STRAWBERRY FEELS FOREVER

Two magical little words for you today, my friends.......strawberry season.

Just saying the words gives me a little strawberry-perfumed sigh of satisfaction. These plump, juicy little red mouthfuls are a favorite of mine from way back in childhood, and always conjure up a series of lazy summertime afternoon feelings. When challenged to come up with a dessert that matched perfectly with a Fourth of July-themed picnic, my first and only thought was STRAWBERRIES. Seeing as July fourth falls smack in the middle of their ripe season, it's perfect timing, and I think you'll love the simplicity of this rustic tart. A shortbread cookie-inspired, press-in crust is the easiest pastry base in the world to make, and the buttery pastry meets its perfect match when topped with a thin layer of rich mascarpone and thinly sliced sweet-tart berries.

The little hints of white that peek through the layers of cheery, bright red strawberry are subtly patriotic enough for any July fourth picnic, and if you're looking for a flag-inspired dessert that gets its lovely hues from nature (rather than vats of red--and worse, blue--dye), this is the treat for you. Happy Fourth of July!

Strawberry Mascarpone Tart

Makes one 9" tart

For the tart base:

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

3 tablespoons sugar

1 large egg yolk

1 cup flour

1 teaspoon salt

For the tart topping:

1 cup mascarpone

1 tablespoon lemon zest

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1/3 cup sugar

1 1/2 cups sliced strawberries

2 tablespoons honey

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Stir together butter and sugar in a medium bowl, then stir in egg yolk. Add flour and salt, and stir until the mixture is dry and crumbly. Press dough into bottom and up the sides of a 9-inch tart pan. Place in freezer until firm, about 20 minutes. Bake, rotating halfway through, just until the tart base turns lightly golden brown, about 20 minutes. Remove pan and let tart base cool in pan.

In a mixing bowl, combine mascarpone (I like to use Vermont Creamery), lemon zest, lemon juice and sugar. Spread mixture on completely cooled tart base with a pastry spatula or butter knife. In another bowl, toss strawberries with honey, then arrange in whatever pattern you like on top of the tart. Slice, share and enjoy!

PERFECT PRESSED PICNIC SANDWICHES

Surry down to a stoned soul picnic

There'll be lots of time and wine

Red yellow honey

Sassafras and moonshine

-- Laura Nyro

Oh picnics, I've been thinking longingly of you these days. It's overly hot and dusty here at the arid peak of summer, even in those very early mornings when I slip on shoes and head outside still sleepyheaded with two leashes and excited pups in hand, toes stepping gingerly on still-warm pavement from the night before. Summer days are long. That's the pain, and the almost-maddening pleasure, of midsummer. So no one's venturing outside for lunch--least of all me--even if they were armed with the world's tallest, frostiest glass of lemonade. But I was recently challenged to dream up the ultimate menu for a Fourth of July-themed picnic (those of you who live in more temperate climates, is it really possible to picnic outside in July? I seriously envy you), and these sandwiches with their densely layered red-and-white stripes resting on a bed of purplish-blue olive tapenade, seemed to have just the right dash of Americana. Plus, it never hurts to mention that being full of juicy tomatoes, ham, salty olives, garlic and basil and other good things......they're shockingly delicious.

The layers actually seem to concentrate in flavor as they smush down under a heavy object (a cast iron skillet or a stack of cookbooks are my go-to kitchen weights), the flavorful salty spread sinking into the bread, the layers of tomato, mozzarella and ham becoming one. These pressed picnic sandwiches make such perfectly compact little gems when sliced, they're nearly as much a pleasure to look at as to eat. It's the perfect example of a summertime picnic staple: so easy to customize, so easy to assemble, so easy to wrap in squares of parchment and pack up in a cooler or wicker basket...and best of all, it's a recipe that actually gets better as it hangs around in the refrigerator waiting for its moment to shine!

A quick note, first, on authenticity. Condiments, like 'picnics,' are subject wildly to interpretation, right? So the kalamata olive mixture that goes on these is unapologetically a shortcut, a kind of 'cheater's tapenade'....but all the better to get you to the picnic faster, my dears. Try these sandwiches for your next gathering, whether it's an evening picnic on the grass, a backyard potluck under the fireworks, or even a living room floor affair complete with sandwiches and red-white-and-blue potato salad (more on that later) and frosty lemonades for everyone. Picnics are, after all, a state of mind.

Pressed Picnic Sandwiches

Ciabatta bread

Olive tapenade (recipe follows below)

2 Roma tomatoes

8 oz. fresh mozzarella

6 thin slices of deli ham

Baby arugula leaves

Fresh basil leaves

For the tapenade:

½ cup pitted kalamata olives

1 tablespoon mayonnaise

1 teaspoon fresh basil

¼ teaspoon honey

¼ teaspoon fresh garlic, minced

To make the tapenade, add all ingredients to the bowl of a food processor, pulse until they combine into a spread. I like mine a little rustic in texture, but can keep processing it until it's as smooth as you like. Slice tomatoes and mozzarella into approximately 1/4" slices, set both aside on paper towels for a few minutes to remove excess moisture (this will help eliminate the dreaded soggy sandwich scenario).

Using a serrated bread knife, slice the loaf of ciabatta bread in half, lengthwise. Spread the tapenade in an even layer on the bottom half of the bread. Layer tomato, mozzarella and ham evenly on top of this. Arrange a layer of arugula and basil leaves over this, top with the other half of ciabatta loaf.

Wrap everything tightly in plastic wrap, pressing out as much air as possible. Place this bundle in the refrigerator under a heavy weight, let sit for at the very least one hour or overnight, if possible. Remove plastic wrap and slice sandwich into sections for picnic time! I like to wrap each section in its own square of parchment and tie it up with a little twine for transport, but plastic wrap works fine here, too. Happy picnicking!

BOWLS OF CHERRIES

Yes, I pitted each and every single one of these cherries myself...with a knitting needle, in fact (the simple reason for which is that I do a lot more knitting then I do cherry pitting, so guess which pointy metal object is more readily available around my house?). It is, I believe, a thing that everyone should sit down and do at least once per cherry season. The rest of the year, you can pull your bag of frosty, pre-pitted cherries from the freezer like everyone else--totally admit to this habit myself--whenever you're in need of a homemade cherry pie, cherry syrup, muffins, an addition to a smoothie. 

But promise me this. 

Promise me that at least once a year, you'll sit down with a bowl of these beauties and work through the meditative act of poking each stone through the fruit by hand, one at a time. And as you pit each stubborn little devil, try to really think about the work itself. Think about how many deft fingertips had to pluck and pluck and pluck to fill this bowl full of juicy red fruits. Think about how many cherries had to first be carefully pitted to create each mouthful of cherry pie you've ever devoured, streaked with marbled scarlet-and-pink swirls of melting vanilla cream. Silently thank every cherry pie baker you've ever known, for their perseverance, for their deeply stained fingertips, for their dexterous way with a cherry pitter or a sharp knitting needle. 

And then do whatever you can to prolong cherry season, and to make the most of each single cherry you hand-pitted for someone's pleasure. If you're looking for suggestions, I'd suggest this recipe for pickled cherries. They're sweet, tart, with a faint background of salt, caramelly tones from brown sugar, nuanced notes of allspice, clove and pepper. These would be equally at home on a cheese plate, a kale salad spiked with goat cheese, or even a tender pulled pork sandwich.

Sweet & Tart Pickled Cherries

Makes about one quart

1 cup water

1/3 cup light brown sugar

1 tablespoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground allspice

small handful of whole black peppercorns (around 20)

whole cloves (also about 20)

1/2 cup white vinegar

4 cups fresh sweet cherries, pitted

Place water, sugar, salt and spices in a small saucepan, heat just to boiling then remove from heat. Stir until sugar and salt are dissolved, let mixture steep for about five minutes. Add vinegar and cherries to mixture.

Let cool completely, then place in airtight container (note: leave whole spices in with the cherries & pickling brine, as they will continue to flavor the mixture. Just be careful to leave them behind when you remove the cherries for eating!) and refrigerate. Enjoy on everything from cheese plates to savory sandwiches within three weeks of pickling. Happy summer, cherry pitters!

GREEN GARLIC SOUP

Straight outta the farmer's market, yo. It's my new obsession: green garlic.


The return of spring, for me, always brings with it an obsession with bright green—the color hardest to come by in the dead of winter, which is when I’m always dreaming of tender shoots and leaves. Green garlic is always a welcome surprise at my farmer’s market, and when it begins to show up around springtime (it will stick around through early summer, too), I like to make this vibrant green-as-green-can-be soup to highlight the color & grassy flavor of the season. This particular soup gets its verdant hue from not only green garlic and zucchini, but also a hefty dose of fresh basil and parsley, as well.

It’s almost supernaturally creamy (considering it doesn’t have a drop of dairy in it), for two reasons: the mild taste & wonderfully smooth texture of pureed zucchini, and the magic that happens when soaked raw cashews are blended into a rich, very cream-like puree. This is the perfect soup to hit all those ‘luxury craving’ sensors in your brain without weighing you down with overindulgence, and it’s an ideal spring or early summer dinner meal.

Green Garlic & Zucchini Soup

Makes 4 servings

2 bunches green garlic (about 1/2 lb.)

2 tablespoons olive oil

3 large zucchini, unpeeled and diced into ½” pieces (abut 1 ½ lbs.)

1 quart chicken or vegetable stock

1/4 cup fresh chopped basil

¼ cup fresh chopped flat leaf parsley

1 cup raw cashews (covered in water and soaked for at least two hours)

½ cup water

Salt & pepper, to taste

For Parsley Oil:

1 bunch flat leaf parsley

1/2 cup olive oil

Slice green garlic (crosswise, across the bulb) into ¼” sections, including the darker green tops. Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium high heat, add the white and pale green slices of garlic (save the darker green slices for the moment, you’ll add them later so they don’t burn) and cook for 5 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon. Add zucchini and the sliced green tops of the garlic, continue to stir as you cook for 5 more minutes, allowing everything to soften. Add stock, basil and parsley, reduce heat slightly to medium low, cover and simmer for 30 minutes. While soup is simmering, make the creamy cashew puree and parsley oil.

Heat a pot of water to boiling, drop 1 whole bunch of parsley into it and blanch for 10 seconds. Remove quickly and shock with cold running water (or an ice bath) to stop cooking; parsley should be bright green and lovely. Dry well and place in blender with ½ cup olive oil, blend to a fine puree. Strain through cheesecloth or a fine mesh strainer, save the resulting bright green oil for garnishing.

Drain soaked cashews and rinse well. Place in food processor or high-powered blender, blend until creamy and smooth. After 30 minutes, add to pot and continue to blend the entire soup mixture (you can do this is batches in your blender, or an immersion ‘stick’ blender is great for this) until smooth. Taste soup, add salt & pepper to preference. Serve warm, garnished with a freeform swirl of parsley oil.

CHIVE BLOSSOM BUTTER TARTINE

Chive blossoms are one of those spring specialties I spend the entire rest of the year looking forward to finding at the farmer’s market or in a friend’s garden. The round, puffed clusters of delicate lavender blossoms nodding at the ends of comically long thin stems like cartoon flowers are almost their own reward just for their goofy beauty….but then there’s the flavor. Delicately onion-like, a little floral, just garden perfection. Chive blossoms are like nothing else, and that’s reason enough to look forward to them all year. 

I always make chive blossom-steeped vinegar and sprinkle the little lavender blooms on my salads, but a tartine of chive blossom compound butter with a thin layer of another spring favorite, juicy fresh radish slices, is my absolute favorite way to consume this treat. A tartine is nothing more than a slice of good bread all gussied up French-style, with something delicious spread on it—it doesn't need to be anything more than that, and this chive blossom butter is certainly excellent on its own. But the addition of thinly sliced radishes at the peak of their spring perfection, adds an element of crunch and faintly peppery bite that really completes this humble little snack in an elegant way.

Tartine of Chive Blossom Basil Butter & Radishes

Makes 4 oz. of compound butter

1 stick (4 oz.) good quality unsalted or cultured butter

10 chive blossom heads (large purple clusters of tiny blossoms)

1 tablespoon fresh basil leaves, chopped

1 teaspoon honey

½ teaspoon salt

Freshly ground pepper, to taste

Rustic loaf of bread, sliced

Thinly sliced radishes (use your sharpest knife and try for translucent slices)

Let butter soften to room temperature in a bowl. Carefully rinse chive blossom heads and shake loose any garden grit, then gently blot them dry. Remove the tiny blossoms from the head and sprinkle them over the butter along with the basil, folding them in with a spoon or spatula as you do. Add honey, salt and pepper, check taste and adjust as needed. Extra compound butter can be re-formed into a stick shape, twisted up tightly in plastic wrap and saved in the refrigerator for easy slicing (use within a week for the best results).

To assemble, spread chive blossom butter on a slice of rustic bread, arrange as many thinly sliced radishes as you like on top, and maybe a tiny sprig of basil for color. Here’s to spring!

ON SOFTNESS, ON COURAGE, ON COCONUT RICE PUDDING WITH FRESH MANGOES

I'm going to talk about rice pudding in a second, I swear to you. I'm talking about a velvety rich concoction that clings to the spoon in that most voluptuous of ways, topped with ripe mango slices and a drizzle of magical caramel sauce (more on the magic of that later), finished with a showering of pistachios. But you're going to have to hang in there for a moment, because I recently had a birthday, and as the occupant of a possibly-gracefully-possibly-not aging human body.......something else has been on my mind a lot lately.

Tell me about vulnerability, says one half of me, as though I were two separate people, each turning to the other.

I'm standing over the stove and poking the surface of a rice pudding at the time, stirring whole grains as they melt into a creamy mixture, and if I'm startled by this sudden self-address I'd like to think I am too cool to show it. This is how people lose their minds, isn't it?

I prod the grains of rice in coconut milk for a moment longer, thinking about how to answer myself. Softness. Let's talk about softness, shall we? We so often speak of strength as hardness, she's steely or he's made of stone, as though simple hardness were the thing to be prized. But hardness resists experience, rejects knowledge. Things glance right off the surface of a steely, hard thing, colliding and gliding away into the ether without leaving so much as a scratch. True, the next movement in your direction could, say, be a knife sneaking into the velvety hidden, mortal place between your ribs, or it could be an innocent spoon nudging into the silken depths of a warm bowl of rice pudding.

Still I can't help but wonder.......is that, really, all there is to all this? To harden up and evade life's every experience, unscratched? Believe me, one half of me says to the other, you've known people like this. And so have I. Is that really all that we're here to do, to escape and remain unchanged and unlearned and eternally youthful and unblemished, only to die one day without ever having really lived? What a blatant waste of a lifetime on earth.

No thanks.

Far more courageous, I think, to turn and face the knife--or the stirring spoon, as it may turn out--and not grow yourself an outward shell to deflect the blow; to remain soft, yielding, open to experience. It takes a strength far greater than simple steeliness to accept life's blows and to absorb them, allowing the resulting dings and scrapes and even gouges to become part of our personal landscape. Press up against life--yes, okay, in a way like warm rice pudding, surging upwards above a spoon or pressing silkily into the roof of your mouth--and let its other people, atmospheres and events leave impressions; some will linger, and some will fade. I scrape my battered wooden spoon against the bottom of the pot again and again, leaving loops and whorls that fill with creamy deliciousness as they collapse. My rice pudding is nearly done.

Tell me again about the teacups, then, says the skeptical half of me to the resilient half, not yet satisfied with my answer. About the teacups? I say that there are wiser cultures than our own that value an object more as it sees daily wear--the wabi-sabi nature of an heirloom cup, the glorious warm-to-the-touch tarnish on a piece of antique copper, the rich, rubbed softness of a piece of vintage velvet--and how it grows in beauty and usefulness as it's touched and scratched and tarnished along the way. I talk about the teacups whose glaze literally takes on different colors as years and years of repeated pourings of hot water and ceremonially sipped tea transform what was into what will be. It's supposed to add to their beauty, not detract from it, and I like that idea--as the occupant of a human body myself. People ought to cherish themselves, body and soul, in the same way. Shouldn't we? We change, we grow, we twist into ribbons, we bloom and reshape, we transform into extraordinary things, and finally, we die. One day. If we haven't let circumstances leave impressions on us along the way, then we've missed the whole point.

My second self is satisfied, silent.

I serve us each a portion of coconut milk rice pudding, heaped softly in a bowl under a fan of thinly sliced ripe mangoes, a drizzle of coconut dulce de leche and a small handful of pistachios. The rice pudding steams fragrantly upwards into our faces as we dip spoons again and again into the soft surface of the rice, not a word passing between us until it's all gone and we're silently scraping the sides of bowls.

Coconut Milk Rice Pudding with Mango & Pistachios

Serves 4 (depending on how well you tend to share)

This is, obviously, a rich creamy treat for anyone who's looking to take dairy out of their dessert routine without sacrificing flavor. It's still pretty decadent, but it's loaded with healthy plant-based fats from the coconut milk and pistachios. And a fanned-out spread of ripe, delicious mangoes on top adds just enough tart sunshine brightness to what is otherwise a bowl of soft, sweet, addictively spoonable goodness.

I've made several different versions of this in the past, including a variety that used brown rice for its nutty crunch and was a loose spin-off of this Mark Bittman recipe. In the end, though, I settled on arborio rice, the grain used to make traditional risotto, as much for the intercontinental vibe of this recipe as for its creamy texture. The grains swell up and become plump but still just toothsome enough, suspended in a thick and rich coconut pudding.

2 14 oz. cans of coconut milk (buy the best quality you can find, and use the full fat version, please)

4 tablespoons brown sugar or coconut sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

1/2 cup arborio rice

Optional (but recommended) toppings

Fresh mango slices

Chopped roasted pistachios

Coconut dulce de leche (see recipe below)

Pour coconut milk into a heavy-bottomed saucepan, add sugar and stir until dissolved while heating just to a boil. As soon as bubbles begin to break the surface, reduce heat to the low end of medium and keep at a simmer. Add salt, cardamom and rice, stirring well.

Let simmer for about 45 minutes, remembering to check in with your wooden spoon every few minutes--even if you are in the midst of deep, philosophical conversation with your 'other' self--and give it a stir, scraping the bottom to prevent sticking. Rice pudding is finished when it's thick & creamy and rice is tender. Remove from heat and serve slightly warmer than room temperature (although it's a pretty great breakfast eaten cold the next day, as well), topped with fresh mango slices, a drizzle of coconut dulce de leche and pistachios.

Coconut Dulce de Leche

This is a pretty great basic recipe to have up your sleeve in general, as it's suitable for vegan, paleo or dairy-free diets, and is amazing on fruit, cake, ice cream, a spoon........whatever takes your fancy. The 'magic' of this wonderful sauce is that it somehow manages to taste like the most creamy, rich, butterfat-filled version of caramel sauce you ever tasted, while using none of those actual ingredients. In fact, it takes only three ingredients and comes together in less than thirty minutes on your stovetop with minimal effort. MAGIC.

Makes about 2/3 cup

1 14 oz. can of coconut milk (same note as above regarding quality)

1/2 cup brown sugar or coconut sugar

1 teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients in a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan (it's not much liquid, but you want to go larger rather than smaller on this, the extra surface area will help the caramel to evaporate and reduce), whisk together over medium heat until sugar and salt have dissolved. Bump the heat up to medium high and boil gently for about 20-25 minutes, stirring often to make sure it doesn't burn, boil over, or generally do anything else unpleasant.

Dulce de leche is done when it has thickened and darkened to a caramelly, nut brown color....yes, I realize this is totally subjective. Just stop it when it looks & tastes good to you. Remove from heat and let cool completely, then drizzle over rice pudding with mango slices. Can be saved in a container with an airtight lid for about three weeks. But it probably won't be around that long. :)