Toast: A Love Story

A few weeks ago we were at dinner with our favorite two-year-old, and she had such a wonderfully direct ordering style.  Upon the server’s first visit to our table, when I usually ask for “water, to start,” our favorite two-year-old turned her head straight up in the style of people under three feet tall, looked directly in the server’s eyes, and stated succinctly and purposefully “I want toast.”  There was no menu opening, no inquiry into the daily specials, no starting with chocolate milk.  She knew what she wanted, who to get it from, and exactly what to say.  I believe that’s called girl power.

In actuality, our favorite two-year-old was completely on board with her dad’s suggestion that “two pieces of toast with cheese in the middle” was a better meal, and she later told her mom she had “mac and cheese,” so who really knows what went through her mind.  I can only posit that, for a brief moment in time, she was imagining crispy crust and a chewy center crumb, caramelization, and drowning out the world with crunch upon crunch upon crunch upon crunch.  

Maybe the toast of our favorite two-year-old’s dreams is made with basic white grocery store bread.  Or, it could be a rustic country loaf with a thick crust, maybe a 48-hour fermented sourdough, an airy walnut loaf, or a dense whole-grain, seeded mix.  Perhaps there are charred grill marks, and the slices have been rubbed with raw garlic. Or topped with nutella, or ricotta, or smashed avocado and crab, or cinnamon and sugar.  Or just a butter square, placed in the center and slowly seeping to the edges.

One day our favorite two-year-old will grow up, and maybe in the summers after swim practice, on those first afternoons when she’s left home alone, she’ll make herself a lazy kids’ grilled cheese -- two pieces of white bread in the toaster, then topped with two slices of American cheese, quickly zapped in the microwave -- like I did.  Maybe when she’s in college and learning to cook for herself, toast with scrambled eggs will be a staple dinner -- like it was for me.  And when she’s living on her own in her twenties, and perhaps working at an artisan bakery, maybe she’ll learn -- like I learned -- that the only thing she wants to eat in August and September is open-faced tomato sandwiches on buttered rustic sourdough toast with nothing else other than sea salt.

To call toast my favorite food would be like declaring the Pacific Ocean my favorite beach.  Favorite implies a specificity that clashes with the ubiquity of toast in my life, spanning across all ages and mealtimes.  It’s been the basis of my most hurried, thrown-together, lazy-day meals, as well as my multiple-course, have-people-over, impressive dinners.  To me, the only surprise about toast becoming a recent hip coffee shop offering is how long it took these shopkeeps to put it on the menu.  I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the multitude of texture in each bite, and the creative opportunities each blank slice offers.  For the rest of my life, with the conviction of our favorite two-year-old, “I want toast.”

MUSHROOM TOASTS

Slice your preferred artisan bread.  For this purpose, I like a rustic white bread, sourdough, or baguette.  

Toast according to your preferred method; I’m 50/50 on using the oven or stovetop, depending on what else I am preparing.  Oven: Preheat to 350F.  Brush both sides of bread with olive oil and lay on sheet tray.  Toast until golden, flipping once, maybe about 10-15 minutes total, but keep an eye on it.  Stove: Heat a flat pan to medium high heat. Brush both sides of bread with olive oil.  Working in shifts if necessary, toast on flat pan until golden, flipping once, maybe about 10 minutes total, but keep an eye on it.  

Meanwhile, saute mushrooms in olive oil, salt, and pepper until dark brown, shrunken, and all liquid evaporates.

Spread a thick layer of ricotta on each toast, cover with mushrooms, and top with whatever herb you have on hand.  I like chives or sage.  Sprinkle with flaky sea salt.  Since mushrooms lose their heat quickly, it’s best to eat this right away.

My modified idea, to deal with the mushroom heat issue, is to spread just a thin layer of ricotta on each toast, top with mushrooms and herb as usual, then add a layer of shredded mozzarella and place under the broiler for maybe 30 seconds.  But I’m scared of my broiler, so you let me know how this works out!

Recent, Enjoyable, Simple Vegetable Sides

I read somewhere not too long ago, “You won’t believe how much steamed broccoli you make once you have kids.”  To which I thought, even more than I make as a childless adult?!  Vegetable sides are so important, yet balancing ease and flavor can be complicated, especially on a weeknight.  No offense to steamed broccoli, which is a part of many of our tasty and nutritious dinners, but I’ve recently resolved to try harder.  

Finding recipes is not the difficult part.  I have dozens of cookbooks, many with chapters dedicated solely to vegetables, but I often reject them due to the complexity involved.  Who has time to prepare multiple components on a random Tuesday for a dish that often takes up just the corner of the plate anyway?  I’ve learned it’s usually easier to not follow a recipe in these situations, and instead keep in mind this stress-free process.

1. Start with one vegetable.  

2. Don’t plan for extra embellishment.

3. Let your pantry lead the way.

Sometimes these guidelines lead directly to steamed broccoli, and that’s great.  But the third step often involves breaking the first two, and then the possibilities are endless.  Most of the simple sides I make do in fact contain a second vegetable, or an herb, nut, or seed, and it’s nearly always dictated by the existing contents of my pantry.  It works because this is not how I cook every day, and the leftover ingredients from whatever new dish I've recently tried generally provide the basis for the following few meals.  It’s economical -- to both the wallet and the mind -- providing maximal output for minimal effort. I don’t have to buy anything, I don’t have to think about anything, I just do.  

If there’s an avocado on my counter, I chop it and add it.  If I’ve got parmesan, I shave some over top. I take 30 seconds to emulsify mustard, olive oil, and vinegar, and that’s a dressing for anything.  A sprinkle of sesame seeds and chopped scallions is probably my current favorite garnish, but really, again, the possibilities are endless.  I've come up with some of my favorite repeats this way.

Here are some new-to-our-kitchen vegetable sides that have hit the marks of both time and taste.  All recipes are approximate because when it comes to simple, weeknight cooking, I prefer to eyeball everything.

SESAME SOY CARROTS, inspired by Gwyneth Paltrow’s It’s All Good

Heat about 1 tsp of olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat.  Add minced garlic and ginger and stir until fragrant, about 30 seconds.  Add 1-2 cups of shredded carrots and stir to coat all in the oil. Pour in about ½ cup of water, 1 tbsp soy sauce, and ½ tsp of sesame oil.  Turn the heat up to high and cook until liquid evaporates -- I usually cover the skillet for about three minutes to steam the carrots first, and then uncover it for the remainder of evaporation time.  Sprinkle with sesame seeds and serve.

RADISH SALAD

Early this spring I went through a radish salad phase, which culminated in a mind-blowing triple-radish salad -- pickled, butter poached, and raw over goat cheese butter -- from my new favorite restaurant, The Cooks’ House in Traverse City, MI.  At home, however, I like to slice the radishes thin, and toss with olive oil, white wine vinegar, chopped walnuts, and basil (and salt and pepper).  

SIMPLE SESAME CUCUMBER SALAD, inspired by Jessica Seinfeld’s Food Swings

Slice one seedless cucumber into the thinnest slices you can, and place in bowl.  Add the juice of one lemon, 1 tbsp of olive oil, 1 tbsp chopped dill, 1 tbsp sesame seeds, and a pinch of salt, and stir.

PAPRIKA POTATOES, inspired by Alison Roman from New York Times Cooking

Heat oven to 425F.  Cut potatoes into about 1-inch cubes.  Coat in olive oil, and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika and spread on a sheet tray.  Ms. Roman instructs to cut lemon slices and set those about the tray as well, which I did and would do again if I had a lemon on hand. Roast for about 35-40 minutes. Many recipes will instruct on using a certain type of potato, and to toss or flip them midway through the cooking time -- I find as long as you don’t move the potatoes that any variety will crisp up rather nicely.

SAUTEED GREENS, WITH OR WITHOUT WHITE BEANS AND/OR TOMATOES

Heat about 1 tbsp of olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Add minced garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. If using beans, add 1 can and cook until heated through, about 3-4 minutes.  Try not to move them too much, so they can crisp on one side. If using tomatoes (canned or fresh), add and cook until soft. Add about two handfuls of spinach or another green.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper and cook until wilted. Sprinkle with parmesan before serving.

TURNIPS, SAUTEED OR ROASTED

This one was inspired by our first CSA pickup and a recent episode of Spilled Milk.  We had baby turnips, which I cleaned and sauteed in olive oil, salt, and pepper until browned.  Molly Wizenberg roasts hers, and I’d like to give it a go soon.

AVOCADO CUCUMBER SALAD, inspired by Julia Turshen and Deb Pearlman

Chop a cucumber into about ½ inch cubes.  Same for the avocado. Mix 1 tbsp of mayonnaise, the juice of 1 lime, a dash of hot sauce, and salt and pepper to taste.  Add the cucumber and avocado. Top with chopped scallions and cilantro.

GLAZED ROASTED CARROTS, inspired by New York Times Cooking

Heat oven to 400F.  Chop 1-2 bunches of carrots in about ½ inch to 1 inch pieces (a variety is nice).  Drizzle with olive oil and roast on a sheet tray for about 35-40 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk together 2 tbsp balsamic vinegar, 1 tbsp soy sauce, 1 tbsp dark brown sugar, 1 minced garlic clove, 1 tsp minced ginger, and salt and pepper to taste.  Toss carrots in dressing and garnish with chopped scallions.

Strawberries vs. Raspberries: It's not a matter of opinion

An old coworker and I are engaged in a years-long debate about which is the superior fruit: strawberries or raspberries.

I think the natural sweetness of strawberries gives them a clear win, an excellent complement to biscuits and cream, oats and butter, and balsamic and mozzarella (+3S).  You won’t find a better jam (+1S), whether it be for morning toast or a spread on a cheese platter. Dip them in chocolate, whip into buttercream, or top a pavlova (+3S) -- this fruit belongs on celebration tables.  Muddle into the bottom of a glass, add rum, ginger beer, and mint leaves -- congratulations, you’ve just made my favorite summer drink (+1S).

On the flip side, I argue that raspberry seeds have a tendency to nestle themselves perfectly in the spaces between my teeth, and therefore are not fit to be consumed in public (-1R).  But she retorts that they are also nature’s thimbles, thereby possessing a fun factor unlike any other fruit -- you can put one on each finger and attempt to drink a mug of coffee. I will give her that point (+1R).  I will also concede that strawberries are somewhat more of a pain to eat; either one has to work their way around the green top or take the time to cut it off, whereas raspberries can be thrown back like popcorn (-1S, +1R).  But then, the slightly larger size of strawberries makes them less susceptible to the mush factor so often plaguing the bottom layer of packaged fruits (+1S, -1R).

It’s not a matter of opinion; the math shows 8-0 in favor of the strawberry.

Roasted Red Pepper Aioli / Corn Tortillas / Cauliflower Tacos / The Sound of Music

The first time I made this dish I was alone for the weekend.  Jeff was on his annual golf trip to Florida, and I was home cooking and baking nonstop -- I suppose, mostly, to keep myself busy.  At the time I was on a quesadilla (“dilla”) kick, and had recently purchased a tortilla press due to my obsession with learning how to make all components of all of my favorite dishes.  I also had on hand two full heads of cauliflower because I had planned to make my favorite roasted cauliflower and chickpea salad for work lunches that week, but then never got around to it.  Thus, my cauliflower tacos were born. I’ve made a lot of mediocre tacos in my life. In fact, I’ve actually said I gave up on trying to make tacos at home because what was the point when there are so many great taco joints in the world these days.  But these were so great I immediately declared them my go-to homemade taco.

MAKE THE ROASTED RED PEPPER AIOLI

I followed Giada’s recipe here, but next time I would modify it to have slightly less mayonnaise and slightly more olive oil, and possibly add red pepper flakes.  And although I profess “my obsession with learning how to make all components of all of my favorite dishes,” I truly hate roasting red peppers.  Buy them in a jar - they’re perfect!  I also don’t make my own mayonnaise, because I like Hellmann’s.

ROAST THE CAULIFLOWER

Preheat oven to 400F.  Wash and chop one head of cauliflower.  Chop into smaller pieces than you would for, say, a raw vegetable tray.  The benefits are twofold: 1) smaller pieces wrap into a taco better, and 2) smaller pieces provide more surface area to transform into crispy, caramelized, flavorful bits.  Toss chopped cauliflower with 2 tbsb olive oil, ½ tsp dried oregano, ½ tsp chili powder, and ¼ tsp cumin, ½ tsp salt, and ¼ tsp black pepper.  Spread onto sheet tray.  Roast for about 40 minutes.

MAKE THE TORTILLAS

I followed a recipe from the Kitchn here, and it worked well.  As a note to myself, and perhaps others, make sure the heat is indeed on medium-high.  I have a constant fear of kitchen fire, so I always err on the side of too little heat.  On simply medium heat, the tortillas will be tough, dry, and not toasted.  It wasn’t until I turned the heat up that I got the crispy, yet foldable, texture I was going for.

ASSEMBLE THE TACOS

Scoop a spoonful of the crispy cauliflower onto a corn tortilla.  Spoon roasted red pepper aioli over the top.  Sprinkle cotija cheese.  Top with chopped cilantro (unless you are one of those people for whom this will ruin the dish) and a squeeze of lime.  Enjoy a solo night at home on the couch in front of The Sound of Music.  Don’t forget to also prepare your favorite margaritas.

(There are also shrimp tacos in this picture.)

Simply Perfect: the Humble Ham & Cheese Baguette

Several months ago I met an old coworker for coffee one evening.  We sat outside on a porch that overlooked the parking lot of a new gourmet grocery store where, afterwards, I decided to pick up some prepared foods for dinner.  There was the usual selection of salad-bar salads, bakery breads, hot and cold meats, and soups, but on a whim I grabbed something decidedly lunch-ish: a ham and cheese baguette.  The bread was crusty with just one thin layer of ham, a few pieces of cheese -- not even enough to run the length of the sandwich, maybe one whole sun-dried tomato sliced and scattered, and just the slightest smear of mayonnaise.  It was simply perfect.

Ham and cheese is, of course, a classic combination -- with bread or eggs or both, with mustard and crackers on a party tray, folded into a buttery buckwheat crepe, on a pizza with pineapple.  But it’s the humble sandwich I return to most. As a bread lover, it allows the crusty baguette to shine, and as an economical shopper, it produces maximal bang for buck. When I first tried to replicate it at home I thought an herbed mayonnaise would amplify it a bit, but I was wrong.  I’ve since backed off even further by parting ways with the sun-dried tomato. It’s the sandwich that proves the cliche: simple is best.  

HAM AND CHEESE BAGUETTE

You’ll need:
1 crusty French baguette (or other rustic bread)
A few, very thinly sliced pieces of ham
A few, very thinly sliced pieces of cheese
Butter (preferably high-fat European style - I used Kerrygold)
Mayonnaise (I used Helmann’s)

Slice the baguette in half.  With a light hand, spread butter on one side and mayonnaise on the other.  Layer thinly the ham, followed by the cheese. Close the top, and cut yourself as long of a piece as you’d like.