Catalan Asparagus with Salsa Vinagreta

I love spring vegetables, but then again, who doesn’t? When green things that aren’t cabbage or kale start making their rounds through things like the farmer’s markets, good restaurants, and blogs (of course), we know good things are happening. And by “things,” I of course mean the prospect of sunshine and clear skies.

Unfortunately, I walked out of the house this morning wearing a hoodie, a rain jacket, and a scarf, so it looks like those prospects aren’t looking too good. It seriously bothers me that this is all occurring in the second half of May. I mean, it’s just not right! Halfway through April I was lounging in my swimsuit, reading books under the sun, and making big salads for dinner.  Now that we’re almost to June, I feel like my legs are as pale (read: white, white, white) as they were in January.

(A slight digression: I was reading Camus’ The Plague awhile ago, and in it, the author implies that people who are obsessed with the weather are only so dependent on it because they fail to have any other interest, direction, or passion to steer the emotional course of the day.  (If you’ve read The Plague, please don’t hold me accountable to any interpretive scrutiny.) I feel like Camus was doing some serious poking-of-my-ribs there, but I can’t help but think the weather is perhaps the most important thing. Well, of course besides the obvious and obligatory things like love and family and all that. The weather even trumps food, and that’s saying quite a lot for me. I could probably make a whole religion that revolves around the Sun—see how I just sneakily put the sun as a proper noun there, hehe? Actually, that sort of religion probably already exists. Whatever.)

Anyway, when I saw a big bundle of fat asparagus at my parent’s home, I was trying to decide between making an asparagus tart or this recipe.  I think my internal seasonal clock was pulling at me to make this one, just because during this time of year I would ideally be lazing around in the sun all day and wanting something fresh and light for dinner. This is the type of food I’m craving during that time: fresh vegetables, cooked until tender, with a sharp sauce of some sort. This one is Catalan, apparently, and calls for tomatoes, red onions and capers to be added to a basic white wine vinaigrette. Topped with some herbs and a few wedges of hard-ish boiled eggs, it all tastes pretty delicious. And, with a good few pieces of bread to sop up all the vinaigrette that puddles beneath the asparagus, this makes a fine meal. This is exactly the type of meal I hope I’ll consistently be eating a lot of soon—Sun, please come soon.

Song Pick of the Week: If you’re in the sunshine, somewhere, 1) I envy you, and 2) listen to this song, Moi Je Joue, by Brigitte Bardot. Fun Fact! I first heard this song when it played during the Sofia Coppola-directed commercial for the Miss Dior Cherie fragrance. I watched the commercial, in a daze, and decided then and there that I would buy that fragrance. I know this is exactly what the ad-people are seeking to accomplish, and honestly I’m as anti-capitalist as the next person (or most likely more). But I knew I would love it! I knew it would be my fragrance—something I have been seeking to acquire for the past few years! And look, now it is. So thanks, Brigitte Bardot.

One Year Ago: Chicken Tikka Masala and a Simple Rice Pilaf

Catalan Asparagus with Salsa Vinagreta
From Saveur
Serves 4 as a main (with lots of bread, obviously); 6 or so as a side

2 pounds asparagus, woody ends trimmed
7 tablespoons good olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
3 tablespoons capers
3 tablespoons finely chopped parsley
2-3 plum tomatoes, cored and finely chopped
½ red onion, finely chopped
2 hard-boiled eggs, cut into wedges

Bring a large pot of water to boil. Liberally salt the water. Add the asparagus, in batches if you have to, and cook until tender, about 4 minutes. Test a spear to make sure the asparagus is cooked but still has a little bit. Drain, and transfer to a serving platter.

Meanwhile, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, vinegar, and salt in a medium bowl. Once somewhat emulsified, add in the capers, parsley, tomatoes and onions and whisk again to combine. Taste for salt and pepper (you’ll probably have to add some). Pour over asparagus and top with wedges of hard-boiled eggs. Eat warm, room-temperature, cold, whatever; just eat it with good bread.

Lemon Pudding Cakes

So before I even get started, I’m going to apologize for 1.) presenting you with two lemony desserts in a row, and 2.) presenting you with nothing but treats and sweets throughout the past 6 weeks or so. That’s a lot of sugar and citrus.

But this one is kind of unavoidable, both in making and blogging about it. I mentioned in my post on lemon bars that lemon pudding cake is my mom’s favorite dessert. I grew up on it, and it’s the only dessert I really remember my mom caring enough about to put in the effort to make it on a weeknight. It’s also the only dessert I think my mom would repeatedly make even after I took on the role of answering well and beyond my family’s demand for sugar in the form of baked goods.

And although it took me awhile to come to my senses, I can see why. If you haven’t heard of lemon pudding cake before, it’s thing of wonder. The batter consists of the usual suspects of milk, sugar, some flour, and eggs, but the eggs are separated and beaten separately so the whites become airy and meringue-like. It’s a very loose batter, and when it bakes up in a dish, a springy sponge cake forms on top while a tangy pudding with the consistency of thick custard remains on the bottom. Each bite has differing textures of pudding and cake (hence the name), and it’s all tied together through the bright lemon flavor. It’s really, really good. It also isn’t too heavy, which is wonderful but also extremely dangerous in how it makes you want to eat about 3 servings in one sitting.

My mom always used the recipe found in my family’s Betty Crocker cookbook—you know, the one that’s spiral bound with all the cheesy 80s-era photographs inside. Because I have a natural tendency to falsely believe that prettier pictures and more technical-sounding instructions somehow correlate to a better recipe, I tried about a year ago to upstage my mom with what she calls a “fancier” and not as good recipe. Of course my mom was right—it was fussier, involved butter and more bowls, and it wasn’t as good. Of course. So I’ve learned my lesson: this year, when I had the urge to bake a dessert and my mom’s eyes lit up as she suggested I make lemon pudding cake, I stuck with her Betty Crocker recipe. 

These pudding cakes are perfect straight from the oven, after they’ve cooled for a few minutes. They’re warm and gooey and tart and cakey and everything good in the world. I sprinkled some powdered sugar over some of them (let’s not kid ourselves—mostly in the attempts to make the things more photogenic), but they really don’t need anything. However, if I were to add something, it’d be a dollop of this marscapone whipped cream. By the way, those lemon budinos—which I believe are lemon pudding cakes with an Italian name—are photographed so beautifully, and should convince you to try lemon pudding cake if you have any doubts at this point.

Song Pick of the Week is Halo. Because Beyonce is the most likely the coolest and most beautiful and enviable woman in the world. I know that song is old, and I’m not sure what threw it under my radar lately, but it’s got a real humbling feel to it that make me keep listening to it on repeat.

One Year Ago: Smoothest, Creamiest Hummus

Lemon Pudding Cake
Adapted from Betty Crocker
Serves 6-9 (small-ish portions)

I baked these cakes in a combination of 3 6-ounce ramekins and 3 12-ounce ramekins. To simplify things, I wrote the recipe down to be for 6-ounce ramekins or small bowls, but of course it’s okay to use differently sized bowls. Just keep in mind the cooking time: the 6-ounce ones require about 30 minutes of cooking, while the larger 12-ounce ones needed about 40 minutes. If you bake the pudding cake in one large casserole dish, that might take upwards of an hour. I’d go more by sight and touch to tell when it’s done.

Also! 2 cups of sugar looks like a lot of sugar. It is, but these are not overly sweet (and they’re really pleasantly tart), so I wouldn’t recommend messing with the amounts.

4 eggs, separated
1 1/3 cup milk
2 heaped teaspoons lemon zest (from 1 to 2 lemons)
1/2 cup lemon juice (from about 3 lemons)
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place 9 6-ounce ramekins (or other sized ramekins, if you want) in a large roasting pan (I lined the pan with a kitchen tea towel before placing the ramekins on top, in order to prevent slips). Heat a kettle full of water on the stove for the water bath.

In a clean and dry stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg whites until stiff peaks begin to form. Meanwhile, in a large bowl, beat egg yolks with a whisk slightly. Add the milk and lemon zest to combine. While whisking the mixture, add the lemon juice in a slow stream (as to not curdle the mixture). Add in the sugar, flour, and salt, and whisk until smooth. Add about 1/3 of the whipped egg whites and whisk in to lighten the mixture. Continue by adding the rest of the rest of the egg whites and folding them in until the mixture is mostly uniform.

Pour or ladle the mixture into the ramekins. Carefully pour enough hot water in the roasting pan so that the water reaches about 1 inch up the sides of the ramekins. Bake in the preheated oven for about 30 minutes, or until the tops are a deep golden brown and they spring back when lightly touched. Remove the ramekins from the water bath and let cool for at least 20 minutes. Eat warm, at room temperature, or cold—it’s always good.

to not be kept, but not be forgotten either

So I graduated from my university this past Sunday.

I spent a large part of my time at college thinking that “it wasn’t for me.” It’s been a little strange to kind of have this growing realization that I’ll never again be in a community that has so much support, warmth, encouragement, and opportunities as the one I’ve just left. I know it all had to come to an end, but it’s hard to get a grasp on  the fine line where one part of my life ends and another begins.

And I don’t think that difficulty comes so much from not having my whole life (or even the “next step”) figured out, but rather from having a feeling of wanting to belong somewhere, or to something or someone, but being too scared to figure out which where or thing or one to choose.

- – -

My school produces a literary journal every year, and there’s a student-written poem from last year’s edition that has been going around in my head the last couple months. This is going to be pretty damn awkward if that student ever sees this post, but I figure I should give credit where credit is due, so here goes: her name is Astra Lincoln, and she’s a very, very good writer. This is an excerpt from her poem “Peter Pan Syndrome.”

“& you were nine when the last of your baby-teeth fell out, and
this frightened you. you found a piece of loose thread hanging off
your baby blanket, and ripped it off. this was then tied around the
third tooth on the left, which proceeded to be pulled out and hid
beneath your pillow with a letter: ‘dear tooth fairey. i am scared
and i will miss your visits. i can not be without you. i heard you
won’t pick up teeth that were pulled, and did not fall on their own.
i hope that every night you come and see this tooth. i hope you
do not take it, but leave it here and check every night to see if it
is a keeper. it does not want to be kept, but it does not want to be
forgotten.”

Birthdays, Lemon Bars & the like

I was talking to my dad on the phone yesterday, and after reminding me of my birthday this Wednesday (aka tomorrow, or most likely today depending on where you are in the world) he exclaimed, “Wow, what a big week for you! Turning 22 and graduating!” And he went on to say that he had only started college right after he turned 21. He had waited a few years after high school to go to college because, as he says, “it was a different time back then.” Anyway, he said that when he woke up the morning of his 21st birthday, all his friends were asking him what he was going to do to celebrate. He said that he just responded with, “Ah, it’s all over now, everything is ending, I just wanna go back to sleep.” I guess for him starting college was a sign that something was ending that he wouldn’t get back again. This made me smile, but it also made me pretty sad in that I know that my Dad lives in the past (which both my twin sister and I very much got from him).

I remember when my older sister turned 22, over 4 years ago. I was amazed at how old 22 sounded. I told her that once a person gets past that age, they’re “in the deep end.” I kind of still think that, and I still think 22 sounds really, really old. It’s a weird time, is it not? Not like 18 or 30 or anything, but 22 sounds strange to me. I don’t know, I guess we’ll see how it turns out, won’t we? This also happens to be the same approach I’m taking to graduating and moving on in life after college (probably not a coincidence). No doubt I’ll let you know how both the whole age-thing and the whole graduation-thing turns out.

Moving on—I feel the need to do a huge shout-out at this time to my beautiful mother, whose birthday is today. Yes, that means that 50% of the 6 people in my family are born within two days of each other (more if you count my grandfather who also happens to share the same birthday as me and Lindsey). My mom so selflessly has let Lindsey and I steal all the attention away from her growing up as we never gave a second thought to her birthday or Mother’s Day for that matter, as we only ever focused on ourselves. So she deserves much more than a shout-out or two, but that’s all I’ve got right now. (I love you, Mom.)

My mom would really love these lemon bars. Her favorite dessert of all time is what she calls lemon pudding cake—that delicious dessert that is a souffle-like cake on top and a thick, tart pudding on the bottom. These lemon bars aren’t quite there in terms of nostalgia, but they’re still pretty good. And besides, I didn’t make them for her. I made them for my boss at work, whose birthday was last week. (I know, these spring birthdays, they never end!!!) Her birthday has coincided somewhat with the closing of my two-plus year stint at that office, so these treats kind of served as a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone offering.

This lemon bar recipe is one that I’ve been making for years, and it’s from Cook’s Illustrated (surprise! not). In my opinion, it makes the best lemon bars out there—and that includes restaurants, bakeries, or homemade. The shortbread crust is made with powdered sugar and cornstarch, which makes for a melt-in-your-mouth tenderness that is deeelectable. And I never say or use the word delectable, so the fact that I’m using it here should serve as a testament to how good this crust seriously is. Plus, there’s a nice, fat layer of it—no skimpy crust here! And the filling is tart, bright, and it’s perfectly solid so it doesn’t ooze all over you when you try to cut the bars up or eat them. It’s a good recipe to have on hand, especially when birthdays are around.

Lemon Bars
From Cook’s Illustrated
Makes a 9 by 13 pan (about 24 1 to 2-inch squares)

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2/3 cup powdered sugar, plus more for dusting
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) butter, at room temperature and cut up into chunky pieces

4 eggs
1 1/3 cups white sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
zest of 2 lemons (a heaping two teaspoons)
2/3 cup lemon juice from 3 to 4 lemons
1/3 cup whole milk
pinch kosher salt

To make the crust, line a 13 x 9-inch baking dish with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Butter any parts of the baking dish that remain exposed. Set aside.

Process the flour, powdered sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a food processor for a few seconds until combined. Add the cubes of butter and pulse until the mixture is pale yellow and crumbly-looking, about 10 1-second pulses. Sprinkle mixture into the prepared pan and press firmly into an even layer. Refrigerate for 30 minutes, and while it’s sitting there, preheat your oven to 350 degrees F. Once chilled, place directly in the heated oven for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown (and deliciously fragrant).

While the crust is baking, make the filling. Whisk the eggs, sugar, and flour in a medium bowl until well combined. Stir in the lemon zest, lemon juice, milk and salt, and blend well. It will look soup, but that’s just fine. Let it sit and settle for a bit while the crust finishes baking off.

When the crust is golden brown, remove the pan from the oven and reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees F. Stir the filling mixture to reblend, and then pour it over the hot crust. Bake until the filling feels firm when touched lightly, about 20 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool to room temperature, about an hour or so. Dust powdered sugar over the whole thing and cut into serving-size bars. Store in the fridge, and eat chilled.