Silliness and the S-cubed dinner

Such a nice Saturday.

Boys up at 6, overhearing Nutmeg puke, realizing that Percy must have eaten said puke because I couldn't find it anywhere, finishing Jurassic Park shocked that Oliver was completely unfazed by any of it, going to Staples for emergency Sharpies and pens, eating lunch out with the cuties and then...

my in-laws picked them up to take them somewhere fun and keep them overnight. Shut the front door. Right?! Roughly twenty hours by myself.

Admission: now that it's been seven, I kinda miss those bozos. I mean really, just last week we had this conversation in the car:

J: "My butt is named Dave, penis is Roger."

Me, attempting to remain serious: "How interesting. What prompted this naming?"

Oliver: "My penis is named Long Bamboo."

Me: I was unable to remain serious.

Anyway, point is, they can be hilarious.

But, they left, I gardened, went to the gym, went to the market, did some laundry, read, yada. 

After an hour spent with Ann Patchett in This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage (great book of essays, y'all), I decided to make a beautiful dinner for one. Shrimp, sumac, sorrel sauce. Gorgeous.

seared sumac shrimp in sorrel sauce

People, seriously. Is that not stunning?! And so flipping sibilant! Seared sumac shrimp in sorrel sauce. Wha?? Love it!

Sorrel is not an ingredient that goes with just anything. It's a leafy green with an outrageous tang. The sort that'll make you pucker up and say "oo-wee" when you recover. But I love it, and it's beautiful, and it likes cream and shallots and shrimp and all that jazz.

I had a bit of fun with this since I had all the time in the world. After peeling the shrimp, I put the shells in a small saucepan with some white wine, garlic, salt and a chile de arbol. After a few minutes, I strained that, let it cool to room temp and then stirred in some shallots, butter and cream (which I'd later warm just until the butter melted and then toss with the shrimp).  

In a separate pan, I seared the shrimp that I'd marinated with oil, lemon zest, sumac, garlic and shallots. Once they'd cooked, alone and then in the cream, I strained them out and blended the shrimpy cream with the fresh sorrel. The sauce has a marvelous zip and a ridonkulously great color, don't you think?

I might also have had a wild solo dance party during which my pets looked at me askance. Whatever, they can't talk!

Oven-roasted artichokes

During our supper club meal on Tuesday, I sat next to a woman who grew up in Rome. We got to talking about Italian artichokes and signed very dramatically (also, accurately) over the fact that you simply cannot get in America, the small, tender chokes that abound in Italy. Both of us desperately wish we could. 

I've written about this before, my adoration of Italian artichokes and my sorrow over having to make do with American Globes which never really cut the butter. 

But, when spring comes and fresh artichokes with plump stems can be found, we who long for their continental brethren make do as best we can.

The woman from Rome told me about spending a recent Easter there. Artichokes were everywhere, and she ate barrels of them. Carciofi alla giudia ("Jewish style") which is a deep-fried artichoke and originated in Rome's Jewish community, and a version of carciofi alla romana, hers braised in olive oil rather than steamed in water and wine.

Last night, I peered into my crisper drawer and pulled out the two enormous chokes I'd bought a few days prior. I got out a sharp knife and a serrated spoon, the better to trim the spiky leaf tips and clear the thistly hair from the heart. I set up an acidulated water bath so that before the denuded hearts could brown, I could dunk them into a lemony pool. And I got out my heavy Lodge and a big vat of olive oil.

I picked some mint and basil and chives and parsley from my garden and chopped them fine. Mixed them with crumbled feta and pressed garlic and salt and pepper. Took a deep breath because my god did that concoction smell heavenly. And then I stuffed half into each cored out artichoke and sealed them up tightly once more and put them stem up in a shallow pool of olive oil that I'd poured into my Lodge.

After a couple hours in the oven, regularly basted with oil, these beauties emerged, and I ate one today for lunch.

I ate it while standing up, leaning over the bowl which sat on my cutting board, and I closed my eyes and gently gripped each leaf between fingers and teeth and pulled. Ever so slowly to get just the tender knob of chokey flesh from the end, and of course I saved the best for last which is the heart.

It was perfectly cooked; al dente, really. Its herby feta hood paired scrumptiously with the heart's earthiness, and I savored each bite.

Not an Italian choke, but prepared like one made it suffice just fine.

Jamming. Literally.

The canning time of year has commenced, and so I find myself with dozens of jars of newly preserved treats.

Ataulfo mangoes make a wonderful fruit butter while strawberries every way are ever-delicious (strawberry-cardamom, and strawberry-rhubarb-lemon below, as well as strawberry-lavender muffins in the oven). Rhubarb is always a beloved friend too. These will make  terrific gifts for my boys' teachers and also bring our breakfasts to greater heights.

mangoes cooking with orange, lime and lemon juices and cardamom pods

strawberries and rhubarb headed for an overnight maceration

Aren't those gorgeous? I set them to macerate on Monday, just a day after picking them up at the farmers market. On Tuesday, I canned them. Love the farm-to-pantry in 48 hours thing!

from left: strawberry-cardamom; strawberry-rhubarb-lemon; citrusy mango butter

Last night, I attended the first get-together of a supper club I was asked to join. The theme was Spring. I decided to make a shaved asparagus salad with hazelnuts, mint and pecorino, with some of the asparagus I bought on Sunday morning at the farmers market. 

One dish was prettier than the next, and I found it absolutely lovely to take a break from this hectic time to simply sit back, meet some new people, drink great wine, eat great food and relax. Food does bring people together in such wonderful ways, doesn't it?!

beets, crab salad and avocado with arugula

a trio of soups: green; minty pea; beet-carrot with lime-parsley creme