Leite's Culinaria

Warm Sourdough Bread Salad with Chicken and Pine Nuts

Julie Dreyfoos — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 03:13:42 +0000

Sara Foster with Carolynn Carreño | Sara Foster’s Casual Cooking | Clarkson Potter, 2007 | Serves 2 to 4

Bread salad is a traditional Italian way to make use of a day-old chunk of bread. When I added shredded cooked chicken and tossed it with a heap of greens, it became a well-balanced meal. Golden raisins and pine nuts are a really nice combination, especially if you like a touch of something sweet in your savory dishes.—Sara Foster

convert Ingredients
For the vinaigrette
1 lemon, halved
2 garlic cloves, skin on
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the salad
4 cups 1-inch chunks of crusty, rustic-style sourdough bread
3 tablespoons olive oil
Sea salt
4 cups shredded cooked chicken
2 tablespoons golden raisins
2 tablespoons pine nuts, lightly toasted
2 garlic cloves, smashed and roughly chopped
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 cups loosely packed arugula, watercress leaves, or mixed baby greens, washed and drained
2 scallions, thinly sliced (white and green parts)

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Method
Start the vinaigrette
1. Preheat the oven to 450°F (232°C). Place the lemon, cut side down, and the whole garlic cloves in an ovenproof dish and drizzle with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Roast the lemon and garlic until they’re soft and golden brown, about 30 minutes. Remove from the oven (but keep the oven on) and set aside until they’re cool enough to handle.

Make the salad
1. Increase the oven temperature to 475°F (245°C).

2. Toss the bread chunks with the olive oil on a baking sheet and season with salt. Scatter the chunks in a single layer and toast until the bread is golden brown and the edges are crispy, 12 to 15 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl.

3. Juice the lemon into a small bowl. Peel the garlic cloves, add to the bowl with the lemon juice, and smash them with a fork. Add the vinegar and gradually whisk in the remaining 3 tablespoons of olive oil. Stir in the parsley and season to taste with salt and pepper.

4. Add the chicken, raisins, pine nuts, and garlic to the bread and combine. Drizzle with half of the vinaigrette, season to taste with salt and pepper, and toss gently to combine.

5. Spread the salad on a rimmed baking sheet and place it in the oven for about 5 minutes, just to warm it slightly.

6. Remove the salad from the oven and return it to the bowl you tossed it in. Add the arugula and scallions, and drizzle with the remaining vinaigrette. Toss gently to combine, season with additional salt and pepper if desired, and serve warm.

Lemon Drizzle Cake

Julie Dreyfoos — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 02:15:34 +0000

Linda Collister | Sweet Treats Just Like My Mother Used to Make | Ryland Peters & Small, 2010
Makes 12 squares

Sometimes it’s the plain cakes that are the best. This one is wonderfully buttery and zesty and is delicious served simply, cut into little squares. To achieve a really crisp, sugary crust on top, combine the sugar and lemon juice at the last minute and pour straight over the cake before letting it cool.—Linda Collister

Special equipment: 8-inch square cake pan, preferably with a removable bottom, greased and lined with parchment paper

convert Ingredients
For the cake
1 stick plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for the pan, at room temperature
2/3 cup granulated sugar
2 extra-large eggs
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon self-rising flour

For the lemony topping
4 tablespoons granulated sugar
Freshly squeezed juice of 1 lemon

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Method
Make the cake
1. Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C).

2. Beat the butter and sugar together in a large bowl until pale and creamy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, then stir in the lemon zest. Fold the flour into the mixture until well combined.

3. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan and level the surface. Bake for about 20 minutes, until well risen and golden and a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean.

Add the lemony topping
1. Transfer the cake pan to a wire rack and prick the top of the cake all over with a skewer. Sprinkle the top of the warm cake with 1 tablespoon of the sugar. Quickly combine the remaining sugar and lemon juice in a small bowl and immediately pour it over the top of the cake. Let it cool in the pan. Cut into small squares to serve. (Store the cake in an airtight container in a cool cupboard or the refrigerator for up to 3 days.)

LC Note: If you don’t have self-rising flour, sift together 4 level teaspoons of baking powder for every two cups of all-purpose flour. This won’t create quite such a high lift as self-rising flour when baking cakes.

Going Bananas for Beefsteak Stanley

Gary Allen — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 06:00:52 +0000

A reader wrote in asking about a traditional accompaniment to Beefsteak Stanley, a variation of Salisbury Steak that was popular in New York back in the early 20th century.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to find much in the way of side dishes. I was, however, sufficiently intrigued by this curiously named Beefsteak Stanley to procure a recipe for it. But first, a little background information on its purportedly healthful precursor, the Salisbury steak.

Long before Dr. Atkins and even Dr. Kellogg became household names, people looked to famous physicians to help them lose weight and, presumably, attain spiritual purity through their diets. Dr. James H. Salisbury was one of these early diet gurus. Dr. Salisbury believed that a corrective diet could cure everything from anemia to tuberculosis. His approach included the avoidance of almost all vegetables and starches in favor of—you guessed it—minced meat. Lots of minced meat. One pound, three times a day, to be exact. It’s hard to imagine that a hearty, meaty staple of middle-class dining rooms has its origins in a strict dietary regimen, but it’s true.

The recipe for what came to be known as Salisbury Steak appears in his book, The Relation of Alimentation and Disease:

“Eat the muscle pulp of lean beef made into cakes and broiled. This pulp should be as free as possible from connective or glue tissue, fat and cartilage. The ‘American Chopper’ answers very well for separating the connective tissue…The muscle should be scraped off with a spoon at intervals during chopping. Simply press it sufficiently to hold together. Make the cakes from half an inch to an inch thick. Broil slowly and moderately well over a fire free from blaze and smoke. When cooked, put it on a hot plate and season to taste with butter, pepper and salt; also use either Worcestershire or Halford sauce, mustard, horseradish or lemon juice on the meat if desired.”

And the doctor’s beverage of choice? A somewhat less suspect dose of three quarts of plain hot water a day.

Over time, Americans grew bored with Salisbury’s bland, monotonous diet and, it appears, were anxious to move on to newer, more ridiculous diets—such as those requiring adherents to restrict themselves to grapefruit or sauerkraut. But the Salisbury Steak lived on, gradually acquiring homier sauces and garnishes such as flour-thickened gravies and mushrooms—indulgences our good doctor would never have countenanced. Eventually, Salisbury Steak acquired a garnish, and a new name, that must have been beyond the doctor’s wildest dreams: sauteed bananas.

No one seems to know the origins of the name “Beefsteak Stanley” anymore. One story says it was invented by Sir Henry Morton Stanley (of “Dr. Livingston, I presume” fame). I have my doubts about that. Stanley was pretty famous when he died in 1904—famous enough to have things named after him—but other than the bananas, there’s nothing to suggest that an African explorer had anything to do with the dish. I suppose we could make up our own story. If so, I’m going with the Stanley Steamer connection, as a harbinger of the culinary weirdnesses published in Manifold Destiny.

I found this Beefsteak Stanley recipe in Cooking Instructions for the Preparation of Dishes Served in Dining Cars Throughout the System, a dated guidebook for cooks on the Pennsylvania Railroad. Books like this typically dated to the 1940s, but this one includes no date at all. My guess is that it comes from the 1920s or 1930s, by which time Salisbury Steak had long ago become an American staple.

Beefsteak Stanley
Make 4 portions

Ingredients
2 cups of finely ground beef
1/2 cup of fresh bread crumbs
1/2 cup of cream
1 egg
1 small onion minced, washed and sauteed
Salt and pepper

Preparation
1. Mix ingredients well together and form into oblong steaks, fry in pan on both sides nice and brown for about 10 minutes.

2. Cover the bottom of dish with Horseradish sauce, set steak in sauce, top garnished with 2 halves of glaced banana (see Note). A little tomato sauce poured around.

Horseradish Sauce: Make a roux with 1/2 cup of flour, 1 kitchenspoon of butter. Let cook 10 minutes, then add 1 quart of boiling strained broth, stirring constantly, and 1/2 cup of cream. Cook 20 minutes, strain in jar, then add 1 kitchenspoon of grated horseradish (if bottled horseradish is used, squeeze dry).

LC Note: To make “glaced banana,” slice a banana lengthwise (as for a banana split), then saute it in a little butter. A “kitchenspoon” is what we call a teaspoon nowadays.

References
Cooking Instructions for the Preparation of Dishes Served in Dining Cars Throughout the System. n.p.: Pennsylvania Railroad, Dining Car Department, n.d.

Salisbury, James H. The Relation of Alimentation and Disease. New York: J. H. Vail and Company, 1888.

Schwartz, Hillel. Never Satisfied: A Cultural History of Diets, Fantasies & Fat. New York: Anchor Books, 1990.

The Secrets and Science Behind Milk Mayonnaise

David Leite — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 19:41:02 +0000

It’s the unlikeliest of couples. One thin and popular, the other fat and shunned. Each repelled by the other. But when senselessly beaten into a frenzied submission, oh, how they cave! These two frenemies suddenly give in and embrace one other, creating a more perfect union.

Sound like a bad episode of The Marriage Ref? Not surprising. When these culinary opposites—milk and oil—are thrown together, they act a lot like warring spouses, which makes their participation in the creation of Portuguese maionese de leite (may-o-NEZ duh late), or milk mayonnaise, all the more amazing.

I encountered this ghostly white condiment a few years ago in Portugal while trolling the country for recipes for my cookbook. But on our first date I didn’t see it in its shocking bare-naked form. Instead it played the role of a fiendishly good green olive dip at Restaurante A Bolota, in the Alentejo. It was so good, in fact, The One didn’t stand a chance. I singlehandedly mopped up the entire bowl with hunks of bread while he nattered away with the restaurant owner, Antonieta Cocheirnha Tarouca, and the chef, Ilda Vinagre. When he looked at the bowl then at me, I just shrugged.

After dinner I followed Ilda into the kitchen to watch her whip up silky clouds and clouds of white buttercream-y goodness in her processador (food processor) using nothing but milk, oil, garlic, and a few drops of lemon juice. What? No eggs? How could it be called a “mayonnaise” without eggs? By definition mayo is a sacred emulsification of egg yolks and oil, which makes it, at least to me, the mother of all mother sauces. But Ilda shook her head: “Não ovos.” As she scribbled the recipe on the back of an envelope, she explained she wheedled it out of a chef while visiting Brazil. Then she kissed me goodbye and wished me luck.

And luck was certainly what I needed. My every attempt to make a scaled-down version of her restaurant-size mayo recipe ended in a flood of milk with an oil slick on top. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could keep these two together. Ilda, who found the Internet impertinent and cell phones intrusive, was of no immediate help. Eventually I got through to Antonieta who relayed my frantic pleas to the kitchen. The answer that came back changed everything: Don’t make it in a food processor. It’s far too big for such a small batch. Bingo! Once I switched over to a mini-chop, I had thick, luscious milk mayonnaise and green olive dip oozing from GladWare containers on almost every shelf of my fridge.

Fast forward two years.

After the book came out, I was positive milk mayonnaise would be one of its most interesting, most blogged about recipes. Milk and oil whipped into an emulsion? It defies all logic. Plus it’s eggless. How many people out there have egg allergies? They’ll beat a path to my door and throw their jewels and Google stock certificates at my feet as thanks for releasing them from their mayo-less prison, I told myself. But nothing. That is until months later, when Kathleen Purvis and Amanda Hesser wrote about the recipe within a day of each other. Kathleen hit it out of the park on the first try. It took Amanda four late-night attempts to get it right. (She had strayed from the recipe by using a hand mixer instead of an immersion blender or small blender.) The next day I had my 15 minutes of social-media fame—but not because of anything I did. (Note to self: In order to boost your Twitter clout, allow yourself to be pimped by Amanda, even when she’s exhausted and misreads your recipes.) Questions poured in. Is it really an emulsion or is it just oil-flavored whipped milk (ack! gross)? Can I use cream instead of milk? Is it stable? Can it be flavored?

So I did as I always do when faced with the perplexing conundrums of food science. I called Shirley Corriher, the doyenne of kitchen wizardry and the award-winning author of CookWise and BakeWise.

“Your mayonnaise is a 100-percent, true emulsion,” she assured me over the phone. “It’s not any kind of a flavored aerated milk.” She went on to explain that for any emulsion—mine included—to take hold, one liquid, in this case the milk, has to break down into finer and finer droplets until it gets “juicy,” or looser, allowing the oil to get all up in there between the droplets to thicken it.

“You also have two other things going for you,” she added. “Milk has natural emulsifiers, making it easier to blend. And the garlic helps to make a sturdier base before adding the oil.” What’s the role of the lemon juice? “It helps coagulate the milk, but there’s not enough to make it curdle,” she said.

Shirley also mentioned that adding a touch of cream would make a better emulsion. Figuring if a little cream is better then a lot must be fantastic, I substituted it for all of the milk and ended up with butter before I even poured in the oil. And for stability? I’ve had my mayos last up to a week with no ill effect (longer, actually, but my publisher’s lawyers would have killed me if I said that in the book).

Last, there’s that pesky question of whether the mayonnaise can be flavored. Clearly, not enough of you are buying the book because in it I offer four variations: cilantro and ginger, anchovy, curry, and sun-dried tomato—which, in my magnanimousness, I’m including below.

The case of the milk mayonnaise that may or may not really be a mayonnaise is closed.

May I have the mayo variations, please? Clockwise from top right: cilantro-ginger, curry, anchovy, sun-dried tomato.

Milk Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite
Makes about 1 cup

Since I was given the recipe, I haven’t stopped finding ways to cook with it. The master recipe is only a canvas for additions. Besides the uses in this book, I’ve smeared the variations on grilled meats and fish, used them as dips and in dressings, spread them on sandwiches, and stirred them into potato salads, much as I do with actual mayonnaise.

Atenção: Like all emulsions, this recipe can be a bit finicky. But adding the oil in a thin stream and stopping when the right consistency is reached is the key. For almost foolproof results, a handheld blender is best, but a small canister blender with a narrow base will do.

convert Ingredients
1/3 cup very cold whole milk
3/4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 small garlic clove, peeled
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
About 3/4 cup vegetable oil, or 1/2 cup vegetable oil plus 1/4 cup olive oil
Kosher salt

Method
1. Combine the milk, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper in a 2-cup glass measuring cup. Using a handheld blender (or a blender), buzz on high for 30 seconds until frothy. With the motor running on high, slowly pour in the oil a few drops at a time, and gradually increase this to a fine thread, moving the blender up and down, until the mixture thickens lusciously and resembles a soft mayonnaise. You may need more or less oil. Season with salt to taste. The mayonnaise will last up to 1 week in the fridge.

Variations
Cilantro and Ginger Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Coentros e Gengibre
Add 1 loosely packed cup of well-dried fresh cilantro leaves and tendril-soft stems and a 1 1/2-inch peeled and grated thumb of fresh ginger to the cup along with the milk, 1 3/4 teaspoons of lemon juice, and the pepper. Omit the garlic. Whir in the oil as directed above. Stir in 1 scallion cut into thin slices on the diagonal.

Anchovy Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Anchovas
Add 6 anchovy fillets (generous 1 tablespoon) packed in oil to the cup along with the milk, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper. Whir in the oil as directed above. Omit the salt.

Curry Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Caril
Add 2 teaspoons of your favorite curry powder to the cup along with the milk, lemon juice, garlic, and pepper. Whir in the oil as directed above. Before using, let this sit for an hour or so in the fridge to bloom.

Tomato Mayonnaise
Maionese de Leite com Tomate
Add 1 1/2 tablespoons of double-concentrate tomato paste to the cup along with the milk, garlic, and pepper. Omit the lemon juice. Whir in the oil as directed above. Stir in 1 tablespoon minced oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes.

Turkey and White Bean Chili

David Leite — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 18:35:12 +0000

David Leite | Personal Recipe Collection | Serves 4, or 6 with the meal stretcher

The One and I have been making and enjoying this dish for years—in fact, it’s been in our arsenal for about a decade. Technically, it’s not a chili, as it doesn’t contain chiles or chili powder. It’s really more of a Mediterranean bean stew. What can I say, nicknames stick. What’s great about it is it’s a cinch to make (all of a half hour) and it’s surprisingly light. When we have weekend guests and don’t want to get bogged down with making six big, heavy meals, we turn to this for a satisfying lunch or a light supper, with a salad on the side.

Customarily, chilis and stews are made by first browning the meat then transferring it to a bowl while cooking the vegetables. Because there’s so little fat in the turkey sausage (and, admit it, they just don’t have that flavor punch beef does), I like to keep the turkey in the skillet while cooking the vegetables. This does two things: 1.) it really gives the turkey a good browning, which adds flavor, and 2.) it doesn’t overcook the red pepper. Oh, and whatever you do, resist the urge to muck this up by adding chili powder (yes, even though it’s called a “chili”). It would ruin the flavor profile.—David Leite

convert Ingredients
3 tablespoons olive oil, more if needed
1 pound sweet Italian turkey sausage, casings removed
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 teaspoons dried basil
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 large garlic cloves, minced
One 15 1/2-ounce can cannellini beans, well-drained
One 28-ounce can San Marzano tomatoes, undrained, tomatoes chopped
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Method
1. Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat until hot. Swirl 2 tablespoons of the oil into the pan and then add the turkey. Cook, stirring often and breaking up the meat with the edge of a wooden spoon, until the turkey is chunky and nicely browned, about 10 minutes.

2. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil over the turkey. Dump in the onion and pepper, sprinkle with the oregano, basil, and thyme, and sauté, stirring often, until the vegetables are just softened, about 7 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 2 minutes more. The bottom of the pan may develop a brown coating—that’s good. It gives a lot of flavor. If it threatens to burn, drizzle in a few tablespoons of water and scrape it up.

3. Turn the heat to low and stir in the beans and half of the tomatoes and half their liquid. (Reserve the remaining tomatoes and liquid for a meal stretcher, see Note.) Season with salt and pepper to taste, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.

Meal Stretcher Note: Unexpected company? No problem. Add a second can of drained cannellini beans and the remaining chopped tomatoes and their liquid. Simmer the chili until heated through. Serves six, easily.

Eating Oscar

David Leite — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 19:48:14 +0000

This Sunday, at my own exclusive petite soirée attended by just The One, our very in-the-know entertainment publicist friend, Ellen, and moi, I want to sidestep the usual lineup of smarmy suspects for Academy Awards party fare. We have a close friend who’s a Hollywood event planner, so I’ve seen and heard it all, from the divine to the ridiculous. And I’ve devoured just about every permutation of show chow at glammed-up (or, worse, funked-down) NYC parties, including Oscar-shaped grilled cheese-and-bacon-sandwiches, glittery gold-leaf desserts, and black-tie nibbles (read: nothing but black-and-white food, such as caviar and sour cream on squid ink blini). And, of course, anything served on silver plates so guests could admire themselves almost as much as their favorite egomaniacal nominees.

This year, I’m going for something a little easier, a little less forced. To come up with possible dishes I played a game of word association, or rather, nomination association. It went like this: Renee and I faced each other, and she shot the name of a nominee at me. I said the first recipe that popped into my head, based upon my vast, deep, and preternatural understanding of every recipe and every last piece of minutiae on this site.

So, here’s a warped look into my head for what I’m considering as possible dishes to wrap a menu around for our 82nd Academy Awards dinner.

Crazy Heart
A has-been alcohol-soaked country singer who loves whiskey contends with a dysfunctional relationship. Easy. A Manhattan. (Or do as Jeff Bridges does and ditch the vermouth, bitters, and cherry.)

Food, Inc.
What horrible things big business does to our food. My first thought: pure spring water drunk leaning over an outcropping and slurping it up with my hands. Since we don’t have that on the site, I opted for a Lyonnaise Salad. You can still have your lettuce, your lardons, and your eggs—and eat them, too. Just buy organic, organic, organic—locally, natch.

A Single Man
A British professor in Southern California is still mourning the death of his lover eight months after the fact. The film depicts the day he chose to kill himself. Colin Firth’s orderly and dispassionate approach to his own death is perfectly suited to…Crumpets. Pip, pip, and stiff upper lip, old chum.

Inglourious Basterds
A band of ruggedly handsome men go for nothing less than bringing down Hitler—Quentin Tarantino-style. That means lots of perversely compelling blood and guts. The obvious choice would have been blood-drenched rare steaks, but my mind went for the more sanguine choice of Blood Oranges, Dates, Parmesan, and Almonds. Even the Bloody T-man himself might get a kick out of that.

The Cove
A documentary about the shocking and chilled abuse heaped upon dolphins for the benefit of the aquatic entertainment industry. Utterly shocking. Another no brainer: Something entirely ocean-safe, Tapenade Trio.

The Lovely Bones
A young girl is murdered. From beyond the grave she helps lead her father to her killer. There’s no bone lovelier than the one running through these Slow-Cooked Lamb Shanks in Pinot Noir.

Julie & Julia
If you don’t know the movie, you shouldn’t be reading this blog. My first thought: coq au vin…which we featured two weeks ago. So that was out. Then, anything French with “buh-terrrr,” as Meryl Streep purred in the film. But one of Child’s own dishes, Steak au Poivre, popped into my head.

Rabbit à la Berlin
The story of the colonies of rabbits that lived between the two Berlin Walls (east and west) and how they survived and thrived once the wall fell. Cruel, I know: Portuguese Rabbit Hunter Style. (What can I say? It’s how I think.)

The Blind Side
A white family, led by a cojones-busting momma, takes in a young black man who goes on to shine as a football player. With all that testosterone Sandra Bullock exudes, I immediately thought of Tony Bourdain, but in a tutu. So I picked his Floating Islands with Black Currant Sauce.

Up
An animated feature about, well, a house that lifts off because of all the balloons attached to it. (Sorry, didn’t see it.) But you gotta love my association: Double Chocolate Soufflé, with all of its glorious egg-white rise.

When you look at the nomination list, what do you think of immediately? Tell us, and if we have it, we’ll add it.

Quick Navy-Bean Stew

Renee Schettler Rossi — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 03:14:52 +0000

Editors of Everyday Food | Everyday Food: Fresh Flavor Fast | Clarkson Potter, 2010 | Serves 4

This flavorful potato, bean, and mushroom stew is ready in less than an hour. You can use other beans, such as black-eyed peas, in place of the navy beans; kale or Swiss chard would be nice substitutions for the spinach leaves.—Editors of Everyday Food

LC Note: This versatile recipe, much like a proper minestrone, is more a general formula than an actual equation. In addition to trying the substitutions mentioned above, you can turn to other creative alterations. Vary the herbs as well, using a generous pinch of fresh thyme if you happen to have it on hand or omitting it entirely if you happen to have none on hand.

convert Ingredients
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
4 small red potatoes (10 ounces), scrubbed and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 pound white mushrooms, trimmed and quartered
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon tomato paste
2 cups water
One 10-ounce package baby spinach
One 15 1/2-ounce can navy beans, drained and rinsed
1 tablespoon red-wine vinegar, optional

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Method
1. Heat the oil in a large, deep skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and potatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is lightly browned, 8 to 10 minutes.

2. Add the mushrooms and thyme and season with salt. Cook, stirring often, until the mushrooms are tender, 8 to 10 minutes.

3. Stir in the tomato paste and the water. Cover and cook until the potatoes are tender but not falling apart when pierced with the tip of a sharp knife, 8 to 10 minutes.

4. Add half of the spinach to the skillet, cover, and cook until wilted, about 1 minute. Stir in the remaining spinach and the beans. Cook, covered, until heated through, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in the vinegar, if desired. Season with the salt and pepper and stir to combine. Serve immediately.

Using Dried Beans
If you have a little more time, you could soak and cook dried beans, which would make the soup even more economical and a bit richer in flavor and texture.

Steamed Cod with Ginger and Scallions

Renee Schettler Rossi — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 01:51:12 +0000

Editors of Everyday Food | Everyday Food: Fresh Flavor Fast | Clarkson Potter, 2010 | Serves 4

Steamed fish is a healthful and quick-cooking dinner option. Adding a few aromatics to the steaming liquid enhances the taste of the fish without using any butter or oil. Haddock, halibut, or other firm-fleshed white fish can be used in place of the cod.—Editors of Everyday Food

LC Note: We suggest turning the fish once during cooking to ensure the cod takes on as much flavor as possible from its ginger-and-soy poaching liquid. Discard the liquid before serving; all the flavor will have been absorbed by the cod.

convert Ingredients
3 tablespoons rice vinegar (unseasoned)
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons finely grated peeled fresh ginger (see peeling ginger tip below)
4 skinless (1 1/2 pounds) Pacific cod fillets
6 scallions

Want it? Click it.

Method
1. In a large skillet with a tight-fitting lid, combine the vinegar, soy sauce, and ginger. Season both sides of the cod fillets with salt and pepper and place them in the skillet. Bring the liquid to a boil. Reduce the heat to a gentle simmer, cover, and cook until the fish is almost opaque throughout, 6 to 8 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, cut the green parts of the scallions into 3-inch lengths and thinly slice them lengthwise (reserve the white parts for another use). Scatter the scallions over the fish, cover, and cook until the fish is opaque throughout and the scallions are just wilted, about 2 minutes more. Serve immediately.

Tip: Peeling Ginger
When a recipe calls for peeled fresh ginger, reach for a spoon: Holding ginger steady with one hand, scrape the spoon toward you in short strokes. To reach especially tight crevices, you may need to slice off a knobby portion and then continue peeling.