Winter Salads

At this time of year, in order to keep myself sane, I need to work to find things that I like about winter. Some of those things are fires on cold nights, citrus, skiing, and winter salads. In fact, I might like winter salads better than summer salads, and it's really a relief that something is better in the winter than in the summer. I would say that the lack of bugs is another thing that's better in the winter, but there are currently stinkbugs in my house, so that one no longer applies.

Call me crazy, but winter salads tend to have a crunch, a bitterness, and a heartiness that's missing in the more delicate (dare I say wimpier) summer salads. I find them more interesting than salads made from wilty little green leaves because they have so much more character and personality. They're not always easy to get along with, but it's worth making the effort. 

After the holidays I really need to take a break from cookies and creamy things, and these flavor-packed salads get me wanting to eat salads, as opposed to eating them because I think I should because I'm a fatty. I recommend that you give these salads a try--their peppery bite just might add some needed brightness to your gray days. They work for me.

Radicchio Salad with Green Olives

(By Molly Watson of The Dinner Files)

Serves 2-4 

• 1 head radicchio
• 18 green olives
• 1 teeny glove garlic
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice or sherry vinegar
• A pinch of sugar
• Salt to taste
• Freshly ground black pepper to taste
• Freshly grated Parmesan for garnish (optional)

Trim radicchio and cut or tear into bite-size pieces, and place in a large bowl. Mince the olives and garlic into a paste and mix with the lemon juice or vinegar, and the sugar, salt, and pepper. (I actually do all of this in a little food processor, and I don't add pepper because radicchio leaves are so peppery.)

Toss the radicchio with the dressing, and divide amongst the serving bowls. Top with Parmesan if you like. (I actually find that it's not necessary.)

Endive Salad with Walnuts

(By Molly Watson, of The Dinner Files)

Makes 4-6 Servings

• 4 heads Belgian endive
• 1/2 cup chopped walnuts
• 3 tablespoons walnut oil
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice, cider vinegar, or white vinegar
• 1 teaspoon whole grain mustard
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• Salt and pepper to taste

Toast the walnuts in a toaster oven or a 350 degree oven. Trim the ends of the endives, and chop or slice them into bite-sized pieces.

In a large bowl, whisk together the oil, lemon juice or vinegar, and the mustards. Add salt and pepper to taste (I actually find that pepper is not necessary.) Add the endives and toss until thoroughly coated. Divide the salad into serving bowls and top with the toasted walnuts.

Skirt Steak with Rosemary, Artichoke-Potato Hash, Black Olive Aioli, Cupcakes

I've been traumatized by mayonnaise. Suzanne, why did you tell me to make an aioli by hand? I'll never do such a foolish thing ever again.
This is me mixing. And mixing. And mixing.




I had been nervous about this undertaking to begin with, because I knew that if you try to make mayonnaise and add the oil more than a drop at a time, it will break and all that mixing will have been for naught.

So I made a little setup that would enable me to mix with one hand and drip with the other.



'What's that for?' Nick asked.
Duh.
It's an egg.
In a nest.
No, really, the egg is for the mayo, and the towels are for my no-bowl-spinning setup.

So I dripped, I mixed, I dripped, I mixed...it broke. Aaaaagh! My arm felt like it was going to fall off, and it was all for nothing. Better yet, Nick, who hates mayonnaise felt bad for my arms and helped me out. He felt sullied, and it was for no good reason.



We tried to fix the broken mayonnaise by adding more egg yolks, and it didn't work. Okay, we said, let's take a break from this and get started on those artichokes, because they're really confusing.

What do you mean there are no baby artichokes in the fridge? You're kidding, right? Oh, cool--the checkout person at the grocery store was so mightily confused by the fact that I brought my own bag that the artichokes ended up staying in the plastic bag that I asked not to use.

Okay, mayonnaise, I'm going to the store, and I'll deal with you later, buddy.
Okay, Nick, I'm back from the store with the expensive baby artichokes. What did you say? They're moldy? That totally rocks.

Sigh. While Nick dealt with the non-moldy artichokes of the bunch, I consulted Julia because I seemed to remember her having a lot to say about the making of mayonnaise.

She sure did, and it sure saved my butt.

She even made me feel better, in a way: "Mayonnaise done by hand or with an electric beater requires familiarity with egg yolks." Well, I'm apparently not familiar with the egg yolk, but she makes it sound like it's not the end of the world, although she does say that, "You should be able to make it by hand as part of your general mastery of the egg yolk." I'll just have to master you another day, you little golden orb.


She then goes on to tell us mere mortals how to make mayonnaise in a food processor. By the time I had a thick, creamy mayonnaise, my head hurt from the noise of the machine and my arm still felt like it was going to fall off due to all the slow pouring, but it was about a billion times easier than that hand-mixing junk, and I had produced a perfect mayonnaise.




The baby food processor was broken out and used to make a puree of garlic and olives, which was stirred into the now-perfect mayonnaise. Suzanne Goin tells you to make the olive garlic puree with a mortal and pestle, but I was not about to be tricked by her hand-made methods twice in one night.

You may be wondering why I went to so much trouble for a sauce that only I would be eating, as Nick hates it. That's a good question, really, and the answer is that it has been on my culinary to-do list, and Suzanne Goin makes it sound delicious: " Though mayonnaise might sound strange as an accompaniment for steak, the aioli melts into a creamy sauce, leaving behind a trail of olives." Great.

Why was it on my to-do list? Because everyone says that homemade mayonnaise is easy (pshhhhhh) and it's a million times better than Hellmann's. Therefore, I felt that, like a souffle, it's something that everyone who likes to cook should attempt at least once or twice.



So I mentioned that the mayo was a sauce for some steak. That steak was skirt steak, marinated with chiles de arbol, pepper, fresh rosemary, and fresh thyme.







Yukon Gold potatoes were tossed with salt, olive oil, garlic cloves and thyme, and were roasted in a covered pan until tender. When they were cool enough to handle, they were broken into pieces, and the roasted garlic cloves were slipped out of their skins.






In the meantime, the baby artichokes that Nick had so valiantly broken down were pan-seared. I mentioned that the artichokes confused us, which may seem silly to some people. However, we on the East Coast do not eat as many artichokes as West Coasters, and the two of us had never cooked with them before. When you've never dealt with these spiny little buggers, they're rather confusing--what do you cut off/out, what do you leave?




When the artichokes were golden, they were set aside and the potato chunks were seared. The roasted garlic was added, along with some shallots, the artichokes, some more thyme, salt, pepper, and parsley.



This 'hash' was plated with the steak that had been grilled and sliced against the grain, and the mayo was dotted on top of mine.


The mayonnaise was supposed to be thinned out so that it could be drizzled, but I felt that if I thinned out the mayo, I wouldn't be able to use it for anything else, and it would go to waste.




Because the mayonnaise was left a normal, non-aioli-like consistency, I was able to eat it on a roast chicken sandwich the next day, and it was delicious.


Again, the sauce added a perfect something to the dish in a somewhat unexpected way. That's part of why I wanted so badly to make this mayonnaise--I thought Suzanne Goin had something up her sleeve. The potatoes were delicious, and the steak was yummy.

As far as skirt steak, though, I think I prefer our normal preparation--for carne asada, we rub skirt steak with salt and a huge amount of garlic and grill it. We then eat it on tortillas with roasted poblanos and various other fixings. Skirt steak prepared that way is tender and juicy, and it lets the flavor of the steak shine through. This way was nice, but not really worth the extra effort.

I'll leave you with some pictures of St. Patrick's Day cupcake carnage.


The icing is from Cook's Country, which is published by the people who make Cook's Illustrated.
It's so simple that it's become our go-to 'Oops I forgot that I told people that I would make them cupcakes' recipe.

Start by creaming 3 sticks of room temperature butter until they're light and fluffy. Turn the mixer down to low and gradually add 3 cups of powdered sugar. Increase the mixer speed to high and beat until light and fluffy.




Turn the mixer down to medium-low and add a couple tablespoons of milk, a couple teaspoons of vanilla extract, and a pinch of salt. When incorporated, again increase the mixer speed to high and beat until the icing is light and fluffy. Add coloring if desired.


Don't do like I did and let the icing get too soft before piping it onto the cupcakes. That's how I ended up with those rivulets down the side.



Pretend you're not eating pure butter and sugar, and enjoy!

Skirt Steak with Rosemary, Artichoke-Potato Hash, and Black Olive Aioli

• 2 pounds skirt steak
• 3 chiles de arbol, thinly sliced
• 2 teaspoons cracked black pepper
• 1 tablespoon rosemary leaves
• 1 tablespoon thyme leaves, plus 4 thyme sprigs
• 1 1/4 pound Yukon Gold potatoes
• 1 1/4 cup to 1 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
• 1 bay leaf
• 12 baby artichokes
• 2/3 cup sliced shallots
• 2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
• 1 bunch arugula, cleaned
• Black olive aioli (recipe below)
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Trim the skirt steak of excess fat and sinew, if any. Season the skirt steak with the sliced chiles, cracked black pepper, rosemary, and thyme leaves. Cover and refrigerate at least 4 hours or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
Toss the potatoes with 2 tablespoons olive oil, the garlic cloves, thyme sprigs, bay leaf, and 1 teaspoon salt. Place in a roasting pan and roast about 45 minutes, until tender when pierced. (Depending on the size, age, and variety of the potatoes, cooking time will vary.)

While the potatoes are roasting, prepare the artichokes. Cut off the top third of the artichokes, and remove the tough outer leaves, down to the pale yellow-green leaves. Using a paring knife, trim the bottom of the stem and the stalks. Cut each artichoke in half and remove the fuzzy choke if there is one. (If you clean the artichokes ahead of time, immerse them in a bowl of cold  water with the juice of one lemon added, to prevent them from turning brown. Be sure to drain and dry them well before cooking.)

Heat a large saute pan over high heat for a minute. Pour 1/4 cup olive oil into the pan, and wait until it shimmers. Add the artichokes, and season with 1 teaspoon thyme, 1 teaspoon salt, and a pinch of pepper. Turn the heat to medium, and saute about 10 minutes, tossing often, until the artichokes are golden brown.

When the potatoes have cooled, crumble them into chunky pieces. Squeeze the roasted garlic out of its skins and set aside.

Wipe out the artichoke pan and return it to the stove over high heat for about a minute. (To get the potatoes nice and brown and crisp, do not overcrowd them. You might need to use 2 pans.) Swirl in the remaining 1/4 cup olive oil and wait a minute.

Add the crumbled potatoes, and season with the remaining 2 teaspoons thyme, 1 teaspoon salt, and freshly ground black pepper. Cook until the potatoes are crispy on one side. (Don't try to move them or turn them if they are stuck to the pan; they will eventually release themselves, just be patient.) After about 8 minutes, when they're browned nicely on the first side, turn the potatoes in the oil, letting them color on all sides.

When the potatoes are golden brown, turn the heat down to medium and add the shallots, artichokes, and roasted garlic. Toss well, and sauté the hash together 6 to 8 minutes, until the artichokes are hot and the shallots are translucent. Toss in the chopped parsley just before serving.

An hour before serving, remove the steak from the fridge. Light the grill 30 to 40 minutes (for charcoal) and 10 to 15 minutes (for gas) before serving.

When the coals are broken down, red and glowing (or when the gas grill is hot), season the steak generously with salt, and brush it lightly with olive oil. Place the meat on the hottest part of the grill, to get a sear on the outside. Cook about 2 minutes, turn the meat a quarter turn, and cook another minute. Turn the meat over, and move it to a cooler spot on the grill. Cook another minute or two for medium-rare. Rest the steak on a wire rack set over a baking sheet for a few minutes.

Arrange the artichoke-potato hash on a large warm platter, and scatter the arugula leaves over the top. Slice the steak against the grain, and lay the slices over the potatoes and artichokes. Spoon some of the black olive aioli over the meat, and pass the rest at the table.

Black Olive Aioli

(Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

• One large egg and two yolks
• 1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• A tablespoon lemon juice or wine vinegar
• 2 cups of canola or olive oil
• 1/4 cup pitted black oil-cured olives
• Freshly ground black pepper

Process the egg and the yolk for 1 minute. With the machine running, add the mustard, salt, and 1 teaspoon of lemon juice or vinegar.

With the machine still running, start adding the oil in a stream of droplets, continuing until you have used half the oil and the sauce is very thick--do not stop processing until the sauce has thickened. Thin out with lemon juice or vinegar, then continue with the oil.

Stir in the olives and taste for more seasoning. Add more salt and lemon juice and vinegar, if necessary. Add pepper to taste.

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.