Pizza With Caramelized Onions, Broccoli Rabe, and Goat Cheese

 This pizza was inspired by a recipe over on Smitten Kitchen, and it's remained a perennial favorite in our house, particularly in the winter. It's the kind of pizza that makes a well-rounded meal, and the hearty greens are enough to convince you that you can eat pizza and be nutritionally virtuous at the same time.

The bitterness of the broccoli rabe, the sweet caramelized onions, and the tangy goat cheese become more than the sum of their parts, and when some chewy pizza dough and some garlic oil are thrown into the mix, this pizza makes a just about perfect meal.

I know that some people are turned off by the bitterness of hearty winter greens, but I assure you  when the broccoli rabe is joined by its culinary companions, the bitterness becomes an asset and gives the whole pizza a delicious balance. Plus, whereas some hearty greens benefit from a long cooking time, the broccoli rabe cooks in just a few minutes. Also a nice benefit is the fact that this pizza requires no fresh herbs. So if your herb garden has died, or you don't feel like buying expensive fresh herbs, you're in luck.

Pizza with Caramelized Onions, Broccoli Rabe, and Goat Cheese

• 1/2 recipe pizza dough
• 2 medium onions
• 4 teaspoons canola oil
• 1 tablespoon butter
• Kosher salt
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons good extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 bunch broccoli rabe (also called rapini)
• Pinch red pepper flakes
• A couple pinches sugar, or a squeeze of agave nectar
• 3-4 ounces goat cheese
• Very good extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling

Optional:

• 1/2 cup Monterey Jack cheese
• Lemon, cut into wedges

While the pizza dough is rising, slice the onions. In a skillet, heat 2 teaspoons canola oil over medium heat, and add the onion. Cook until very soft and caramelized, about 30 minutes. If the onions start to dry out, add a tablespoon of butter. Salt to taste while cooking.

While the onions cook, combine the minced garlic and the good olive oil in a little bowl. Set aside. Cut off the bottom inch or two of the bunch of broccoli rabe, so that the dried-out, tough parts of the stem are removed. Chop the rest of the bunch into small, bite-sized pieces. Wash thoroughly.

In a large skillet, heat 2 teaspoons canola oil over medium-high heat. Add the broccoli rabe (it's okay if there is still some water clinging to the leaves). Add salt to taste, and a pinch of red pepper flakes, and saute until tender, about 7 minutes. Taste the greens. If they are very bitter, add the couple pinches of sugar or the squeeze of agave nectar. Remove from heat.

When the dough has been rising for about 45 minutes, preheat the oven (with a pizza stone in place) to 500 degrees.

When the dough has almost doubled in size (about and hour and a half), stretch it out into a 12-inch circle. It helps to take your fingertips and make divets all over the surface of the dough, then spread with the palms of your hands, pushing outward. Repeat until the dough is the desired size.

Spread the garlic oil over the surface of the pizza, leaving a 1/2-inch border. Using a peel or an inverted pizza sheet, slide the dough onto the pizza stone. Cook until the dough is getting firmer and is taking on a teeny-tiny bit of a golden color, about 5 minutes.

Remove the pizza from the oven, and close the oven door. Spread the onions over the surface of the pizza. Spread the broccoli rabe over the onions, and cover the whole thing with the goat cheese. Return to the oven and cook until the crust is golden brown and the goat cheese is melted a bit.

Remove from the oven and sprinkle with a bit of salt, the Monterey Jack if you're using it, and the very good olive oil. Sometimes this pizza benefits from a sprinkle of lemon juice, and sometimes it doesn't need it, so perhaps serve some lemon slices on the side. Cut into wedges and serve.

Broccoli Almondine

I usually like to go to the store, see what kind of produce looks good, and go from there. Some days, though, everything looks wilty, or there's really just nothing to choose from. But usually, there's broccoli. It's like that old dress that's kind of boring, but it's comfortable, and sometimes you just can't come up with anything else to wear.

This old stand-by veggie can be simply steamed and tossed with some salt and pepper, which is what I do when I'm feeling like a fatty, but that sometimes feels like vegetables as punishment. But add some shallots, a little bit of butter, and some sliced almonds, and you have broccoli magic.

Broccoli Almondine

(Serves 2 if you like a lot of veggies)

• 1 tablespoon butter
• 3/4 cup sliced shallots
• 2 crowns of broccoli, about 5 inches each in diameter
• 1/4 cup sliced almonds
• Optional: about a teaspoon lemon juice

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. When the foaming subsides, add the shallots. Cook the shallots until they are very tender, but not quite caramelized (about 20 minutes).

In the meantime, cut the broccoli into little florets and wash well. If your broccoli crowns came with the stems attached, peel them, then chop them up into similar-sized pieces--they're delicious. Steam the broccoli until it is tender, but still green (not brownish), about 7 minutes.

When the shallots are ready, add the almonds to the skillet and cook until they get just a little bit of color, about 2 minutes. If everything is looking really dry at this point, add more butter. Add the broccoli to the pan, add salt and pepper to taste, and toss to combine. Add the lemon juice if you like.

Note: The broccoli can be steamed a few hours ahead of time, and the shallots can be softened a few hours ahead of time. When you're ready to serve the dish, rewarm the shallots on medium-low heat, increase the heat to medium-high and add the almonds, then add the broccoli and warm through.

Green Pasta with a Goat Cheese and Scallion Filling in an Olive Butter Sauce, Hot Italian Sausage, Broccoli Rabe, and Lemon Bars

If you can call an event of two years standing a tradition, then you could say that my family has a Valentine's Day tradition; namely, we make a nice dinner and hang out. Not a big deal, but a fun change from the usual depressing restaurant scramble.

It started last year when, for the first time in forever, Nick and I both had off on Valentine's Day, and we didn't know what to do with ourselves. We didn't especially want to make a nice dinner and stay at home because we do that all the time, and we were certainly not going to go to a restaurant.

Why do I say that? Because we both worked in restaurants long enough to know that if you go out on Valentine's Day, you'll be fighting your way through hordes of amateurs in order to be given sub-par food from the too-busy kitchen by a server who just wants to get you the heck out of that table because you're just a lousy two-top, and there are a million more behind you.

I don't mean to sound all anti-Valentine's Day, and I'm not going to whine about how it's a Hallmark holiday invented exclusively for commercial ends. I think it's a cute idea, but it seems rather silly when you've been together for over a decade.

On the other hand, maybe that's when you most need days like Valentine's Day, but I frequently find that days like Valentine's Day and New Years inherently come with so much pressure to make a special day out of them that it oftentimes backfires and you're left broke, grouchy, and disappointed.

Thus, the family V. Day was born. We figured that we wouldn't be sitting home doing the ordinary thing, we would be with people we love (which is, after all, the point), it's bound to be fun, and there's no pressure.

Here are some pictures from last year:

Super fun.

So this year, I wanted a meal that was special without being expensive, rich without being overly fancy, and highly portable.

This is what I came up with:

Hot Italian sausage, broccoli rabe sauteed with garlic, green pasta with a goat cheese scallion filling tossed in an olive butter, and gateau a l'orange chat.

Kidding. She's not dessert, she just likes to sleep in the bowl, and we disturbed her. I don't know why she likes to sleep in that bowl, but she does. Call the Health Department!

Did you know that female orange tabbys are very rare?

So I started prep the night before and I started by making the dough for the real dessert--Lemon Bars from Ad Hoc. I know that lemon doesn't exactly scream Valentine's Day, but Whole Foods once again had Meyer lemons for a great price, so I had some sitting in a fridge. And while this isn't an anti-Valentine's Day sort of night, but I figured there was no need to go with the usual chocolate dessert. I once again wanted some bright, sunny lemony-ness in the snow-covered depths of winter.

Back to the dough--this dough was quite unlike anything I've ever made before; it was sort of half cake and half tart. It started with creaming sugar and butter together in the stand mixer.

Which, by the way, I was actually able to do. You see, I had the bright idea to buy a stand mixer on eBay because I'm too broke to pay the retail price. I not only managed to buy two stand mixers and thereby establish a self-imposed ban on eBay buying, I bought one without the paddle attachment because I thought that the dough hook and whisk would be just fine.

Not so. It turns out that the paddle attachment is way more useful than the dough hook. Remember how I bent the whisk this past Christmas? Well, when it came time to get my birthday present, Nick thoughtfully went to get me a new whisk. This, however, turned out to be a complicated endeavor, so he ended up with the paddle attachment. Little did he know that it was exactly what I needed, and I had been putting off buying one.

Not that you care, though.

So I creamed together the butter and sugar, added some vanilla and a bit of flour, and that was that.

The dough was wrapped up and put in the fridge for later assembly. Now it was time to make the lemon curd. This process involved mixing together eggs, sugar and lemon juice, then adding butter.

I've mentioned before that I like really tart lemon desserts, so I was perturbed by the lack of lemon zest. I know, I know--I've also said that I like to make recipes the way they're written the first time, and I've said that Thomas Keller is The Man, and I'll do whatever he tells me to do.

So I went looking for the microplane zester, but it was nowhere to be found. And I mean nowhere. I looked for that little bugger for a long time, but it was to no avail. I think that Thomas Keller is such a mad genius that he knew I was going to attempt just such a move, so he snuck into my house and stole my zester.

So I tried using the tiny little holes on the side of the box grater, and this is what happened:

The zest just got all stuck in those little holes. What are they for, anyway?

So no zest went in the curd. Mr. Keller, if I promise not to mess up any more of your recipes, can I have my zester back? I like it a lot. Thank you.

When the curd was finished, its top was covered with plastic wrap, and it, too, was set aside to await later assembly. Or at least most of it was. It was so delicious that I just could not help taking the occasional spoonful or three, partially because it was so deliciously tart. I'm sorry, Master Keller; I'll never doubt you again!!

I should also mention that when I woke up that afternoon, yes afternoon, I mixed together some flour, water, salt and yeast for Jim Lahey's ciabatta bread and let it sit there because that's all you have to do. On Valentine's day, the first thing I did was dump out the dough and push it around in order to get its second rise started.

In the meantime, I made the green pasta dough by blanching some spinach (I read the directions properly this time), and mixed the chopped leaves with the eggs.

This all went into a flour well, and the egginess was spun around until it was combined with the flouriness.


The resulting dough was then kneaded for 10 minutes. There are times when 10 minutes go by in the blink of an eye, but not so much when you're pushing some dough around. It really does take 10 minutes for the dough to achieve the proper texture, though, so no slacking here.

When I finally finished and the dough was resting, I made the pasta filling by mixing together the goat cheese and scallions, olive oil, Parmesan, eggs, salt, pepper, and a pinch of nutmeg. Oh great. I need the microplane zester for the nutmeg.

Can I please have it back, T.K.? The box grater sufficed for this task, though.

At some point the bread was baked, and it was then time to roll out the tart dough. Eeesh. It was super-dry and crumbly when I first made it, but I had been hoping that the rest in the fridge would alleviate this problem.

Not so much. I did manage, though, to roll it out into an almost-rectangular shape. It was then flipped over into a half sheet pan, and the bits that broke were kind of smooshed back over to the edges. Like I've said before, that's the good thing about tart-like desserts--when you mess up the dough, it's not noticeable in the final product.

The tart shell was baked until golden, cooled, the lemon curd was poured in, and the whole thing went into the freezer. Thomas Keller states that freezing the dessert provides the curd with a lovely texture, "Somewhat firm but amazingly creamy." I wouldn't really know because my last-minute butt had this in the freezer a little too late, but more on that later.

Now it was time to roll out the pasta dough.

Every time I make pasta, there is some point at which I become fearfully convinced that this time, it's just not going to work. Sometimes it's when I'm swirling the eggs into the flour. Sometimes it's when I'm kneading the dough, but this time it was when I was rolling it out.

Actually, when I make pasta there are times when I think that none of those steps are going to work, but the necessary alchemy does somehow transpire.

The pasta was cut into "squares" and filled. I say "squares" because it turns out that I lacked the ability to cut the dough into uniform shapes that even remotely resembled squares, and my ravioli were therefore of wildly different sizes and shapes. Whatever. They'll overcook in the same time.

That's right, I overcooked the pasta. It's the penguins' fault.

I was just about ready to pull the pasta out of the boiling water when this penguin picture fell Splat! right in. I suppose they missed their usual watery environment. When I yelled, "F*&$!" my Dad probably thought that I had wrought massive destruction in his kitchen. Not quite massive, but I am sorry about the picture.

By the time I had fished out the penguins and run in a couple circles, the pasta was overcooked, and it didn't help that it was then tossed in a warm olive butter sauce. Oh, well. It was still delicious enough for Hunter to state that he could eat it every night of the week. That's quite a review from the guy who claims not to like pasta.

"That's not pasta," he says. Okay.

I liked it, but goat cheese is one of those things that's difficult to eat after you've been smelling it for hours. More problematic for me was the fact that it got a bit grainy when cooked. It's probably my fault somehow, though, and it still tasted quite delicious.

The sausage were excellent, and the broccoli rabe was awesome. Broccoli rabe is another one of those supposedly simple things that I just can't ever seem to cook properly. I've tried big-pot blanching and steaming followed by sauteing, and I've ended up with water-logged florets, even after thorough draining. I've tried just straight-up sauteing both the whole spears and the spears in pieces, and I end up with textural issues both ways. This time, however, I was inspired by a recipe that instructs you to peel the stalks. I think it was from a Mario Batali recipe, although it's a very Frenchy thing to do.

I don't know if it was the peeling that did it, or if the trick was to understeam them, but the broccoli were perfect. Yay, me.

After dinner, it was time to assemble the lemon bars. Thomas Keller instructs you to loosen the edges by running a knife around the edges of the sheet pan, and to lift the whole thing out and transfer it to a platter. Yeah, right, I said. This whole thing is totally not coming out in one p...ummm...it totally did.

Okay! I'm sorry I doubted you! Again!

You're then supposed to cut the whole thing into squares, which you are to reassemble. I did this part, but I didn't cut off the crust edges like he told me to. Sorry! I really like crust and couldn't bear to part with it. I don't care if it's not pretty. I probably shouldn't have admitted to that, though, because I'm totally not getting that zester back now.

I had previously made meringue, which I had brought with me in a plastic container. The recipe states that ideally, the meringue is to be made right before serving the bars. I know that, but it just wasn't going to happen.

You know what else wasn't going to happen? Piping the meringue onto the reassembled bars in pretty little spirals.

I might have done that if I had been at home, but it was so not happening at someone else's house. What I did instead was make quenelles, and placed one or two on each of the bars. Good enough.

It was then time to brown them. T.K. says that you can skip this step it you must, but I decided not to be a slacker for once, so I broke out the torch. There's no need, by the way, to get a fancy $30 torch from some place like Williams-Sonoma. A $10 torch from the hardware store works just as well.

Okay, almost as well. My particular torch cannot be turned horizontally, or it extinguishes itself. No problem--just hold the food at an angle.

This is what Hunter thinks of the torch:

I had mentioned before that the lemon bars never had a chance to freeze all the way. Therefore, they sort of started oozing almost right away, and I didn't get a chance to experience what Keller describes as a "great" texture.

That's okay, though, because they were still delicious, and satisfyingly lemony in a way that kept me eating more and more of them. That's why I got Nick to take them to work the next morning--I didn't trust myself to be around them long enough to take them to work that night.

Nick's coworkers loved them, and one person even knew that they were made with Meyer lemons rather than regular lemons. These bars are another example of how contrasting textures create a dish that is just impossible to stop eating. In this case, the crisp shell filled with the oozy lemon curd and the fluffy meringue made a compulsively edible team.

I have to say, though, that I might prefer plain old lemon meringue pie, because the bars, while delicious, were just a bit too sweet for me. They weren't a pointless saccharine, though, as they were also rather rich, which helped support the sweetness.

Overall, I would have to say that this dinner was much better than a restaurant dinner would have been, and it was pressure-free. Who cares if what you cook for your family isn't perfect? They'll love you anyway, right?

Goat Cheese and Scallion Ravioli with Black Olive Butter

(From Molto Italiano)

Makes 6 servings

• 1 1/4 pounds green pasta dough
• 2 cups fresh soft goat cheese (about 1 pound)
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano
• 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• 6 scallions, thinly sliced
• Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
• Slat and freshly ground black pepper
• 6 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 tablespoons olive paste
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano

Divide the pasta dough into 4 pieces. Roll each piece through the thinnest setting on a pasta machine and lay the sheets on a lightly floured surface. Cut each sheet into 12 three-inch squares. Cover with a towel.


To make the filling, combine the goat cheese, Pecorino, olive oil, egg, scallions, nutmeg, and salt and pepper to taste in a large bowl and mix until well blended.


To assemble the ravioli, place 1 scant tablespoon filling in the center of each pasta square. Fold the two opposite corners together to form a triangular pillow, gently pressing out any air pockets, then press the edges together to seal; if the pasta is a little dry, moisten the edges with a little water to help them adhere. Transfer to a lightly floured work surface.


Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil in a large pot, and add 2 tablespoons salt.


Meanwhile, to make the sauce, combine the butter and olive oil paste in a 12-inch sauté pan and heat over medium heat, stirring, until the butter is just starting to bubble. Remove from the heat.


Gently drop the ravioli into the boiling water, reduce the heat to a low boil, stir to separate the ravioli, and cook until the pasta is tender, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from the water with a slotted spoon or a skimmer, draining well, and place in the pan with the sauce. Simmer for 1 minute over low heat. 


Transfer the ravioli to a warmed serving platter, sprinkle with the Pecorino, and serve immediately.

Mushroom Crostini, Bronzini with Olives, Pine Nut Pilaf, Sauted Broccoli Rabe

"Fish heads,

fish heads,

roly-poly fish heads..."

I can't believe it, but this was my first time cooking whole fish. Why? I don't know. Don't be afraid, people--it's actually far more difficult to screw up than a filet.

First, though, we had some mushroom crostini. I had some mushrooms leftover from the veal packets, and I had bought a baguette because my Dad insists that bread is a necessary part of a nice dinner, and we don't have it often enough. Especially when the meal involves any kind of sauce, he berates me for not providing bread. Just kidding! He doesn't berate me. He chides me. Kidding!

I also had a leftover leek from the night before, so it was sliced and suteed in a bit of olive oil. The mushrooms were then added, and when they were tender and brown, some creme fraiche and white wine were added. The mushrooms were spooned on top of some baguette slices and topped with minced chives.

Mario Batali's recipe calls for snapper, but the whole snapper at Whole Foods was a whopping 5 pounds. We certainly didn't need that much fish, and the smaller rainbow snapper did not look too impressively fresh. I usually have no qualms about substituting one fish for another if they're similar fish, and I figured that this was an Italian dish, and bronzino are a European fish that have long been very popular in Italy. They're becoming more well known (trendy) on our shores, and I have been wanting to try them.

I just looked them up to make sure they are what I thought they are, though, and I learned that they're being overfished, and there's talk about passing legislation to conserve them. Oops. My bad. Hopefully they were farm raised.

In order to cook our particular specimens of this dimishing species, Hunter and I first prepared the mis en place, which consisted of rinsed capers, diced olives, white wine, lemon zest, lemon juice, and sliced lemons. Holy crap that's a lot of lemons. That's why you should always read the whole recipe before attempting to make it, or even shop for it. Luckily, Whole Foods had Meyer lemons at a great price, so I had bought a lot of them.

This was also fortuitous because I tend to not like recipes that contain a lot (or sometimes even a little bit) of lemon. I almost always use less lemon than a recipe calls for because I find that a tiny bit can overwhelm an entire dish.

For example, I once made a pea and prosciutto risotto that called for something like a tablespoon of lemon zest. This sounded crazy to me, so I used less that a teaspoon. Unfortunately, even that amount overpowered that dish to the extent that I could taste almost nothing else.

So, like I said, the Meyer lemons really came in handy because Meyer lemons tend to be sweeter and less acidic than normal lemons. The sauce ended up having the perfect amount of lemon, which complimented the fish, olives and capers without competing with them. I'm not sure if I would have liked this without Meyer lemons, so if I make it again, it will certainly be when these sweet little lemons are in season.

After the mis en place was ready, the fish were scored on both sides, tossed in flour, and seasoned with salt and pepper.




I heated some oil in a saute pan until it was smoking, and added the fish.


This is the point where Hunter reminded me that once that stupid #$*% electric stove finally gets hot, it gets really hot. Well, you need high heat to pan-sear stuff, right? It's fine. So after the fish got a nice golden...whoops, I mean blackened sear, they were flipped over, the rest of the ingredients were added, and the whole thing went into a 450 degree oven for 10 minutes. Okay, Hunter. You can say, 'I told you so.' I'm getting used to hearing that.

While the fish was cooking, we made the rice pilaf by toasting some jasmine rice, adding too little water, and adding toasted pine nuts and diced chives when I thought it was finished.

I guess I learned the hard way that if you toast the rice first, you may need to add extra water. I should also know by now that if the rice looks done, I still need to taste it. At least I didn't burn the pine nuts, though.

I am a master when it comes to pine nut burning. No matter what toasting method I'm employing, I will manage to burn those nuts. And the worst part is that while they're browning, I'll start thinking to myself, 'Hmmm. What's that smell?' Finally when it starts to smell burnt and not just delicious, I remember the expensive pine nuts in the toaster oven, convection oven, or skillet. The last time I made pesto, after the third time that Nick heard "F***" come from the kitchen, he offered to toast the pine nuts for me.

So when I said aloud at my Dad's house, "What's that smell?" and then actually remembered that there were pine nuts in the toaster oven, I was so proud of myself. So the pine nuts were quite delicious with the fish, and almost made up for the fact that the rice was dry and I didn't use enough chives.

I had thought that a hearty green vegetable would be quite nice with the tart and salty flavors of the fish, so I chose broccoli rabe, also known as rapini. It seemed very Italian, and I rarely get to eat it because Nick doesn't like it. I just love how you can take the whole bunch, roughly chop it up, and throw it in a pot or skillet that has some lightly browned garlic and some olive oil in it. It then cooks with a minimum of observation or fussing required. At some point you can throw in some white wine, and finish it with some lemon juice.

Well, every bunch of broccoli rabe differs, and this one happened to be very bitter. I liked it but couldn't finish my portion, and Hunter didn't care for it. It was good the next day, though, and I might eat the last tiny bit of leftovers with some feta or goat cheese.

Nick and I make a pizza that's brushed with garlic oil, topped with caramelized onions and broccoli rabe, and finished with lemon and goat cheese. It's delicious, and all that broccoli rabe is just packed with vitamins A, C, and K, as well as potassium, calcium, and iron.

So I mentioned that the lemon, caper and olive sauce was nicely balanced and not too lemony, but how did the fish taste? Well, the flavor was delicious and the texture was incredibly moist. The fish was flaky but a bit firm at the same time. This may be thanks to the fact that it was cooked whole, as the cartilaginous bones purportedly kind of melt into the flesh a bit, and the resulting gelatin contributes to the texture of fish cooked in this manner.

And remember that I mentioned that it's a lot harder to mess up a whole fish than a filet? It's true! The charred bits on the bronzino tasted okay, and the texture didn't suffer. Had I cooked a filet so indelicately, though, it would have been a mess.

While the bones were in some ways advantageous, they were some tricky little buggers. It seems that Bronzino are some bony, bony fish, and the more wicked of those bones tend to come loose from the spine. It is therefore not what I would call 'date food,' as you end up picking stuff out of your mouth and putting it on the edge of your plate.

Worse, though, was the fact that I was experiencing recurring visions of one of my family members choking with horrendous and catastrophic results. I was sitting there imagining how I would feel guilty for the rest of my life, and I may never be able to cook anything ever again. A bit melodramatic, perhaps, but these bones were kind of scary.


Luckily, though, no one even came close to having one of those wickedly curved rib bones stuck in their throats or digestive tracts. When the edible parts of the fish had been decimated, Hunter and I turned our attention to the fish's eyeballs. I tried to convince Hunter that many cultures consider the eyes a delicacy, and he should therefore try one. I believe that this is actually true, but it's a lot like the days when I would get Hunter to eat the mud pies that we made in the garden. Sorry about that, bro.



I like how the vitreous humor is leaking out of this one.

No go. Hunter will attempt to eat anything, as long as it's raw. This has at times had very amusing results, but the cooked fish eyeballs were not happening. We did eat the cheeks because these are in many cultures truly considered the best part of the fish, but our little fishies were a bit to small to really get a sense of the taste or texture of the cheeks.

I have some lemons left over, so I believe I'll make a lemon tart, and make some candied lemon peels with the leavings. Meyer lemons actually have edible skins, so they might make some particularly nice candied peels. Or they might just fall apart. We'll see.

Mushroom Crostini

• A baguette, cut on a bias into 1/2 inch thick slices
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 leek, rinsed well and white and light green parts thinly sliced crosswise
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 8 ounces mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
• 1/4 cup dry white wine
• 2 tablespoons creme fraiche or heavy cream
• 3 tablespoons chopped fresh chives

In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat until it shimmers. Add the leek and a pinch of salt and sauté until tender, about 6 minutes. Add the mushrooms and increase the heat to medium-high. The mushrooms will become tender and release their juices. Add a bit of salt. Cook the mushrooms longer, and the juices begin to evaporate and the mushrooms turn golden brown, which is the desired stage of doneness; this will take about 8-13 minutes.

Increase the heat to high and add the white wine. Simmer until evaporated. Remove from the heat and stir in the creme fraiche or heavy cream. Season to taste with freshly ground black pepper, and more salt if necessary.

Top each of the crostini slices with about 2 tablespoons of the mushroom mixture. Garnish with chives and serve.

Bronzini with Olives

(Adapted from Molto Italiano)

• 3 one-pound whole bronzini
• Flour for dredging
• 6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 cup calamata olives, pitted and coarsely chopped
• 3 tablespoons capers, rinsed
• 5 Meyer lemons, zested and segmented
• Juice of 3 lemons
• 1 cup dry white wine
• About 1/4 cup best-quality extra-virgin olive oil
• 1/4 cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
• Coarse sea salt

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
With a sharp knife, score the bronzini twice on each side.  Dredge the fish in the flour and shake off any excess. In a 14-inch oven-proof sauté pan or a flameproof roasting pan, heat the 6 tablespoons olive oil over medium-high heat until just smoking.

Place the fish in the pan and cook until golden brown on the first side. Carefully turn the fish and add the olives, capers, lemon zest, lemon segments, juice, and wine. Place the pan in the oven and roast for about 10 minutes, until the fish is just cooked through. Allow the fish to rest for 5 minutes.

If you like, you can fillet each fish, or serve them while. Drizzle each serving with the pan juices and a couple tablespoons of the excellent olive oil. Sprinkle with parsley and salt and serve.