Sassy Radish

Make. This. Pie. Now. Honestly, I don't know much else to say about it except just tell you to drop whatever you are doing and just make it this weekend. For the 4th of July weekend. You know, an American pie for an American holiday. I know (yawn) how Patriotic and assimilated of me! But honestly, no one loves a holiday centered around picnics, barbecues and cookouts more than me. I swear, I live for these things!

I know that the saying goes "as American as apple pie", but in the summertime, no one wants to bake with apples when there's so much other in-season fruit around. Cherry pie, blueberry pie both seem to come to mind more readily than apple pie does, especially this time of year. Berries shine in summer pies - while apples are better suited for fall baking.

If berries aren't your bag, or if, like me, you're always conflicted as to whether you want to eat the berries as they are, or cook with them, consider peaches. I can't think of a scent more evocative of summer than that of ripe peaches filling the room. Beautiful, ripe, fragrant, full of sun and hot, sticky summer air, peaches often deliver their finest arias after being cooked. rather than on their own. Though, never underestimate that first bite into a ripe peach, its juice running down your arm. Baking peaches gives them a lovely, sunny, caramel sweetness.

When I made this pie, I followed most of the instructions, but of course, couldn't resist adding a little bourbon to the caramel. I was going about my business, making the pie, when I heard the bourbon in my cupboard call out to me, whispering sweet, seductive nothings into my ear. And when there's an opportunity to add bourbon (hee-hee, ha-ha!), I am unable to resist. I file this behind the I-know-a-good-thing-when-I-see-it tab. And bourbon, like Martha would say, is a good thing, indeed.

I bet many of you have holiday plans this weekend and are going to picnics, barbecues, cookouts. I bet you might even have to bring a dish with you. Why not this one? True, you have to make pie dough ahead of time. But really, the whole thing comes together rather quickly especially if you skip the blanching process, which I did, because I was ridiculously short on time and pulled the pie together in under an hour (that's with crust being made the day ahead - which, by the way, took like 15 minutes!)

It's funny how with some dishes, I'll have a story for you and with this one I am so excited about this pie, that's pretty much all that's coming to mind. I think you should make this and I know you will love it. Except that I know how many of you feel about making your own crust. I get more questions about crusts and anxiety about making them, than perhaps any other cooking insecurity. And I am far from being an expert.

Believe me, I know where you are coming from. Until this very pie, I was in the same boat, afraid of making my own crust, nervous about how it'll turn out. I finally figured it out and I'll share what I've learned with you. But my very first pie crust was a serious fail. A historic, memorable, go-down-in-history-to-scar-you fail. It gave me crust anxiety for years to come. Of course, it doesn't help that I chose to make my first crust on the hottest, most humid day of the summer. And you know - pie crusts and humidity are mortal enemies. Crusts like to be cold and summers like to be hot and muggy. And with all this abundant, ripe, beautiful fruit in the summer, we have a conundrum. We want a beautiful, flaky, buttery crust - and it absolutely refuses to cooperate? Happen to anyone lately?

My very first pie crust, was an abomination. It tore, refused to roll out and just about melted in my hands. It didn't help that I was a nervous wreck around it and didn't work quickly enough. Crusts are like dogs - they smell fear and my crust, sensing I was petrified, showed me who's boss. The whole thing still is traumatic enough to make me shudder. But please just trust me when I say this - a beautiful, delicious, flaky, homemade pie crust is well within your reach. If you want to give it a go - you can absolutely do it! Here are a few pointers that I hope should help to guide you along.

I also think that Deb over at Smitten Kitchen has an indispensable primer on pie crusts - definitely check it out!

So here are my few thoughts on what can make your pie-crust-making life a lot less painful. Hope this helps.

Cold butter
First of all, this might sound silly, but as soon as you cube your butter, please shove it back in the freezer and give it a few minutes' sitting time. While you dump all the other ingredients into the food processor (does the job that much faster - hence keeping it all colder!) - your butter gets a little colder after you touched with your warm hands.

Not overworking dough
Until I saw the picture of what the dough should look like, I had no idea what coarse meal really meant. I've included a few pictures for you, including how it looks before and after being pinched - so you can do your own ready-test.

Chill whatever equipment you can
I chilled my rolling pin in the freezer. Every little bit helps, you see.

Rolling Dough Out - keep it quick
Finally, I figure out how to roll out the dough. Short, purposeful movements from the center to mid-point of your disk (never to the end) as you flatten the dough. Continue to dust with flour to prevent sticking.

I hope this helps and I hope you all have amazing holiday weekends full of delicious food, fabulous parties and lots and lots of sun! Happy 4th of July!

It should by now not strike me as unusual that things we barely paid attention to in Russia are considered a delicacy in America. Sorrel leaves were the cheapest greens at the market. Chanterelles were considered pedestrian, no matter how delicious. Gooseberries were easily the cheapest berries you could find - and in the US they're quite a treat. And then of course there were stinging nettles. They grew everywhere, much like weeds. Around apartment buildings, in ravines, in nearby fields. In fact, as a child, I was often covered in an itchy rash from stinging nettles. From time to time, my grandmother would go out and with a towel, pick a bunch of nettles and make them into a soup. In fact, stinging nettles was something you ate to pinch pennies, it was one of those things - delicious, yet somehow indicative of poverty. I didn't really think about it much while I was young, but I remembered stinging nettles after we arrived to the US and couldn't find any in the store or at farmers' markets.

I suppose stinging nettles have become somewhat en vogue recently because I've been seeing them on menus and at green markets everywhere. Maybe it's always been so and I haven't been noticing, but it seems to me like suddenly, stinging nettles went from being the girl no one wanted to take to the dance to the girl pronounced them homecoming queen. Humble, unapproachable, homely stinging nettles - suddenly glamorous!

I would have shared this dish with you sooner, but I thought the stinging nettles season was over and so this dish was going to go into my computer's oubliette for a few seasons. But I heard through the bloggy-grapevine that stinging nettles were still abundant at least in Union Square market and so wanted to share this recipe with you as soon as possible.

I had a version of this dish at one of my favorite restaurants, Hundred Acres, on the first night of Passover of all nights. And guess what - it was in a pasta dish (I can see my parents shuddering as they read this bit) as pasta is probably the most anti-Passover food out there. But I was sad that night, because I couldn't go home for the holiday, meanwhile my dad was sick, my grandmother - deteriorating. And here I was, feeling mopey on the eve of a family holiday, without family in the city to celebrate. Friends who know me well know that I rarely feel homesick, but on that night, I felt very lonely in a city where I feel very much at home. And to cheer myself up, I decided to take myself out to a nice dinner. I just happened to be walking past Hundred Acres - clearly I was meant to dine there that night.

Its simplicity and comfort of this pasta dish struck me as exactly what I needed that night. Even though it was as far away from a Passover-appropriate meal, I didn't care. Passover is a tale of exodus, and a people's search for home. And I, quite desperately, needed to feel a sense of home that night, at whatever cost. I wanted simple, hearty, homey - and this pasta offered it all. Not to mention as soon as I saw stinging nettles, my decision was even easier.

The next opportunity I had, I bought stinging nettles at Union Square market and tried to recreate this simple, yet amazing dish at home. And wanted to share it with you. Because to me, this pasta brought a little piece of home, in so many ways: the comfort and weight of fresh semolina pasta, the childhood stinging nettles, fragrant coating of olive oil, a sharp bite of grana padano. What I realized that night is that a delicacy need not be a fancy thing - it is the thing that makes you feel indulgent and wrapped in comfort, be it a common food or a fancy one.

Ok, so I felt kind of bad on Thursday throwing a salad your way as we were about get served with some serious rain, and by we, I mean those of us in New York and whoever else is dealing with less than June-like weather. A few of you wrote comments about bad weather elsewhere and my sunny thoughts go out to you. For the last few days I felt like I threw something totally ill-timed your way. Suggesting something you clearly cannot enjoy right away, it really isn't fair, now is it?

Since we're on the subject of not fair, what also isn't fair is that for my birthday, which was nearly two months ago, I bought a stunning dress. A dress that made me look past the ridiculous price tag as it whispered sweet nothings into my ear. Oh it was something all right - pretty in an effortless sort of way, which is, as you know, the best kind out there. It was white with beautiful light and dark blue stripes. And I couldn't wait to wear it. But some sad family news spoiled my party mood so I canceled it, and then, coupled with my grandmother's passing and now the stress fractures from running, the dress' outing has been delayed indefinitely (much like my posting of certain recipes!) and now the dress hangs wistfully in my closet awaiting the day when I wear something other than running shoes on my feet. Because you know, party dresses and running shoes are so hot right now.

So, I am posting something I should have posted over a month ago, but as things go around here, I'm very easily distracted. I see a shiny new recipe and whoosh - there goes my attention. Which means, that I hide these recipes from you much longer than I need to. And so I'm sorry, I'm trying to change my ways and do better. And I'm trying to turn our unfair rainy situation around for our own benefit.

I bet there's not a reader out there who's not made banana bread. In fact, it's one of those things that people start out baking. It's so ubiquitous and sits in every cook's repertoire, like a little black dress. These quick breads are easy, you need two bowls to mix it and in minutes you have batter. What makes this perfect right about now is that it's the perfect thing to bake when the weather is not cooperating. In fact, I think it's the perfect rainy day thing to bake.

Banana bread fills your house with a smell that can only be described as heavenly. I could eat the whole loaf in one sitting, but we're not going to get into that here. That's between me and some elastic waist pants. What I want to tell you though is how I managed to make something kind of everyday and pedestrian, albeit comforting, into something rather sophisticated and dare I say, sexy?

I've written about adding bourbon to my banana bread before, so that's nothing new. And I've done the cranberry bit, so that's old too. But I raised it up a notch this time around using maple sugar in place of regular white sugar, and that my friends, flipped my banana bread-baking world upside down. Because the hints of caramel and that earthy aftertaste you have with maple syrup shows up in this banana bread. I can't quite sum up what maple sugar does to the banana bread, but trust me - it is good. So good, in fact, that I can't quite put it into words. I can say this much, while it won't bring back the sunshine and it won't make everything better, it might make you appreciate staying in and baking, filling your house with a comforting smell. And afterward, you can sit back on your couch, a cup of tea at your side, a slice of banana bread on your plate while rain pours outside. And you know something crazy - you might not even mind it that much.

You know, I've a bone to pick with June. A huge, larger-than-life-we're -no-longer-BFFs-please-take-your-rainy-self-somewhere-else bone. Or maybe even many bones. Why just one? And it's not just the rain. They say April is the cruelest month? I think Chaucer should have witnessed June 2009. You see, on top of this weather, which would be enough to gripe about, I've sustained multiple stress fractures in not one, but two of my toes from running. That's right - I'm an overachiever even when it comes to fractures. And so in the last week and a half, I've been limping and ambling and being generally quite annoyed with my left foot. And the bones in it. Hence lots of bones to pick with June. Get it? Bones? Fractures? Anyone? Anyone? [Deafening silence befalls.]

I know, I have a horrible sense of humor. It's always been on the corny side. But back to griping about the weather. Depending on where you live on this beautiful planet of ours, you may be enjoying some sunshine and warmth. Which, of course, if you live anywhere close to New York, hasn't really been happening because, we're about to get another nine days of rain? As if June hasn't been rainy enough already, this weather is to continue instead of taking a hint (ahem, no one wants you here, rainy weather).

To be honest with you, I suspect this is somewhat my fault. You see, every time I've attempted to put away winter clothes and hang my summer ones, the weather would take a turn for the worse. We'd get clouds, rain and wind and it would get cold for days. Well, this time is no different. New Yorkers, just look outside - do you see what I see? I mean, really, can't we just wear flannel pajamas to the office and walk around in slippers and mugs of hot chocolate?

Hot chocolate? In June? I must be crazy. What's crazier is that I'm about to recommend you a salad. The last thing on your mind, if you live anywhere in the Northeast corridor, is a salad. A soup, a stew, something warm and comforting, perhaps, but a salad sounds positively inappropriate.

After all, salads are for hot days, when it's muggy and oppressive and you need something crunchy and refreshing to cool you down. Something so delightfully uplifting that you forget the heat's intensity and sink back in your outdoor chair with an aaaahhh.

But, this is what I have for you, as I've promised to write up this recipe weeks ago and that lovely friend is patiently waiting and not sending me reminder emails - something I surely would have done by now. And though I doubt that this broccoli slaw is something on her mind right now, I'm sure that when the weather improves (which will be someday, we hope), she'll make it for dinner or lunch or maybe even a picnic with friends. Because this, my friends, will become my go-to salad this summer. I'm officially in love with this salad and I think you will be too.

I spied it at Kitchn originally and had it bookmarked on my computer for what seems like ages. And then I saw it over at Smitten Kitchen and it was Deb's dressing that totally won me over and just like that, hours later, the salad was in the bowl, the dressing was drizzled over and the book club ladies finished the whole mess of it in one fell swoop.

I tweaked the recipe at bit in that I added an apple and some mint to give it a little more dimension. The mint just does the trick, I think. Think of lemonade and then of mint lemonade and you get the idea. And once weather returns to normal summer temperatures, I'll be sure to make it again and again. For the time being however, I'll stick with something warm and comforting like hot chocolate perhaps. And maybe a thick woolen sweater. In June.

As much as I enjoy making extravagant three-tiered cakes, despite the fact that they've given me some of the most stressful moments of my life, you can't just up and make a layer cake at the drop of a hat. There's frosting involved and a crumb coat and the whole general waiting time. With layer cakes, you must plan in advance and particularly if your schedule is as busy as mine is, you'll have to carefully plan ahead when you will bake the cake, when you will make the frosting, and so on, so that you can run errands in between and not sit in your apartment waiting for the next step. I learned that with my first layer cake - call it a lesson learned.

So even though I don't have an option of always having cake on hand (this is for my own good as much as being busy at work) I'm also one of those people who enjoys to have something homebaked at the drop of a hat especially when friends drop by unexpectedly. Or on occasions when you're making a book club dinner during weeknight for a group of young ladies with discriminating palates.

So when life throws you lemons, you make lemonade, naturally. And if life prohibits you from spending your mornings and afternoons fussing over a layer cake complete with piped frosting, there are some simple quick cakes that are well within your reach and can be made in under an hour using a maximum of two bowls. Edna Lewis referred to these cakes as "busy-day cakes", and while the name suggests just messily throwing ingredients together, there is nothing harried about these cakes at all. In fact, for me, they evoke a kind of Southern tranquility and calm. The kind where you sit in a rocking chair sipping lemonade and eating cake. Easy to make yes, but you'd never think these were sort of thrown together. They're lovely and delicate and kind of decadent in their own way.

I made this cake for the book club ladies and this is another one that will have to be made again and again. For picnics, and hostess gifts, for potluck suppers, for random last-moment get-togethers. And have I told you how much I love baking with buttermilk? It makes cakes lighter and more delicate. And since I am a fan of adding some tart to my sweet, berries make a great addition. Here I used raspberries, but blueberries or strawberries would have been equally lovely.

Lastly, one of the most winning traits of such cakes, for me personally, is that they're not overly sweet, and can be eaten either as dessert or as coffee cake the next morning. Their simplicity is the kind of honest, low-maintenance appeal that I love about busy night meals, when you still take the time to cook a proper supper, but manage to strike a balance between homemade and practical. As all of us with office jobs know, cooking on a weeknight can appear to be an insurmountable challenge. And the lovely thing is that - it doesn't have to be. Here's proof!

Let me clear here - I have never, not for a minute, in my life, planned any aspect of my future wedding, should I find that perfect guy and tie the knot. I know there are women who've been planning that day from the time when they were five and I think that's lovely and wonderful. It's just that I never did that. What I did do, as a child, was draw elaborate and to-scale plans of my dream kitchen. But then again, I was always hanging around kitchens, watching my mother and my grandmother cook - trying to get some small job, however, minuscule it was. There was this one time, my mother gave me scraps of dough and I tried to mold a little person out of it with raisins for eyes and a cinnamon mouth. I was doing well, until I decided to put a peppercorn for the nose, and was so insistent upon it that nothing my mother said made a difference. Eating it, of course, was a different matter altogether - and while certainly a curious flavor combination, six year olds rarely appreciate peppercorns in their baked goods.

In any case, I was never the girl who thought of the dress I'd wear to the wedding, and what the first dance song would be, or whom I'd have in my bridal party. As a child, I simply didn't care. As an adult, I figured I'll get to it when I really had to. But what I did think about (ok, so I guess I did think about it, I lied) was what I was going to feed people. And whenI did think about feeding my guests, I thought the most about cake. What kind of cake, what flavor and look. For awhile I wanted a pyramid of Krispy Kreme doughnuts - an idea my mother showed little enthusiasm for. Then there was the obsession with wedding cupcakes. Which I still think is cute. But ultimately, I wanted to feed people cake. Good cake at that.

People, I must say that I love cake. Cake is one of those things I just don't turn down. Ever. I don't care that refined sugar is bad for me, I'm going to eat cake if it's put in front of me. And if you give me a cold glass of milk to chase it down, I'm your friend forever. But despite my deep cake love, I sure am picky - I eat most cake and I'm left, well, not totally fulfilled. Either I find there is too much frosting (yes, there is such a thing), or it's overly sweet, or the cake feels too dense, or that pesky baking soda taste dominates (by far my biggest gripe!). But sometimes, you find a cake that is just right, perfect in fact, and you wind up making it not once but twice in one week.

It's the kind of cake you make to take with you as a hostess gift for your hosts in the North Fork, or the kind of cake you make for a friend who comes over to dinner. The kind of cake, that after you send said friend home to bring a piece to her sister, makes her sister proclaim each time friend returns from my place back, "Well, do you have some cake for me?" The kind of cake that wins, hearts, minds and stomachs.

And the kind of cake that makes you decide upon tasting it, that this is the cake you want to serve your guests at your future wedding, the way the original cake creator, Molly, did. All you've got to do now, is find the lucky guy - but clearly your biggest dilemmas are already solved. This guy part is just a technicality.

I was going to write about roast chicken. I had it all planned and figured out. I was going to tell you of a glorious weekend on the North Fork, and wine tasting, and meeting Claudia Fleming (swoon). But all this must wait. Because I have to tell you about the chicken I made Monday night for our monthly book club. We ate it up and licked our fingers. Well, I licked my fingers, and I think the other ladies in the book club were better behaved.

It's not often that I find a recipe I like so much that I am thinking about it non-stop and so much so that I would be willing to serve it to my guests again. I'm quite fanatical about not repeating dishes as I try to always cook something new and different and thus maybe have something new to write about, but in this case, really, this will be made over and over and over again.

Particularly for dinner parties and more particularly for those dinner parties hosted on a weeknight, when I have roughly an hour and a half to pull dinner together. Because what comes out of your oven is, well, nothing short of stunning. I would even dare say, celestial. I know, I use superlative language here, but if you know me, and I think by now you do, I'm not prone to descriptions that don't live up to expectation. I'm all about meeting those expectations, folks.

And they will be met. Because a slurry of garlic, ginger, apricot jam, soy sauce and the recently written about Sriracha - does something to the chicken that makes it somewhat irresistible. You know it the second you take it out of the oven and smell it that you will be licking your fingers. And the plate, and whatever is left of the sauce. And when your guests go to get seconds and praise your cooking prowess, you might be tempted to tell you that the whole thing took mere minutes to put together. But you won't. Because you'll be too busy licking the sauce off your fingers to talk.

You must forgive my long silences because when it rains, it pours. I've been pre-occupied with more family things, this time around concerning my grandmother who is, sadly, is no longer with us. She was someone whose life deserves a special mention and more thought, which will be forthcoming, but for now I'll say this - I'm extremely lucky to have gotten to know her so well in my thirty one years. She made an indelible impact on my life and taught me so much, often without so much as uttering a word. In her last days, she surprised everyone around her, nurses, doctors, our family, with her relentless spirit and strength. We will miss her and we'll always love her.

Needless to say, planning for all this somber business took some time and I've been making some frequent trips to Boston. Let's just say the bus folks know me well by now and greet me with "Nice to see you again so soon!" I wish it were for happier occasions, but I have hope those happier times are coming. Things must start looking up at some point!

So while this isn't a post about my grandmother, she'd have greatly approved of this mushroom pâté. She was a big believer that spending as much time outside as possible was an essential step to good health. And she, herself, was of strong constitution, hardly having any health issues, until the very last years. Back when we lived in Russia, she was always opening windows - even in the midst of the coldest winter days - to air the rooms out. "Provetritsya," she'd always say, as my mother would rush to close the windows back, afraid I'd catch a cold. A great fan of outside, my grandmother would have been pleased to know that I plan on many a picnic this summer.

And this mushroom pâté is bound to be a hit at any picnic. It takes little time to make, requires few ingredients: oil, mushrooms, onions, salt. But while it's simple to prepare, it comes across as luxurious and quite complex. A spoonful on a cracker or a baguette slice, it will elevate any picnic to a gourmet level. With dishes like this, we all owe it to ourselves to have as many picnics this summer as possible. Not only will it encourage us to savor the summer's produce (not that mushrooms are an indication of the season) but we can share wonderful meals with friends and family - memories of which will keep us warm through the winter season.

The trouble with homemade care packages you mail out - is that most homemade treats have a limited shelf-life. Cookies - three days or so, granola - loses its crispness if not refrigerated, cupcakes - can't quite ship them without compromising their shape as the frosting gets in the way. I've always wondered what do people send as care packages, and do they send it overnight, or on ice? Needless to say, I'm not the most ingenious person out there, so if I've failed to think of obvious solutions, please leave a comment and let me know your suggestions.

And yet, there I was, trying to think of a treat for my friend, Katy (who designed Sassy Radish and made it so pretty!), who was working on her master's thesis at RISD while battling an interminable nasty cold. Apparently, there was this cough she couldn't shake, and congestion that was persistent and relentless. Poor Katy couldn't even smell her morning coffee - and if there's anyone other who lover her coffee, it's Katy. I felt for her - I wanted to help somehow, but short of sending decongestants (which aren't all that exciting - I mean, who looks forward to receiving decongestants in the mail?) I couldn't think of much that might survive a few days of shipping.

So after thinking about the short shelf life of perishable goods, I discovered what I call a "care-package loophole", and that loophole is biscotti! Originally eaten by Roman legions - the word originates from the Latin word biscoctum, which means "twice baked". They were twice baked, in fact, so that they could be easily stored for long periods of time, say for long journey and battles. You wonder where I dig up this wealth of useless knowledge - and I say to you proudly, middle school Latin class complete with a Latin Feast at the end of every year! And in case you're wondering, cooking Roman food was by far my favorite part of the class curriculum. Today, biscotti are probably some of the most definitive Italian baked treats and are really easy to make. I liked this recipe because the author who contributed it for the January issue of Gourmet, got it from his Italian grandmother so this was the real deal.

In fact, the recipe's notes highlighted that these "biscuits" will get better the day after baking, so the flavors will only improve! A baked good that improves with age and goes perfectly with coffee - if this isn't a perfect care-package material, I don't know what is!

I know it's a little strange that I'm that I am telling you about another cabbage recipe so soon after the first one, but I can't help myself. It's too good to keep from you a moment longer. Doing so would be selfish and wrong. And I'm anything but selfish. Besides in Russia households typically always have a head of cabbage on hand. I know in my family it's always been the case.

Moreover, I wish I could tell you that I'm one of those people who cooks a new thing every night, who is constantly craving variety, and is always out trying new things. I don't. Sometimes I go for weeks without so much as turning on the stove. Embarrassing, but true. So if I find a dish that truly strikes a chord with me - well, I will make it over and over and over. Like this one for instance.

Now, don't get me wrong - I'm very open to trying a new dish or a new flavor combination, but I am quite often finding myself ordering the same few things off my regular take-out menus. I could also very well make something and then eat it for several days and sometimes even longer. I'm a creature of habit to a fault. I like schedules and planning. Leftovers are just another way for me to continue eating what I like. Besides so many different things taste that much better the following days when the flavors have a chance to meld together: chili, soup, stew, and believe it or not - this cabbage. That is if it lasts that long in your household.

So this cabbage I want to tell you about. Well, I've recently fallen in love with braising vegetables in cream. You take something somewhat pedestrian, like cabbage for instance, and you add in some chopped leeks and then you sauté the whole thing for awhile until the leeks start turning yellow-green, closer to yellow; and the cabbage has wilted and began to look a little sad. This is where you swoop in and add some lemon juice, salt and finally cream and thus transform it from sadness into glory, like Cinderella going to a fancy ball. You let it thicken for a few minutes and then scoop it generously onto a plate. And then, as a pièce de résistance, you grate a tiny bit of Grana Padano over it (I know cheese sounds superfluous, but trust me on this one). Just try to have one serving of this and not eat the whole thing. You can consider it an open challenge.