By Charity Shumway |

I’d Like To Talk About Beans

How’s that for a come on? I know, you can barely resist.

Beans. They’re so sexy. Just the word “beans” makes me think of bearded guys in overalls sitting around a fire under a viaduct. Or white kids with dreads in the kitchen of a grime and patchouli frosted “co-op.”

Or at least that’s what beans made me think of till right around the end of August. Which is when the beans I planted on my terrace began to flower. The flowers are so delicate and plentiful. And the beans themselves — oh, how beautiful they are!

 And now, in fact, I really do want to talk about beans. They’re so fresh and snappy!

I’ve got three varieties going: Maxibel Haricot Vert Beans, Gold Rush Wax Beans, and Royal Burgundy Bush Beans. And I can’t say enough good things about them.

First of all, they’re all “bush bean” varieties, as opposed to climbing beans, which means that I haven’t had to worry about building any support structures. They grow to their full height of twenty four inches or so without toppling over at all. And then, can we just discuss color? Green beans are lovely, but throwing some purple and yellow beans in there makes for such a beautiful medley. Sadly, the Royal Burgundy beans lose their color when they’re cooked (they turn a deep green), but instead of white flowers, their blooms are purple, and the beans themselves are like deep purple commas, drooping from their stems. The yellow beans seem to almost shimmer in the twilight. Beans: so sexy.

The flavor of all three varieties is great as well. I’ve been either snipping them into thirds and throwing them into curries or blistering them in a pan with just a little butter. Are you growing beans this year? Comments, please. I’m serious — I want to talk about beans.

By Nadia Arumugam |

End-of-Summer Warm Vegetable Salad

First off, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I deserted you for so long, but when you hear of my amazing adventures over the last month – skiing in the Andes, seeking out lion prides and herds of elephant in Botswana’s Okavango Delta, and salmon fishing in the heart of the Scottish highlands, I know you’ll forgive me. This summer was the kind of summer you embark on if you knew the world was coming to an end, and you had to fill your days in ways that really counted. (Please don’t worry, my world isn’t coming to an end, I just got lucky.) Still, remarkable as my travels were, there’s still something special about coming home. About seeing how your geranium babies (not so much babies now!) have grown by two feet – thank you lovely mother-in-law for stepping in and watering them, about seeping into your just-right bed with it’s just-right pillows, about making that first perfect cup of tea with the perfect tea bag, in the perfect mug in your own perfectly imperfect kitchen.

One of the first dinners (full disclosure, the very first dinner was spicy instant ramen noodles, but it was near midnight and we were just off an eight hour flight) I cooked upon coming home was a garlicky herb and lemon rubbed roasted chicken that smacked of simple homey cooking. The bird had been splayed opened, with the backbone cut out (“spatchcocked” is the fancy culinary name ) and placed skin side up on a roasting tin lined with tin foil (you’ll want to press down firmly on the breast bone so the chicken lies flat). A paste of crushed garlic – lots of it, chili flakes, chopped fresh parsley, finely grated lemon zest, salt and olive oil was insinuated inbetween the flesh and the skin and spread generously all over the breasts, thighs and drumsticks, with some also rubbed over the skin and on the underside of the bird. You have to get stuck in, literally, get your hands into the nethermost regions of the bird if you want the most flavor. The  assaulted chicken was then roasted near the top of the oven at 420 F for 55 minutes. I then turned the broiler on (opt for high, if you dare – but stay close to avoid, or appease, flare-ups) and let the skin crisp up and and turn a glorious burnished hue.

To accompany the chicken, I prepared an ever-popular warm summer vegetable salad. I’ve never known anyone not to fall in love with it upon first mouthful, then fall in love some more once they know how easy it is to prepare. And being served “warm” or even at “room temperature”, it’s great to keep in your dinner party arsenal. But I love it most because it captures all the tastes of summer. Gently sauteed eggplant, zucchini, voluptuous bell peppers, garlic and onion tossed with red wine vinegar, a pinch of sugar, and plenty of parsley and basil.

Today there was a distinctive coolness in the air, albeit amidst the sunny rays. But it was surely present forcing me to throw on a sweater when I crossed to the shaded side of the sidewalk, and it no doubt portends the near-arrival of fall. So before you file away this recipe amongst your warm weather staples, collect the last of summer’s boon and give it go.

4 Tbs. extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium eggplant, cut into ½ inch dice
Salt
1 medium red onion, chopped
1 medium large red bell pepper, cut into ½ inch dice
2 medium zucchini, cut into ½ inch dice
½ tsp. sugar
1½ Tbs. red wine vinegar
3 Tbs. chopped fresh parsley leaves
3 Tbs. thinly shredded fresh basil leaves
Freshly cracked black pepper 

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil over medium high heat in large skillet. When hot, add the eggplant and a generous pinch of salt and stir well. Cook, stirring occasionally, about 5 to 7 minutes, until tender. Transfer to a large bowl and set aside. Add the remaining olive oil to the skillet and when hot add the onion, stir and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, until softened. Add the garlic, peppers and zucchini to the pan with a scant teaspoon of salt. Cook, stirring every now and then, until the zucchini and peppers are tender, about 5 to 7 minutes. Transfer the vegetable mixture to the bowl with the eggplant. Add the red wine vinegar, sugar and the parsley and basil to the bowl, and gently stir to combine. Season with plenty of freshly cracked black pepper.

 

By Charity Shumway |

Tomatillo Varieties: Pucker up for Purple

(image)

We were talking about tomatillos the other day, and then we got all distracted by plums and flowers. The world this time of year will do that to you. Summer! Bounty! It’s hard to stay focused, and why would you even want to? But we’re coming back to tomatillos because they’re delicious. And they’ve been beckoning. This weekend, I was at Tacombi, the restaurant on Elizabeth Street with a VW truck inside that sells tacos. Tomatillos and awesomeness are the two reigning spirits of that place. I got home and rushed right out to check on my tomatillo plants. They’re still in the flowering stage, no fruit. But SOON. And when they come, they’re going to be purple, just like those beauties above. And then, I will make the world’s prettiest purple salsa.

If you’re deciding which kind of tomatillo you’d like to grow, here’s a guide to the major varieties on the market. There are three big types. Let’s start with those purple gems.

  1. They’re called Purple Di Milpa. They grow wild in Mexico (which sounds awesome). The fruit is typically smaller than the fruit of green varieties, and the flavor is sweeter but also with a sharper punch than your average tomatillo. Oh yeah, and THEY’RE PURPLE.
  2. Toma Verde is your standard green variety. That sounds boring, but tomatillos, even “standard variety” ones, are emphatically not boring. The plusses of the Toma Verde are many. These plants produce a lot of fruit, so you’ll have plenty of salsa verde to go around.  They also mature more quickly, as quickly as 60 days in fact. That’s two months to tacos.
  3. Last but not least, we have Verde Puebla. This variety is green as well, and like Toma Verde, they tend to produce plenty of fruit. But the fruit is bigger. Less husking, more eating — definitely great if you’re chopping your tomatillos into salsa. If you’re popping them raw, however, you might prefer a more delicate mouthful.

Naturally, I’ll give you the full report when tomatillo harvest time hits around here. And just in case you were curious in the meantime, I present to you: tomatillo flowers.

By Nadia Arumugam |

Local Plums Call For Upside Down Cake!

I treated myself today to an outing to Dean & Deluca in Soho. Great for my culinary id, terrible for my wallet. There was so much that I wanted to grab and run away with; perfectly formed, tiny Asian eggplant, tender okra, stripy heirloom zucchini, fresh as can be 8-Ball Squash. But it was the fruit selection which perfumed the store with its voluptuous, heady scent that really had me having to call upon those inner stores of self-restraint I reserve for precisely such moments. But I’m not entirely apathetic towards my more needy side, so I allowed myself one thing, well, at least one type of thing. After much internal debate, I opted for the local New York red sugar plums. They were a seductive pinky red, perfectly round, and perfectly little. How could I say no?

As far as I’m concerned, aside from eating them out of hand, plums are made for baking into upside down cakes. I have something of a soft spot for the upside down confection as it was the very first cake I was taught to make at my Home Economics class when I was a young teen at school. But that cake was made with rounds of canned pineapple, each wheel filled with a bright red Maraschino cherry half. I quickly took it upon myself to graduate up to fresh plums whenever I made the cake at home. With their tart skins that release pretty pink syrupy juices and sweet juicy flesh they presented the perfect foil to tender-crumbed cake.

When buying plums for baking, look for semi-firm fruit just a little give when you gently squeeze them. You want them ripe but definitely not overly ripe as they’ll simply disintegrate when you try to cook with them.

 Plum, Basil and Cornmeal Upside Down Cake
Adapted from Real Simple’s Plum Upside Down Cake
I played with this simple but delicious recipe from Real Simple magazine making it that touch more special with the addition of cornmeal for textural contrast, cinnamon for spicy warmth and basil syrup for that extra hit of summer, and a dollop of sophistication!

1 stick plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, plus extra for the pan, at room temperature
8 to 10  small ripe red sugar plums, about 1 pound in total, stones removed and each cut into 6 wedges
1/4  cup  plus 2/3 cup granulated sugar
Handful large basil leaves
3/4  cup  all-purpose flour
1/4 cup yellow cornmeal
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4  teaspoon  baking powder
1/4  teaspoon baking soda
1/4  teaspoon salt
1  large egg, lightly beaten
2/3  cup  Greek yogurt
2 Tablespoons milk
1  teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350° F. Butter  and flour an 8-inch cake pan, lining the bottom with parchment paper.

Melt the 1 tablespoon of butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the plums, 1/4 cup of the sugar and the basil leaves and cook, tossing, until the sugar dissolves and the juices from the plums become syrupy, about 2 minutes. Remove the plums from the skillet using a slotted spoon and transfer to the prepared cake pan. Arrange the plum wedges so they are in a single layer. Return the pan to the stove and let the syrup bubble away until reduced to about 3 tablespoons.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. With an electric mixer, beat the remaining 1/2 cup of the butter and 2/3 cup of the sugar until fluffy. Beat in the egg, greek yogurt, milk and vanilla. Gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until incorporated. Spoon the batter over the plums in an even layer and bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 50 to 55 minutes.

Let cool in the pan for about 30 to 40 minutes. Place a large plate over the cake pan and invert the cake onto the plate, or turn out onto a wire rack with a large piece of foil placed underneath to catch any dripping syrup. Eat warm or at room temperature.