10 recipes. 10 days. 3 ingredients.

Why...?

It has a lot to do with 2 meals and 2 burnt hands. Not making sense?  I'll explain.

Not too long ago Jason gave me the gift of Brussels sprouts.  A friend and I stopped by his apartment and we planned to grab a quick bite when he paused at the door with "I've got something for you... it's nothing big, but the moment I saw it I thought of you."  Over to his undersized fridge where he pulls out a tall stalk of Brussels sprouts like it was Mary Poppins' magic carpetbag.  The stalk was large enough to feed, well... Brussels.  He guesses I'm happy with my gift.  I am, afterall, jumping in place while clapping my hands in glee.

It was decided that lunch would be indoors and self-made as there was no time was wasted de-sprouting and prepping the buds of my very own jolly green giant.  This turned out to be no easy task, as there had to be a good 75 - 80 sprouts on this beast (they can have up to 100 per plant).  But with a trio of workers we had those puppies stripped and quartered as efficiently as leaf cutter ants and it was time to cook.

I'd found Jason's largest pan - an ancient behemoth lurking under woks and cast iron.  In went some cut strips of bacon to sizzle and then we piled in the sprouts.   Even with its capacious girth, the pan could barely contain this mountain of cabbage-y goodness.  They were left to caramelize and fuse with the bacon fat, creating a dense, bright complexity that absolves the vegetable of a thousand childhood whines its ancestors endured when they were served at the table.  Add a couple of handfuls of walnuts, and you have reached vegetal bliss.


There was nothing left to do but toss in some cracked white pepper; A slightly prolonged task at Jason's house as he didn't possess a working pepper mill.  His kitchen is full of these charming disparities: a microplane grater but no potato peeler, several varieties of dried gourmet mushrooms... but not a spoon larger than "tea" in any drawer.  It's the kitchen of a lover of finer things, but still the remnants of a busy bachelor who eats on the run. I make a note to start picking up things to contribute to his cabinets to fill the blanks.  I realize now, however, that I have since confiscated (he did offer!) his microplane, thus depleting, instead of adding to his cupboards.  Bad girlfriend!

We sat down to enjoy what I personally feel is the most friendly dish of Brussels sprouts a person can have, and I suddenly thought, just how many ingredients are there in this?  The pepper didn't really count, or the salt I'd added, which just left sprouts, bacon and walnuts.  3 ingredients.  A simple dish where each element leaves the next uncrowded: a community-share of harmonic flavor.  And an idea for a self challenge was hatched...

Ah, and yes, somewhere along the in the cooking process a glob of hot bacon fat managed to explode onto my hand just as it was closest to the flame while I added the sprouts; a wound which I was destined to repeat just days later as I prepared yet another 3 ingredient recipe... but that story is for tomorrow.

The first recipe will be posted on the 12th (tomorrow), and don't think you've heard the last of the Brussels sprout...

Spicy Italian Pickled Okra or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Preserving

When I was nine my family moved from Chicago to a farmhouse in Elizabethtown, PA for one year. I remember this time as some of the most fun I had growing up.  Being city raised, everything was novel to me at first and I ran around pretending to be a hardened New Yorker proclaiming everything I saw "quaint".

Once the novelty wore off, however, I realized I had a genuine love for this kind of living.  There were deer and groundhogs and all kinds of wildlife for me to imagine I was Snow White with. A possum routinely walked to the school bus with me with her baby clinging to her underside.

I was introduced to a new vocabulary filled with verbs like hoeing, planting, and my favorite: canning.  The concept of having fruit trees in your backyard and picking raspberries to take into the house to MAKE jam boggled my mind. Jam was something that came in jars bought from the store. It seemed as odd to me to make it yourself as to build your own car to drive around in.  I didn't come around to the idea until I had a taste of the first batch: bright and more "fruity" than "sugary"... and I had made this myself.  It was a high I would seek out for the rest of my life.

As an young adult back in Chicago, I didn't do too much canning. I think it somehow just didn't seem cool. "Wait, you spent half the day stuffing food into jars that you could've just bought at the store?!", I imagined my friends saying as they rummaged thru my fridge.  They would suddenly look at me in a new light: a hermit with no social life making her own tepanade while singing show tunes to her cat.  While that wasn't too far from the truth, I didn't want the telltale jars lurking around my kitchen to prove it.

Fast forward a few years with the economy sliding down the drain and those fancy jars in Dean & Deluca's suddenly aren't looking like the end all for chic food choices.  Yes, they look beautiful and taste delicious.  But they cost as much as a week's groceries and could easily be made at home for a fraction.  The cuisine community has picked up on this and resurrected the trend of canning for the haute food lifestyle.  Elevated by fantastic articles like the New York Times' Preserving Time in a Bottle, the jarred recipe is now a fashionable keepsake of the crafting trend.


Finally absolved of any "uncool" vibes and armed with fresh herbs from my little city planting boxes, I got to work.  I had purchased some pickled okra a while back that I had really enjoyed, so this was the obvious choice for my first vinegary victims.  The process came back to me slowly, but as I plunged the jars into the boiling hot water to sterilize them, I remembered being nine again and thinking of how silly this all was, how pointless and then... how utterly miraculous.

The recipe is adapted from Alton Brown's.  He's a good country boy himself so I especially love any recipe of his that includes a nod to his heritage.  I also don't trust my own acid/salinity ratio judgment, so it's good to have the foremost scientific cook help out!  I've used some purple basil that had grown like weeds for me (a miracle), as well as some red onions and yes, some red wine.  This gave the okra a beautiful ruby brine that contrasts nicely with the bright green pods. The resulting product has a great crunch and a burst of flavor that manages to be zesty (fun word) and earthy at the same time. 

I hope you'll try some pickling soon.  Afterall, it's what all the cool kids are doing...

Recipe: Italian Spicy Pickled Okra

What you need...

Equipment: 4 pint sized canning jars.  See the Alton Brown recipe for sterlizing/canning tips

2 lbs fresh okra (try to get small, young ones, the older ones get "woody")
4 red chilies (such as Cayanne), split
8 cloves of garlic
4 sprigs of purple basil or 12 leaves of sweet/Italian basil
1/2 a red onion, cut into slivers
1 teaspoon whole peppercorns

1 teaspoon whole coriander
1/4 cup kosher salt
2 cups rice wine vinegar
1 cup bottled water
1 cup red wine

What to do with it all...

1. Divide the chilies, garlic, basil, onion, peppercorns and coriander between the 4 jars and place in the bottom
2. Wash and trim okra, then add to jars.  They should be standing vertically, and alternating stems up and down to maximize jar space.
3. Set jars on a non-conductive surface like wood or formica with a towel under them.  Cold surfaces like marble or stainless steel can cause jar breakage from glass cold shock.
4. In a saucepan bring salt, vinegar, and water to a boil.  Add wine, then pour immediately over okra, leaving space between top of liquid and top of jar lid.  Seal lids and set in a cool dry place like your pantry for 2 weeks.

Enter the Dragon Fruit

So I have a bad habit of buying weird fruit at the asian markets near my house. One week I'm enamored with the spiky rambutan bins, another it's a bag of mangosteen that end up costing me $22. This week: dragon fruit. I was obviously attracted this time because of the inherent "shiny" gene we all have as children. I wanted this fruit not because of any nutritional value or deliciousness... I bought it because it was pretty and I was mesmerized by the bright pink skin. It was the color of so many dresses and Barbie convertibles I wanted as a little girl... but in food form, and with no mom around to tell me I couldn't have it.

So I found myself walking home with a bag of these things with absolutely no clue if they had high levels of antioxidants or, say, poisonous inedible seeds or ... tasted like feet. All I knew was that I wanted to show them to everyone on the street and take pictures of them the moment I got them home. And so I did take a few pictures before deciding I needed to listen to a second urge common to kids: I had to know what was inside this thing.

I placed the first fruit on the cutting board and examined it.  I palpated the fleshy exterior and leaned in to take a sniff: there was just a vague sort of green papaya smell. Nothing at all in the aroma department to match it's gaudy skin. I positioned the blade and held my breath as I sliced thru in one clean, satisfying movement. The contents laid out before me like a strange other world. Stark white fruit with perfect black sesame-like seeds. It was perfectly smooth, like glass, orbited by a thin layer of the fuscia exterior. It was beautiful... but what in the frick was I supposed to do with it now...?

I did a quick search online and found that the only real recipes around seemed to be for sorbets. I'd been leaning in that direction anyway, so I decided to go for it, but in typical ME fashion I refused to follow the ingredient lists I found and opted for my own experiment. But what to flavor it with when I had no idea how it tasted? There was oddly no more smell to the fruit now that it was cut open than it had whole. I plunged my spoon into the perfect flesh and extracted a sliver to taste. It has the texture of a kiwi but a subtle flavor that, honestly, reminded me of Tutti Frutti gum. I decided the more rustic granita (rather than sorbet) would be best, and I would make a honey syrup with lime to compliment the subtle flavor.

You can read more about this amazing fruit, also known as the Pitaya, here . Without further ado, the recipe!

Recipe: Dragon Fruit Granita

What to get...

2 Dragon fruit
1/2 lime (juice and zest)
2 Tbsp honey
2 Tbsp water

What to do with it all...

 Make a simple syrup by combining the honey and water and microwaving for minute or adding boiling water to the honey and stirring.  Scoop the pulp of the dragon fruit into a food processor or blender.  Add the syrup along with the lime juice and zest.  Blend until smooth.  Pour into a shallow pan and place into freezer.  After 30 mins, scrape the mixture with a fork to break it up.  Do this every 30 mins for 3 hrs.

If you have an ice cream machine, you can instead add this mixture to it and allow to cycle to make a sorbet.