barely cover the bottom, and place squash halves cut side down with 2 garlic cloves and one bay leave tucked underneath each squash half. Roast until almost tender, about 45 minutes, anticipating as you wait how the sweet roasted garlic flavor will gently infuse the squash. Now flip the halves over, placing garlic and bay leaves in the squash "bowls." Sprinkle generously with olive oil, pepper and salt, and roast until tender, about 10 more minutes; discard garlic and bay leaves. I like my squash to be a bit crisp and not at all soggy; the squash is ready when a fork raked around the edges pulls the flesh into curious twisting threads. Let the squash rest for about 10 minutes before you scrape it from the rind.

Caramelize the onions:
Meanwhile, heat the oil over medium high heat in a large, heavy skillet. When the oil is hot, add the butter, allowing the foam to subside and the butter to begin to brown. Add the onions, a sprinkling of sugar, and saute until the onions begin to color. Lower heat and PATIENTLY allow the onions to caramelize, about 35 minutes or even more. The onions are done when they are a deep golden brown, sweet and melting.

Add the julienned tomatoes and stir, then add the vermouth to deglaze. The tomatoes that I have been using lately are very, very soft and need absolutely no re-hydration; you may need to soak your tomatoes in boiling water (per package instructions) if your tomatoes are of the drier sort. Allow the vermouth to cook off, and then remove from heat.

Assemble the meal:
Toss together the squash, onions and cheese until well blended. Season to taste with pepper and salt, and top each serving with the pecans.

Food like a hug.

It's the sort of day that calls for comfort food.

Not just any comfort food; while Lauren can attest that I am by no means above a box of macaroni and cheese or really greasy bar food when the moment demands, I wanted a meal that would give me pleasure to create (more so than mixing cheese powder, butter and milk, although I'm not denying the pleasure in that). It should be a meal where not just the eating but also the making should impart comfort. When all's said and done, I wanted to feel like I'd just had, well, a really great hug.

I had some mascarpone leftover from my pancakes, and have been dreaming about the roasted tomatoes Mark and I made a few weeks ago. So here's my little menu, perfectly accented with a nice salad, courtesy of Megan. (As an aside, she tossed a bit of preserved lemon into the simple salad - what a surprise! As with all things pickled, Megan's obsessed with the lemons, and she's been coming up with lots of creative ways to use them; I'm getting more ideas, so more on that in later posts, I'm sure!).

Need a hug?
Macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini
Oven-roasted tomatoes

For two.

For the oven-roasted tomatoes:

About a month ago, I turned over a new leaf, the-I-know-it's-winter-but-all-I-want-is-fresh-Tomoates-! leaf. I've always been sort of on the fence about tomatoes, so I'm not quite sure where this is coming from. Anyways, I've been making all sorts of tomatoey goodnes: probably the best tomato soup ever; a simple fire-roasted tomato sauce; tomato butter sauce that has revolutionized the way I think about a half-pound of butter; and now these. Luckily I've been able to find some pretty incredible on-the-vine tomatoes at the grocery; while a lot of oven roasted tomatoes call for romas, I prefer to use the round vine tomatoes. Look for firm, just ripe round tomatoes for this recipe; the deepness of them will keep them much more moist as they roast than romas. This is one of the simplest ways to ever cook a tomato; your guests will inquire, "Why, what's on the tomatoes?" imagining you scoured the earth far and wide the rare and mysterious flavors. What a trick!

4 large or 6 smaller on-the-vine tomatoes
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 350. Brush a small baking pan (I use a 9 x 9 brownie pan) with a light coat of olive oil.

Cut the top (vine end) off of each tomato, and then with a paring knife gently core and remove all seeds. Place the tomatoes cut side up in the pan, and then drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle very generously with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

Bake for 50 minutes, maybe more, until the peels begin to brown, curl and crack and the tomatoes are absolutely melting away. If you are not ready to serve immediately, you can put the tomatoes on their serving dish and cover with foil to keep them warm, but they'll taste the best roasting hot.

For the macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini:

I started preparing this after the tomatoes had been in the oven for about 20 minutes. The timing was perfect, and the dish is very, very easy. This pasta is reminiscent of the near-perfect pasta I had at The Greens Restaurant in October, so I was quite pleased with the results.

12 oz broccolini
8 oz macaroni (I actually used a very thin penne, which was perfect with the delicate length of the broccolini)
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1/2 tbs. butter
3 tbs. panko (although other breadcrumbs would be great, I'm sure)
2 tbs. chopped italian parsley
2 tbs. olive oil
Dash of crushed red pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup mascarpone
1/2 cup freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil; meanwhile, trim the bottom 1/2 inch or so off the broccolini and peel off the outermost fibrous layer of the stalks with a vegetable peeler. This is, certainly, the high-maintenance approach to broccolini. You'd be fine without peeling, but with peeling you have the instant gratification of the sweet inner stalk with less of the hassle of gnawing. Once the water has boiled, toss the broccolini in for 5 minutes (or until tender); remove with a slotted spoon and immediately plunge into ice water to stop the cooking. Drain and set aside.

Add the pasta to the same boiling water. Over medium heat, melt the butter in a small saucepan; as the foam subsides, add one clove of garlic and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the panko, parsley and a generous grind of salt and pepper. Fry the breadcrumbs until luxuriously golden brown, about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the remaining garlic and crushed red pepper flakes, similarly stirring until just fragrant. Add the drained broccolini and saute for about 1 or 2 minutes, or until hot and well acquainted with garlic and red pepper. Season with pepper and salt.

At this point, your pasta should be about ready to come out of its water. Put the mascarpone and the parmesan in the bottom of a large bowl. Drain the pasta and then quickly add it to the cheeses, stirring quickly 'til all becomes melty and smooth.

Divide the pasta between two warmed dinner plates; top each with half the broccolini, and sprinkle with half the breadcrumbs. Serve the tomatoes nestled gently up against.

There, don't you feel better?

They do rock, CT.

When I was home at Thanksgiving, I noticed a gently used copy of Charlie Trotter's Vegetables at the used bookstore near my house. It's a book I've had my eye on for a while, and since it's around $50 new, I casually mentioned to my mother this great deal just waiting to be snatched up.

Hurrah, it was under the tree this morning! And, I think I'd flipped through it about five times before I noticed it's autographed by Mr. Trotter himself. Scrawled accross the entire title page with a big fat black permanent marker, Charlie writes:

What More Needs to be said?
VEGETABLES ROCK!!!!

-Charlie Trotter

Ha. This is both hilarious and awesome. Vegetables do rock. It's just funny because in my head, I picture Charlie Trotter screaming this out at a state university frat party, a can of Bud in each hand. "WOOOO!!! VEGETABLES!!!" he screams, smashing the empty beer can against his forehead.

Now, if only I can get my hand on some bleeding heart radishes (with a "rondeau," whatever that might be, to carmelize them in, of course), yellow-foot chantrelles and fresh salsify stalks....

(I'm actually quite serious about the last one - the two times I've tried salsify it was rich, creamy and fluffy. The kind of thing you savor, eyes closed and head titlted back a bit, making little noises and making Rosalind quite uncomfortable.)

A Menu of Tiny Tastes

I love a meal that is one big meal but with many tiny little tastes: such was the premise behind the meal Bart and I planned for Saturday. I had a box of buckwheat polenta from Provenance, and I wanted to make lots of lovely different things that we could all have tiny tastes of. Anna Thomas gave me this menu's inspiration with her grilled polenta with roasted vegetables, but the interpretation is my own, as I have my own thoughts on roasting vegetables.

(As a side note: maybe many of you are more familiar with Anna Thomas' earlier Vegetarian Epicure cookbooks? This came from The New Vegetarian Epicure, which is everything her earlier books weren't. While I imagine those books were revolutionary for their time, they still sort of always feel a little unbalanced - basically just menus and dishes that had once centered around meat, with the meat ommitted. Her new book, arranged by seasonal menus, completely overcomes this deficiency.)

Bart and I had planned to cook together (and in fact Bart supplied at least half the ingredients) but then the Evil Ornament Factory in the Suburbs kept Bart from me much longer than either of us appreciated, so when Bart arrived, vegetables in tow, I got nervous that we wouldn't eat until midnight and thus unhospitably put everyone to work.

It actually worked out very well, though; I couldn't have done all that vegetable prep nearly so quickly on my own (nor as cheerfully if Emilie hadn't been feeding me a constant supply of cheese). All our good-natured guests were more than happy to gather round the cheese plate, grab a knive and help Bart and me slice and trim the vegetables.

Later, Emilie and I agreed that this was a meal of "vegetables that taste like vegetables," very simply prepared to bring out the truest, most vegetable-y flavor of each dish. As we were passing around the polenta, the olives, and our bounty of roasted vegetables, I was happy to see that Bart had arranged his tiny tastes on his plate in perfect, deliberate and seperate little mounds, unlike the rest of us who had so haphazardly allowed the kale to touch the fennel to touch the apples to touch the mushrooms. It was an aesthetic take, I think, on vegetables that taste like vegetables.

We also served Mulled Wine, which many of our ungracious guests (not Bart) did not like, but what do they know? It was a perfect winter meal.

Menu:
Grilled Buckwheat Polenta with Emmenthaler and Black Pepper
Squash Roasted with Apples
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin

For the Polenta:
1 1/4 heaping cups buckwheat or plain polenta or stone-milled corn meal
4 cups vegetable broth, or water (you'll need more salt if you add water)
1 generous cup shredded Emmenthaler (Gruyere could be a substitute)
3 tbs. butter
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
About 3 or 4 hours before you'd like to serve dinner, bring broth to a rolling boil in a deep, heavy saucepan. Wisk in polenta and lower heat, being careful not to get splattered by the wonderful glopping ooze that is hot polenta. You'll continue wisking (some would say "constantly" but I would say "quite frequently") for the next 35 to 40 minutes, or until a wooden spoon stands upright in the center of the pot without its training wheels (or your hand).

Stir in the butter, cheese, and a generous grinding of fresh black pepper until well-combined. Spread in a lightly buttered 9 x 13 baking dish and chill until firm, at least 2 hours (if you needed to speed the process along, you could pop the polenta in the freezer at this point, but you'll still need to let it sit for a while). You'll have to read through to the end if you want to know how to grill it!

Now quickly dress your Christmas tree and then hop in the shower - your guests will be here soon! Where is Bart with his vegetables?


For the Various Roasted Vegetables:
The rest of your preparation will progress quite nicely at this point. You'll preheat your oven to 400 degrees, putting one rack closer to the bottom and one rack in the middle of your oven. The different kinds of vegetables all cook at the same temperature, but for different amounts of time. The squash and apples take the longest, so you'll roast them first; 10 minutes later you'll add the garlic, and so forth. The mushrooms will go in last roasting for about 30 minutes, giving you plenty of time to prepare your kale and begin grilling your polenta.

Squash Roasted with Apples:
1 small butternut squash
Enough apples to equal the weight of your small butternut squash
A liberal splish of olive oil
A liberal splash of crushed red pepper
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
Quarter and core your apples, and then cut each quarter into halves or thirds, depending on the size of your apple; the slices should be at least an inch thick at their widest point. Toss in a large bowl with lemon juice.

Peel and slice the squash into pieces roughly equivalent to your apple slices (so that all roasts evenly). Toss with the remaining ingredients, combine with the apples, and then spread on a baking sheet.

Roast on the lower rack of your oven for 45-60 minutes, letting all sit very still. After a while, the lemon juice and the juice from the apples will melt together, creating a glimmering, unexpected glaze.

Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
3 heads of garlic
3 branches of rosemary
Genorous swish of olive oil

Method:
Chop the top inch or so off of each garlic head, so that the naked top of each clove is exposed, tee hee. Peel the outer layer of papery skin off the head, leaving just enough to keep the cloves attached to one another. Arrange the heads in a garlic roaster, a small casserole with a lid, or a large square of foil (foil works, but you'll want to make sure to at least double or triple wrap your little garlic parcel, lest garlic juice leak out all over you oven). Tuck sprigs of rosemary in between the cloves, and between the heads of garlic, and drizzle with olive oil. Cover or wrap.

Begin roasting on the upper rack of your 400 degree oven about 10 minutes after you've begun the squash. The garlic will go 35-50 minutes, and is done when the cloves are deeply golden and soft. You can serve the garlic just like that, accompanied by a small knife to scoop the cloves out.

Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
One small fennel bulb
One small red onion
Olive oil, salt and pepper

Method:
Cut the stems off the top of the fennel bulb and peel of tough outer leaves. Quarter the bulb and then cut out the core and tough bottom of the bulb, and cut each quarter into thirds. Quarter your onion, then cut it into thirds, so that it is cut approximately the size of your fennel pieces.

Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread in a low-rimmed 9 inch pie pan. Roast on the middle rack of your oven about 15 minutes after you've begun your squash; it'll take about 30-45 minutes. More than anything else, you'll need to keep an eye on this dish (the rest are so carefree); you want the fennel and onion to brown but not burn, and you'll need to turn it occasionally to make sure it carmelizes evenly.

Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
16 oz cremini mushrooms, cleaned and dry parts of stems chopped off
1 shallot, chopped
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp dried thyme
olive oil, salt, pepper

Method:
Toss all in a large roasting pan and bake, on the lowest rack of your oven about 20 minutes after you've begun your squash; they'll take 25-40 minutes to roast. Depending on how fresh your mushrooms are, they might quickly dry out OR emit a lot of juice; if they look too dry, you could add a dash more olive oil; if they look to moist, just pour off a little of the juice. The mushrooms are done when they are nicely crinkled on the outsides, but still juicy looking.

Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
One large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped (see my tips for doing this here)
1 very large shallot, chopped
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs brown mustard seeds
1 tbs cumin seeds
1 tsp turmeric
a dash of cayenne pepper
the juice of 1/2 lemon
salt and pepper to taste

Method:
In a large, heavy skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot and saute until soft and beginning to brown. Add the mustard and cumin, and stir until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the kale and sautee breifly, salt generously and then cover with a lid. If your kale was still quite wet from washing, you'll be fine to let all steam gently (stirring occasionally) for the next 10-15 minutes, or until tender. If your kale is more dry, add a touch of water at this point (you don't need much).

When the kale is tender, finish off with the turmeric, cayenne and lemon. It's best to serve hot, so you can keep this covered, with the heat off, until you're ready to serve.

To grill the polenta
As you're finishing up your kale, heat a well-seasoned cast iron grill pan over high heat; brush with a bit of olive oil. Your vegetables should be done now; turn off the oven and crack it open for a minute so as it cools a bit, but leave the vegetables in there. Make room for an oven-safe serving platter in the oven and shut the door.

Cut the firm polenta into dinner-sized squares, let's say 3 x 3 squares, or whatever you think will look the nicest. Cooking four pieces of polenta at a time, grill each side of the polenta until dark, delicious grill marks appear. Transfer grilled polenta to the warming platter in the oven and continue until all polenta is grilled.

You could serve all the vegetables on an enormous platter in the center of the table, or you could do what we did, passing bowls of the different flavors for each person to grab a taste. I think this is a bit more enchanting.

One Squash, Two Meals - or - This One's for the Grad Students

I have a theory. If you are a busy graduate student of fine tastes, and who also enjoys cooking (Michelle, Lauren, Natalie, Mark) I believe you might want to pass a leisurely Saturday or Sunday afternoon cooking something delicious. But you're so busy! You'll need that something to last you a while. Such, I will argue, is the dilemma of graduate students.

Let's test this out.

I have run a small case study that focuses on a single graduate student at the University of Chicago; however, I believe attention to this particular case will serve to illuminate similar patterns evident in graduate students around the country. Prelimenary research of students at Duke and Stanford leads me to believe that such patterns can easily be uncovered elsewhere.

Point one of the case study begins on Saturday, November 11, 2006, when the University of Chicago graduate student made a large and awe-inspiring pot of soup (of which I was lucky to partake).

The following Sunday night, said grad student again ate this soup (and I invited myself over for seconds). I couldn't help but notice that she had stored the remainder of her soup in small, individual serving size portions, indicating her desire to sustain herself - tastefully and tastily - over the coming days.

Let's turn to some textual evidence to see how the soup played out over the course of the week. I refer to an email correspondence dated (today) November 14, 2006:

first:
"I am eating the last of the soup!!!!!"

and a few minutes later:
"I just finished soup, and I miss it already..."

Now, as mentioned above, this was an exceptional soup, prone to aging well, only growing in complexity, vibrance and deliciousness as the days passed (unlike so many unfortunate vats of kimchee). But what to do when that Large Pot of Sunday Afternoon Leisure doesn't fare so well when microwaved on Day Three? Or conversely, what to do with the graduate student of fine tastes, but a palate of short attention span? The key is for your starting point to be simple enough to become something else. For example, I recently made White Beans with Rosemary from Peter Berley's The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen. Delicious the first day straight out of the oven, they later became a panko-crusted gratin and then a thick, creamy soup. And not a bored taste bud in sight!

I turn then, to my recent adventures with Red Kuri Squash. I'm quite proud of *both* of Kuri's incarnations, I hope you'll have a chance to try them out (for the record, does anyone ever try out any of my recipes?).

Other people these recipes could be useful for:
(1) employees of interfaith organizations
(2) employees of interfaith organizations who are also graduate students, but in denial about the latter (you know who you are)
(3) former employees of interfaith organizations now looking to go back to graduate school
(4) potential graduate students of 19th century Russian literature (you know who you are)

I believe that exhausts my readership. One squash, two meals - what could be better?

Meal One: Roasted Red Kuri Squash with Maple Ancho Mole

Red Kuri is a very, very special squash. Bright red-orange on the outside, bright yellow-orange on the inside, it is really one of the most beautiful vegetables I've ever seen. The flesh itself is incredibly rich and creamy and with no stringiness at all (as I feel accorn and butternut are sometimes prone to).

for the squash:
1 large red kuri squash, about 2 1/2 lbs.
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

for the mole:
two ancho chiles, stem and seeds removed and torn into small pieces
the juice of one lime
1/4 cup olive oil (or more, as necessary)
4 tbs. maple syrup
1 clove of garlic
salt to taste

Soak the chiles in enough boiling water to cover them by an inch for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 450, and place oven racks in the top and bottom third of the oven. Halve the squash lenthwise; trim ends and discard seeds. Cut each half into 1 to 1 1/2 inch wide wedges. In a large bowl, drizzle squash lightly with olive oil and sprinkle generously with salt and pepper. Toss gently.

In two large roasting pans, arrange squash with one cut side down. Don't crowd the squash! They'll roast much more nicely if they have a bit of room.

Put one pan on the top shelf and one on the bottom. After 20 minutes, remove pans and brush the top side of each squash half with a light coat of olive oil. Switch oven positions and continue roasting for 15-25 minutes, or until the squash are very tender.

Meanwhile, drain the chiles, and rinse lightly. In a blender combine the chiles with all remaining mole ingredients (does anyone know what makes a mole a mole? I certainly don't, but this "sauce" seems to have the general texture of a mole, so why not?). Puree until very smooth, and add a bit more olive oil if it seems too dry.

When you are ready to remove the squash from the pans, use a steady hand and a sturdy spatula to keep the golden crusty goodness that will have formed on the bottom sides of the squash attached to the squash. This is a bit tricky, as the squash is quite soft, but I promise the effort is worth it. Arrange the squash however you like, with a generous drizzle of mole.

Meal Two: Roasted Kuri Squash Soup with Ancho and Maple

(get it? same basic flavors. fabulously different form. tastebuds rejoice!)

4 wedges roasted kuri squash, peeled and cubed
3 tbs. ancho maple mole
2 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
1 cup vegetable broth

In a small saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add shallot and saute until beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.

Lower the heat to medium and add mole, stirring until fragrant and saucy, about 2 minutes. Deglaze with vegetable broth and then bring to a simmer.

Add squash to broth and simmer until squash is warmed through and broth is reduced a bit. Puree soup in batches in a blender or with a hand immersion blender.


(If you think pureed soup tastes like baby food, just remember how you used to turn up your nose at parsley. And now look at yourself. That's right.)

Kale, elegantly.

Kale is a bit of an iguana, as far as vegetables go. My boss tells a story of his earlier, less well-groomed days, when he lived in a large co-op that he founded on the city's northside. As I imagine is often the case for co-ops of the activist/musician/vegan sort, this co-op had a large pet iguana. Not at all surprising, one day the activists/musicians/vegans let the iguana out of its cage for a little vacation.

When it was time to get the iguana back into its cage, so the story goes, the activists/musicians/vegans all gathered round and stared at the iguana. Iguana, holding his ground, stood in the middle of activists/musicians/vegans, and stared right back. And as my boss says, "And you know the thing about an iguana? You can't tell what it's thinking." And so the a/m/v stare, and the iguana stares, and the only thing anyone's sure about is that the iguana is not going back into it's cage any time too soon.

In the same way, I'm not always sure what Kale is thinking. For a long time, I knew how to cook Kale only one way: with lemon, tomato and indian spices, the way Umnia taught me. In this way, Kale seems a pleasant accompaniment to a hearty plate of orange-scented black beans, or maybe some toasty pintos. I arrange these two on the plate together, and they look compatible enough, if not a bit mundane. But I can't help but wonder - does Kale feel satisfied with this hearty paring, does Kale feel Kale's full potential met? Or, as I suspect, does Kale, that sly iguana, hold something much more magnificent for that brave and daring cook?

My suspicions were confirmed when I spent some time at the Palo Alto Farmer's market with Mark a few weeks ago. Surely pulled from the ground but a few seconds before it reached my hands, this was by far the finest - if not most elegant! - Kale I had ever laid my eyes on. Coupled with two immaculate heirloom tomatoes (one green and yellow stripes, one a marbled purple and red), Kale is transformed, a four-foot naughty lizard no more.

Elegant kale with heirloom tomatoes and carmelized onions

The easiest way to prepare Kale is to fold the leaves in half along the tough middle rib. Drag the tip of a sharp knife along the rib from the bottom to the top of the leaf, being sure to get the tiny young leaves at the base of each stem. Discard the rib; you'll now have two long strips of Kale (and some tiny tender baby Kale leaves) to coarsely chop. When you clean the Kale, don't bother to spin it or dry it thoroughly, as you'll use the water on its leaves to steam it as it cooks.

3 tablespoons olive oil
2 small yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 large head of Kale, coarsely chopped
2 heirloom tomatoes (different colors), seeds removed and coarsely chopped
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste

In a large pan over medium-low heat, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add onions and balsamic vinegar and cook slowly and stirring occasionally until onions turn a deep brown and carmelize, about 25-30 minutes. Remove onions from pan and set aside.

In the same pan, heat remaining tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the garlic and oregano and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the Kale and season generously with salt and pepper, then cover to steam the Kale, stirring occasionally; the water from the Kale leaves should work to deglaze all that carmelized goodness, but add a bit more water if it seems necessary. When the Kale is crisp tender (really, this depends on the Kale - the Kale from the farmer's market cooked miraculously fast), 5-15 minutes, stir in tomatoes and onions to just heat through. Remove from heat and toss with lemon juice and basil.

Serve, illuminated by brilliant chandelier light on a platter crafted of diamonds, rose petals and caviar, while strands of your own private string quartet waft through the crisp late summer air. It's just that elegant.

(Or serve in Mark's tiny one room apartment with the gnocchi that I sort of burned, accompanied by a glass of cheap white wine in a tumbler. But whatever.)