Risotto-Stuffed Baked Tomatoes with Basil and Breadcrumbs

hot damme.

Risotto-Stuffed Baked Tomatoes 

with Fresh Basil and Breadcrumbs.

It was summer 2016, the summer of Jean-Claude Van Damme, and it was glorious. 

A little back story: as the only child of two people aggressively uninterested in pop culture, I missed out on some stuff in my pre-adolescent years. At the age of 7 I endured my second greatest schoolyard humiliation (the first being the wooden playground/ slide mishap that required a trip to the emergency room to have a 5" long protruding splinter removed from my right ass cheek) on the monkey bars during recess on a crisp fall day. A few kids were talking about the video for "Bad" and how bitchin'  it was and I decided to chime in. Bad to the Bone? GEORGE THOROGOOD IS SO COOL. Did you guys see that episode of Alvin and the Chipmunks, too?! At this point I may have belted out a line or two. I was then matter of factly informed by the playground alpha that a) no one thought Alvin and the Chipmunks was cool and not one person on those monkey bars had ever heard of the song "bad to the bone" b) bad (not to the bone) was a song by some guy named Michael Jackson (?) NOT George Thorogood c) no one on that playground had ever heard of George Thorogood d) music videos were like movies for songs and you could see them on cable television if your parents were the kind of parents that were interested in paying for such a thing. 

Things went on like that for a while.

By the age of 11, I'd visited more historic homes and been an impatient spectator at more basket weaving demonstrations and dulcimer concerts than an entire nursing home full of old folks. Then I was 12 and there was middle school. Then there was Nirvana. A loaner cassette of Incesticide passed by a friend during gym class. And then I started doing the things you're not supposed to do with the people you're not supposed to do them with.

And things went on like that for a while.

And now I'm here. Its the year 2016 and I'm watching a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie for the first time in my entire life. Correction: the entire Van Damme oeuvre. In all its 80s/90s time machine-y, Belgian accent-y, over the top action-y, high kicking, ass kicking glory. Because with that first (Bloodsport, 1988) viewing, some decades long unscratched itch deep down in inside felt suddenly satisfied. I'd craved the campy sincerity of these movies without any conscious awareness of their existence. Currently six films in, I've witnessed a mulleted Van Damme attempt a Cajun accent and knock a rattlesnake unconscious with a single punch (Hard Target, 1993), play twins separated at birth reunited to avenge their parents' rather confusing deaths (Double Impact, 1991 -- one of two films in the Van Damme dual role sub genre), and bookend a ridiculously disjointed 1920s epic (penned by the Muscles from Brussels himself) dressed as an old man in a bar, telling his life story to no one in particular (The Quest, 1996). And those mid-air splits? Van DAMN. 

Time is a flat circle. Or time is a roundhouse kick that never ends. Or maybe time is just a lightning fast punch to the crotch. No way to know till the end of it all.

But there's something here, I think. Let's call it the Van Damme principle. Van Damme is a man out of time, he simultaneously exists everywhere and nowhere at once. Summer is technically over but summer isn't really over till all the tomatoes are gone and summer really really is a state of being that never truly begins or ends. Its an evolving theory. 30 + movies left in the queue... 

Things will go on like this for a while.

Risotto Stuffed Tomatoes with

Basil and Breadcrumbs.
(serves 4-6)

6-8 firm, medium sized tomatoes*

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

1 medium red onion, diced

2c arborio rice

1c water

1c dry white wine

1/2c basil leave, torn into small pieces

2tsp ground sea salt

1/2c unseasoned breadcrumbs

2Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

tomato and plum cornmeal galettes with basil cashew cream

because summer ain't over till there's no more tomaters.
#GRAMMAR
Tomato and Plum Cornmeal Galettes 
with Basil Cashew Cream.

don't go, tomato.

I made a lot of delicious foodstuffs this summer. 

I made and ate a lot of delicious foodstuffs this summer. 

I made and ate and forgot to post about a lot of delicious foodstuffs this summer. 

Things happened. 

Fun was had. 

Days were long, the sun was bright. 

Feet were bare and delicious growing things were abundant.

There were road trips and boat trips and cold beers and grilled pizzas. 

There was music.

There was ocean rock skipping and boozy fireside storytelling.

Times were good. 

Times ARE good- if only a tiny bit chillier.

Yeah, the calendar says October, but I believe summer to be a fluid concept. 

A state of being the ebb and flow of which is entirely dependent on 

local tomato availability.

Soon mountains of dirt-caked root vegetables will replace the last lingering 

super-saturated nightshades. 

But not quite yet.

So put on a sweater, give those overeager fallen leaves the swift ass (stem?) kicking they so richly deserve, head to the market, and get baking.

itsy bitsy.

Plum and Cherry Tomato Cornmeal Tart 
with Basil Cashew Cream

(makes 5 medium tarts)

crust:

1/2c unbleached all purpose flour

1 1/2c stoneground cornmeal

1/3c unrefined coconut oil

1/2c chilled water

1/2tsp ground sea salt

filling:

2c plums, any variety, sliced into quarters or eighths depending on their size

1c halved cherry tomatoes, I used a mix of heirloom, sungold, and sweet 100 varieties

1c unrefined sugar + 1-2Tbsp extra for topping

1tsp fresh lemon juice
1tsp vanilla extract

2-3 large basil leaves, thinly sliced, for garnish

cashew cream:

1c raw cashews

1/2c fresh basil leaves
2tsp fresh lemon juice

1Tbsp maple syrup

1/4tsp ground sea salt

Watermelon Radish-Kale Slaw with Sugar Snap Peas.

rebel without a slawzzz?
ugh. puns...
Watermelon Radish-Kale Slaw with 
Sugar Snap Peas.

i won't do what you tell me.

I don't like being told what to do. Gentle nudging, helpful suggestions, even well intentioned advice- they all kick me into a sort of adolescent, contrarian hyper drive. 

This is why I sometimes (read: oftentimes) do things completely counter to my own self interest. 

My mother could probably write an entire book on this subject; though I really, really, really hope she doesn't...

Every now and again, though, that reflexive non-compliance has some small benefits.

Among them: it makes me relatively immune to advertising, cuts down on participation in contrived food holidays, unless they're donut-related (suck it, national nutella day), and means I'll rarely do anything just because I'm supposed to. 

This has all been a overlong way of confessing that I didn't join the masses and take to the grill on the Fourth of July, I slawed instead. 

And it was defiantly glorious.

i grew this. then i ate it.

Watermelon Radish-Kale Slaw with Sugar Snap Peas

(serves 4)

vegetables:

1 bunch watermelon radishes (about 3-4), scrubbed and peeled

1 bunch kale (about 7-8 leaves), I used a mix of red russian and lacanato

2c sugar snap peas, washed and de-stemmed

dressing:

1Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

1Tbsp toasted sesame oil*

2Tsp extra virgin olive oil

1Tbsp rice vinegar

2tsp apple cider vinegar

1/4tsp ground sea salt 

1/4tsp ground black pepper

"Thank You, Summer" Ratatouille + 36 Hours in Midcoast Maine.

good times, (metaphorical) noodle salad.

"Thank You, Summer" Ratatouille

+

36 Hours in Midcoast Maine.

summer kicks ass.

When I originally posted this recipe just about a year ago my folks were packing up the last of their boxes and getting ready to make the permanent move from Virginia to Maine and I wasn't handling it particularly well. It's hard to let go of a place where so many of your firsts happened. First steps, first words, first kiss, first love, first heartbreak...you know the drill. At the time it felt like the end of an unbearably large number of things; I pulled out of the driveway for the last time
and cried all the way across the blue ridge mountains. 

Melodramatic, I know, but that's how it went down. 

And that's probably why I gave this recipe such a depressing name the first time around. Summer's End Ratatouille?? Sheesh. Shoulda just called it "we all die" vegetable medley... Over the past year I've come to realize that home is where your people are, that past is past, present is present, and memories are yours regardless of where your parents live. I've also come to realize that (as a tidy little bonus) coastal Maine is a pretty kick-ass place for said people to be, especially in the summertime. 

So, in the spirit of newfound emotional maturity,
I'm re-branding this recipe "thank you, summer" ratatouille. 

No melodrama, no sad-sackery. 

Just an unabashed appreciation of the season, while it lasts. 

Knowing full well it'll be back around again soon enough.
Nothing but good times and noodle salad (bonus points if you get that reference).

every little bit of it.

"Thank You, Summer" Ratatouille
now with even less melodrama

(serves 4-6) 

3Tbsp olive oil

2-3Tbsp red wine 

1 large onion (yellow or red), thinly sliced

1 full head of garlic, cloves finely minced

two bell peppers, green red or yellow, sliced thin

Diced eggplant (any variety), about 3-4 cups

1-2 large zucchini, halved lengthwise and cut into thin slices

3-4 medium-sized tomatoes, diced (about 2c)

salt and black pepper to taste

1/2c shredded fresh basil leaves

full recipe here.

And now a few of my favorite Maine-based things:

Small Batch Spiny Gherkin Pickles & Doin' All The Things.

to old friends and new. 

Small Batch Spiny Gherkin Pickles

+

Doin' All The Things.

(also, i'm kinda famous now.)

garlicky brine is always the answer.

I stumbled across these Hmong Farms-grown maxixie cucumbers at the Brookline farmers' market last week. After excitedly staring at them for a good two minutes I picked out what looked like a good bunch (?) and brought them to the cashier. My gleeful confusion was not exactly mirrored by the guy who sold them to me, but I would not be deterred. I had no idea what they were or what to do with them but was absolutely certain that they needed to be mine. Find a strange, vaguely Seussian variety of gherkin while doing your weekly produce shopping? 

The only option is to pickle the hell out of it. 

Garlicky Small Batch Spiny Gherkin 

(Maxixie Cucumber) Pickles

(makes one quart or two pints)

1 bunch spiny gherkins (also know as maxixe cucumbers), about 8

1c apple cider vinegar

1/4c water

4 garlic cloves, smashed

1 large head of dried dill, or 2 teaspoons dill seed

1Tbsp kosher salt

1tsp unrefined sugar

1/2tsp brown mustard seeds

Add garlic, mustard seeds and dill seeds to a clean quart canning jar, 

or distribute evenly between two pint jars.

Wash and thoroughly scrub gherkins, then cut lengthwise into quarters or eighths, 

depending on your pickle thickness preference.

Whisk together vinegar, water, salt and sugar until dissolved.

Stuff cucumber slices into jars, pouring water and vinegar mix over top until covered.

Cover jar(s) tightly, give them a good shake, and refrigerate.

The longer they sit, the more the flavors will develop.

all the pickled things.

Bulgur-Lentil Salad with Preserved Lemon, Cucumber and Mint.

true love salad days.
Bulgur-Lentil Salad with 

Preserved Lemon, Cucumber & Mint.

its a forever kind of thing.

I couldn't live without cucumbers. Or, more accurately, I could live without them but their absence would cause me to spiral into an deep, dark food-based depression from which there would be little to no chance of recovery. I'd shuffle around the kitchen, muttering about how good things used to be between us, cucumbers and I. About how I was sure from the first time we met that it was gonna be a long-haul kind of thing. I'd bore my friends with old stories of our perfect summers together, all vine-y, gourd-y love. Of dirty fingernails and straight-from-the-garden goodness. Of Maine vacations spent biting into lemon cucumbers like apples. Love would begin to feel foreign and alienating and I'd stay up nights wondering
how I could have been so wrong in thinking we were forever.

The point of all this rambling is to say that you are my everything, Cucumis Sativus.
Don't ever leave, I'd be lost (and probably pretty annoying) without you.

And not to take anything away from this epic love manifesto,
but preserved lemon and fresh mint are pretty dope, too...

Fresh Corn & Basil Quinoa Fritters plus Scenes from the Weekend

frittered and rocked.
Fresh Corn, Basil & Sweet Onion Quinoa Fritters
+
 Produce, Punk and Pizza.

frittered.

Dusting off an old favorite for you guys today because...SUMMER. 

Get frittering.

Fresh Corn, Basil & Sweet Onion Quinoa Fritters

(makes about 8 medium fritters)

1c quinoa/ 2c water

1 cob of sweet corn, shucked and grated (approximately 1/3c)

1/2c whole wheat flour

1/3c minced sweet onion

1/2c minced basil

2Tbsp ground flax seeds

 6Tbsp boiling water

2Tbsp nutritional yeast

2tsp sea salt

1tsp black pepper

1tsp crushed red pepper

1tsp paprika

Oil for frying

Link to the original recipe here.

harvested.

grown.

Pan-Fried Stuffed Squash Blossoms with Lemony Walnut Ricotta

ooh...shiny.
Pan-Fried Stuffed Squash Blossoms with 

Lemony Walnut Ricotta.

stop showing off, summer.

I've never really been one to succumb to impulse purchases while grocery shopping. I try to approach the wall of delicious chocolatey/ crunchy things one must pass through before getting to the cashier with a "don't tell me what to do" kind of 'tude. I am cheap and I can make most of this stuff my damn self. I don't need to spend a dollar on your impossibly tiny square of dark chocolate, Co-Op. So there.

And those $7 bags of raw kale chips? Don't even get me started. 

But the farmers' market is a whole 'nother story. I never fail to get distracted by shiny, new, delicious things and if those things are affordable, all the better. When these ridiculously photogenic squash blossoms caught my eye on the way out of the farmers' market yesterday I HAD to have them.
And only three dollars for 12 of the most gorgeous flowers you ever did see?
No self respecting, produce loving cheapskate could pass that up.
I plunked down some cash and made them mine.

piping walnut ricotta into blossoms.

filled.

Pan Fried Squash Blossoms with
Lemony Walnut Ricotta
(makes 12 stuffed blossoms)

1 bunch squash blossoms, about 12, 

preferably with stems attached

3/4c raw walnut pieces

1 clove garlic

2Tbsp nutritional yeast

1Tbsp fresh lemon juice

1/2tsp mellow white miso

1/2tsp ground sea salt

1/4tsp cracked black pepper

1-2Tbsp water

2-3Tbsp olive oil, for frying
extra lemon juice and black pepper for garnish.

Scenes from the Weekend.

this is a thing that is happening now.

Scenes from the Weekend (and a little beyond).

rainy saturday at the egleston farmers market.

raw beets all summer long.