Holy Mackerel

For all my complaining about the lack of fresh ingredients in winter, you'd think that by the time summer rolled around I'd be cooking incessantly. But the great irony of our warmest season is that the overwhelmingly abundant produce is already so perfect that I find myself unwilling to do much to it at all. The tomatoes that I've spent nine months pining for typically prove to be well worth the wait—sweet and juicy with just a hint of that signature tomato acidity. Why mar their already candy-like flavor with heat when popping them straight into your mouth is so easy and free of dirty dishes?

My answer to this laziness is to put enough great summer ingredients together so that it looks like you've cooked-up something delicious, when you've only just assembled a bunch of perfectly delicious stuff. But if you're looking to easily (and convincingly) make a full meal out of naked summer produce, there's no better foil than bluefish. It's flavorful, abundant (cheap!), and quick-cooking. Spanish mackerel is a personal favorite, with just a few easily picked-out pin bones running down the center of each filet, and beautiful bright yellow spots down the middle. I like a simple pan-to-oven preparation (a restaurant trick that works just as well in every home) that makes for crispy skin, moist meat, and takes less than 10 minutes. 

As for those barely-touched summer veggies, I like to go southern European-style with a simple tomato-herb salad and roasted baby summer squash (no chopping necessary). For the salad I used sungold tomatoes, the sweetest variety of cherry tomatoes (and my all-time favorite bit of summer produce), along with finely sliced basil and sorrel, a healthy squeeze of lime juice and plenty of salt and pepper. The squash couldn't be easier, tossed whole with extra virgin olive oil, basil, salt and pepper, then roasted in the oven. What's great about this dish is that everything comes together while another element cooks. While the squash roasts, the salad comes together in a flash and the fish is pan roasted (skin side only) for less than two minutes and into the oven for about five. For a half an hour of cooking and prep you get a simple and fresh dinner. Minimal effort, maximum flavor and dinner is...done.

Spanish Mackerel with Tomato-Herb Salad and Roasted Courgettes

serves 2

14 small courgettes

1 pint sungold cherry tomatoes, halved

1 cup basil, divided, finely sliced 

3 sorrel leaves, finely sliced

2 Spanish mackerel filets, pin bones removed

1 lime

extra virgin olive oil

salt 

pepper

1. Preheat oven to 350˚F. Season the halved tomatoes with salt and pepper and set aside.

2. Finely chop half of the sliced basil and place in a large bowl with the courgettes, extra virgin olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Toss to coat. Spread the courgettes out onto an aluminum foil-lined, rimmed baking sheet. Bake in the oven for 20 minutes or until tender.

2. Meanwhile, add 1 tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil, juice of half the lime, sorrel and remaining sliced basil to the tomatoes. Toss to coat. Set aside.

3. When there's about 10 minutes left for the courgettes, heat a teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil in an oven safe, non-stick skillet, over medium heat. Season the fish with salt and pepper on both sides and add to the skillet, skin side down. Cook until skin is just starting to crisp and brown around the edges, about 1 minute. Flip fish over and transfer skillet to oven. Cook another 5-6 minutes or until fish is just white and opaque. Serve over the courgettes with tomato salad on the side. Enjoy!

-Laura

In The Raw

Despite all my bellyaching about summer and how long it took to get here (not to mention how quickly it ended), I've had an embarrassment of riches. Thanks to my CSA I've run out of things I could possibly do with fresh tomatoes, but not before making what has quickly become my favorite sauce. Setting aside the undeniable facts about how easy and absurdly fast it is to prepare, let me tell you a little bit about how this no-cook sauce tastes. You know that feeling of biting into the first perfect, crisp fall apple? An apple so delicious, it makes all other apples before it seem like a cruel, fruity farce? Well this recipe will do something similar for the tomato. I'm not a big tomato fan. In fact, I usually remove them from dishes altogether if I can, because much like bad apples, a bad tomato is just awful. Mealy, mushy and flavorless, bad tomatoes (and apples, for that matter), are disappointing and not worth eating, especially in light of this recent article. But a good tomato (or, well, an apple) has a flavor so complex and fresh that when you taste it, you forget you've ever had it before.

This sauce can and should only be done with good, seasonal tomatoes, especially if you don't live on the West Coast. Because it relies on the flavor that only comes from good tomatoes as it's main ingredient, it simply wouldn't work without juicy, ripe tomatoes in the peak of their season. I craved it all winter long but waited until summer (and so can you!), a feat which is entirely worth it because this sauce will spoil you for all other tomatoes. Others will pale in comparison, appearing to be less flavorful and fresh to these which are shredded into a bowl using a cheese grater, combined with a few big glugs of extra virgin olive oil and a good squeeze of lemon juice. There's little else involved save for a clove or two of crushed garlic, a light julienne of basil and a pinch of both salt and pepper. Now that I've extolled the virtues of it's flavor and preparation, did I mention that it was done before the pasta? Capellini of all things, which cooks with lightening speed, did not stand a chance against this speediest of sauces. By the time the water came to a boil I was more than halfway done with the sauce prep. And sorry to burst any pasta bubbles but capellini (also known as angel hair) is really the ideal pasta shape for this sauce, with spaghetti and linguine coming in at a close second and third. Because the sauce is so thin it wouldn't stick to a thicker or larger noodle and would just pool in the bottom of your bowl. So a longer, thinner noodle would almost act like a sponge, absorbing the sauce and leaving you with a perfectly slurp-able noodle.

As for plating, I'd toss the pasta with half of the sauce and them pour the remaining sauce over each individual bowl of pasta. You can also mix in chopped tomatoes if you're a fan of having chunky bits in your pasta, but I like just topping each individual bowl with a little bit of chopped tomato (yellow ones in my case, just for color) and a few extra strands of basil. Drizzle some good extra virgin olive oil over the whole thing and give it one last turn of the pepper mill to finish off the dish. This would go really, really well with a light white wine like a Spanish Albariño, Txakoli or an Argentinian Torrontes. Even a Riesling that's not too sweet (Kung Fu Girl retails for about $12 and tastes great) would be excellent since you'll be getting plenty of acidity from the tomatoes. On that note, one important thing to remember is the sweetness versus acidity of your tomatoes. Mine were pretty sweet and only needed a bit of sugar to cut their acidity, but yours may need more or less, so do taste as you add ingredients to make sure you're balancing all of the flavors. Here's my final recipe:

Capellini With Raw Tomato Sauce

2 garlic cloves
2-3 lbs ripe tomatoes
juice of half a lemon
1 tsp sea salt plus more for seasoning
1 Tbsp sugar
freshly cracked black pepper
1 lb dried capellini
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil (plus more for garnish)

1. Mince the garlic and top it with a teaspoon of salt on your cutting board. Mash it into a paste using the side of your knife (the salt acts as an abrasive, breaking down the garlic).

2. Halve tomatoes crosswise and rub the cut sides of the tomatoes against the large holes of a box grater (reserve one half of a tomato to chop as a garnish). Grate tomatoes into a large bowl, reserving pulp. Toss the pulp with the garlic paste, lemon juice, half of the basil, salt, sugar and black pepper. Reserve half of the mixture in a separate bowl or container.

3. Cook pasta in boiling salted water until al dente (about 2-3 minutes). Drain and immediately add to tomato mixture, tossing well to combine. Plate and drizzle each bowl with remaining sauce. Sprinkle with chopped tomato, basil and drizzle with olive oil and a small pinch of salt and pepper before serving. Enjoy!

-Laura

No Such Thing As a Free Lunch

There were a few things about growing up between two cultures that were confusing to me as a small child. When eating out here in the US, there were free refills, tap water, and tons of bread and butter. But little else was free unless there was a dead fly or a hair in it. In Spain, a meal out meant a friendly greeting and despite the dollar fifty charge for bread and butter, a delicious assortment of tapas on the house. Exactly what tapas you got really depended on the region of Spain and the establishment in particular, but it could be anything from a plate of Serrano ham, to a bowl of olives, and if you're lucky and in a coastal town, even a paper cone filled with tiny fried fish.

On many occasions, one of the tapas that made it's way to the table was a simple dish called pan tumaca. This dish is not unlike a bruschetta, only the ingredients are much more pared down and not chopped up and sitting on top of a crostini. In this version, the crusty country bread is toasted or grilled and rubbed down with raw garlic. It permeates and perfumes the bread without forcing you to bite into a big raw chunk of it. The tomato is similarly applied, first cut in half and rubbed onto the bread, then lightly squeezed so that tiny droplets of pulp rain over the bread. A drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of salt to finish completes the classic version of pan tumaca (often just called pan con tomate), but I like the slightly more sophisticated version served around Barcelona.

Soft ribbons of silky Serrano ham adorn the top of this dish and add a lovely hint of saltiness to balance the sweetness of the tomatoes. It plays well with a splosh of fruity Spanish olive oil, and doesn't even need any additional salt. The garlic is subtle and takes on a spicy bite that hits right on your tastebuds. A dish like this is a perfect way to use any extra tomatoes you may have hanging around now that they're in season. You don't even have to use traditional red tomatoes--yellow or even differnt types of heirlooms would do just as good a job (and an assorment would look really pretty at a party). They're at their peak now, so a dish that uses them when they're perfectly to slightly over ripe and raw (yum!) is great for this time of year. Here's how I made mine:

Pan Tumaca

1/2 a loaf rustic style bread, sliced about 1/2 inch thick
4 ripe tomatoes, cut in half
6 cloves of garlic, cut in half
1/4 lb thin sliced Serrano ham (prosciutto works in a pinch)
extra virgin olive oil (the best, fruitiest kind you have)

1. Toast or grill bread until browned and crunchy. Rub bread on one side with garlic (cut side down).

2. Rub each slice with tomato (cut side down), squeezing some of the tomato pulp onto the bread. Drizzle with olive oil and top with a slice of ham. Enjoy!

-Laura

Blast From the Past

When I was growing up, a lot of today's current food cliche's were very much en vogue. For example, whereas nowadays the average side salad is a nice mesclun mix, lightly drizzled with good olive oil and topped with olives, cheese, or some other tasty ingredient, the side salad of my childhood was a heap of iceberg lettuce and cucumbers held together by a delicate glue of gloppy blue cheese dressing. Three or four cherry tomatoes inevitably hung on for dear life, while the more colorful establishments peppered their salads with the ever impressive shredded carrot and sliced radish. But no cooking cliche was more prevalent in my heyday than the stuffed tomato. It was like the Jude Law of the 80's culinary landscape. It's prevalence led to my two-decade long distaste for tomatoes, which was of course, no fault of the tomatoes. The stuffing was rarely ever anything more than breadcrumbs and cheese, and the tomatoes themselves were under seasoned, hollowed out shells, roasted to within an inch of their lives.

Sadly, these omnipresent little suckers tainted my view of even the most delicious raw tomatoes, and for years I refused to eat them, no matter how fresh they were. Fortunately, as time passed and restaurants removed such heinous dishes from their menus, I was able to keep an open mind and succumb to the wonders of fresh tomatoes. Although I do insist that they be perfect in texture and flavor, I can now even enjoy a tomato raw, simply drizzled with olive oil and salt. I love them in their own salad, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and even served with delicious oil packed tuna.

This weekend at the farmer's market I picked up a beautiful tray of small heirlooms in the most beautiful rainbow assortment of colors. I was so excited to finally have a decent few to chose from that I didn't even hesitate. Of course we're not all the way into the season, so within the next few weeks I'll probably have a greater selection. I'd also bought a huge handful of very fresh basil and some lovely mozzarella, so the obvious dish to make with these wonderful tomatoes was a fresh caprese salad. There's no real recipe, and the proportions can be adjusted according to your preferences. I happen to like it to be heavier in the cheese department and light on the basil, so that's how I constructed it. A tiny drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, a good pinch of salt and several turns of fresh cracked black pepper were all it took to finish the dish out. I ate two huge platefuls for dinner and was more than satisfied (although I may have had some extra mozzarella afterwards...).

To Market, to Market

Since I've really started making an effort to visit the greenmarket, I've found it easier to stay abreast of what's in season. The supermarket has everything all of the time, so it's difficult to tell unless you go where the farmers are. So far I've done a pretty good job of making it out to the market every other weekend, and boy does the landscape change from one week to the other. While two weekends ago I found a market rich in greens and radishes, this week I found one reflective of what's in season during the middle and end of summer.


Although I'm a foodie, I generally don't consider myself a food snob--high or low brow, if it's good, I'll eat it. I am, however, exceptionally picky when it comes to tomatoes. Very rarely am I satisfied with the ones I find in the supermarket, especially out of season. Those huge beefsteak tomatoes have no flavor, are always mealy, and just seem unnaturally large. I've often found solace in organic vine ripened tomatoes, but they're just not the same out of season. That's why I was so happy to walk through the market last weekend among tables and tables of heirloom tomatoes. I jumped at the chance to buy a few small heirlooms (first picture) along with fresh basil for a delicious caprese salad. Before leaving, I was lucky enough to find a stand with perfect green tomatoes. I haven't had fried green tomatoes in years, so I purchased two big ones to use for an appetizer dish.


Another big difference was the presence of peppers. They've clearly come into season in more ways than one. Forget about crunchy, sweet bell peppers, and consider for a minute all you could do with the variety of chiles available. From your basic jalapeño to serranos and habaneros, every chile under the sun seems to be available by the bushel. Now's the time to make your salsas and chutneys, not to mention delicious green salsa fresca, since tomatillos are in season now, too. I bought some lovely deep green pasillas (which are hot but not scorching) and plan on using them to make a roasted pepper salsa.


I also bought some regular bell peppers to make one of my favorite sandwiches.I still remember when I was a kid, my mom would fry up some green bell peppers (or sometimes they were spicy cubanelles) and serve them on a crunchy piece of baguette dipped in the pepper's juices. We'd serve them with home fries or even french fries, just like the pubs in Spain. I also made an impulse purchase and bought a chile pepper plant. Now, as many people reading this (my office mates included) may know, I have a pretty serious black thumb. I've managed to kill every plant that has come into my possession, the most recent of which was a brutally murdered tomato plant I had decomposing on my desk for months (my thanks to co-worker Lauren for disposing of the remains). But, since I'm always running out to buy jalapeños, I've convinced myself that if I have to rely on this plant for food, there's a good chance it may survive. In the meantime, I hope it enjoys it's time on my living room windowsill overlooking the traffic on 10th Avenue. If this one makes it, I know I'll finally be ready for that cilantro plant.


There is also the occasional ingredient that I have to keep myself from buying because I simply will not eat it. For example, the above pictured carrots were absolutely lovely. They were making their first appearance at the market and I was sure I could experiment with them and their beautiful rainbow colors. While the idea of roasting all those beautifully colored carrots was super appealing, I knew that I would never want to eat them. I don't really care for carrots on their own, I don't love carrot soup, and I have no plans to bake a carrot cake. So, I convinced myself to leave them be, which is more than I can usually do to keep from overbuying at the greenmarket. So that's what is out there now. Get on out to your local greenmarket, support your local farmers, and and buy fresh ingredients. If you do, you'll have less to do in the kitchen, since quality ingredients do most of the work for you.

-Laura

You Say Tomato

I have really fond memories of my grandfather and his love of salad. I've always liked a fairly plain salad of crispy lettuce with oil and vinegar, and generally push any toppings to the side or ask that they be left out altogether. My grandfather on the other hand, is the only person I've ever known that relished every ingredient on the plate and insisted that American salad was the best he'd ever eaten (my grandparents lived in Spain). Nothing made him happier than the standard house salad of the 80's and 90's: iceberg lettuce, tomato, shredded carrot, cucumber, and onion. While I balked at the waste of space that are cherry tomatoes, he savored each one with a smirky smile, as if he knew something we didn't. The funniest thing of all was his passion for American onions, insisting that they were at once spicy and sweet and by far the ultimate salad ingredient.

All of these memories came flooding back as I perused to produce aisle during my first trip to my new neighborhood supermarket. I rarely buy tomatoes (especially out of season) for several reasons, but primarily because most of them are bland and squishy. I think that over the years, the low quality of tomatoes (and most house salads) has served to convince me that I hate tomatoes, when in fact I'm just picky about them. I find that a tomato isn't much worth the effort if it isn't absolutely perfect--sweet and juicy with the perfect texture. So it came as quite a surprise when I was drawn to a quartet of shiny and firm vine-ripened tomatoes. Although I rarely eat them, I find that when they're perfect, few things are more delicious than a simply prepared tomato. A little coarse sea salt on the tomato's sweet flesh makes for a delicious snack, especially on a hot summer day when they're in season.

A slightly more complex but simple preparation is how my mother and I generally serve great tomatoes, and it's based on a recipe from one of our favorite restaurants just outside of Madrid. My mother lives for fresh tomatoes, and one day during lunch she discovered a delicious tuna and tomato salad. The tomatoes were a variety called raf, which grows in Spain near salty waters and is primarily green and yellow (it looks like a small, tight heirloom tomato). The restaurant cut the tomatoes into fat chunks and served them alongside ventresca (belly tuna). The tomatoes were topped with coarse sea salt and the whole dish was drizzled with olive oil and sweet aged balsamic vinegar. While I can't afford ventresca (a small can is about $12 in Manhattan) or aged balsamic, I can usually afford good Italian tuna packed in olive oil and decent balsamic vinegar.

So, last week I did the unthinkable and had a salad for dinner. I cut the tomatoes into chunks, sprinkled them with course salt and let the olive oil and balsamic vinegar flow. I topped the whole thing with my Italian tuna and curled up on the sofa. I couldn't help but think that if my grandfather took sure pleasure in eating every salad, even one from the Sizzler, this one would knock his socks off.

Tomato and Tuna Salad

This isn't really a recipe, just a method. Cut the tomatoes into chunks, as pictured above, and season with coarse sea salt (this would be a great time for grey salt). Serve alongside ventresca or good quality tuna, if you're frugal like me. Drizzle everything with extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Enjoy!

-Laura