Ganache - The Latest After Dinner Nosh

As untrue to nature as it may seem, here we have a chocolate dessert that doubles as an after dinner digestif. You will love this tart for its emphasis on the natural cocoa flavors, rather than on sugar. And if you don't believe me yet, allow me, and my lack of a sweet tooth, to explain: A rich and shiny chocolate ganache filling, laced with a surprising kick of black pepper, is nestled atop a crunchy crust of gingersnap cookie crumbs. And then to cap off each wedge, a hit of spicy candied ginger. An elegant finale for a fall dinner party, this slightly savory sweet meshes seamlessly with the courses which precede it.

It seemed like just the thing to prepare for a birthday dinner at Rose Water in Park Slope. I wanted to incorporate an earthy ingredient into the dessert which I'd bring to the restaurant and which they'd slice and plate, with much care I must add, for a $2.50/person surcharge. Rose Water touts itself as a seasonally-dedicated restaurant, and its straightforward, intelligent menu items are delightful and truly satisfying.

To begin, we shared mussels with butter sausage, curly kale and a rouille toast. A bowl of steamed surf and turf is something I can never resist. Light and rich at the same time, I love this dish. Next, I sprang for the grilled polenta with ratatouille, curly kale and parmesan. Maybe the antithesis of a vegetarian, it's unusal for me to select a vegetarian entrée. But this one spoke to me, or maybe it is my enduring infatuation with Rémy the rat from the film Ratatouille, which called out tableside. Both my appetizer and main made use of curly kale. I would never need to take vitamins again, the way Rose Water prepares curly kale. With just enough seasoning to bring out kale's attributes, while not overshadowing the humble vegetable-ness of this legume, it is another case of light, but rich - a balance which guides chef Bret Macris through each course.

And the polenta was perfect. A crispy exterior brought out the flavor of charred corn alongside a smooth and creamy interior. Paired with carefully sautéed vegetables and nutty shards of parmesan, the freshness of these simple ingredients sang through.

I'll have to return to Rose Water to try their peach fritters with raspberry compote and honey ice cream, but for the time being, we all enjoyed the rich, but not cloying, natural flavors in this chocolate ganache tart.

Based on a recipe from December 2007, Bon Appétit

Serves 8

For the crust:

40 gingersnap cookies (I used Trader Joes' triple gingersnap cookies)

6 tablespoons butter, melted

For the ganache filling:

14 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped using a cerrated knife

1 cup heavy cream, at room temperature

2 large egg yolks

1 large egg

1/4 cup granulated sugar

3 tablespoons honey

1 tablespoon flour

1 or 2 cracks of black pepper

coarsely chopped crystallized ginger (I used Trader Joes' brand)

-Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

-Spray a 9-inch diameter tart pan with baking spray.

-Place gingersnaps into a food processor, and pulse until finely ground. Add in melted butter for one or two more whirls. Dump contents into tart pan and press firmly into the pan and up the sides. You shouldn't reach the edge of the sides - moreso, about halfway up the edges. Set aside.

-Place chocolate and heavy cream in a small saucepan. Whisk gently, on low heat, until fully homogenous and combined. The chocolate should look very silky. Take off the heat and allow to come to room temerature.

-In a medium-sized bowl, whisk eggs and yolk with flour, pepper, and honey. Gently whisk in cooled chocolate until fully combined.

-Pour in chocolate atop cookie crumb crust and smooth out with a small spatula or butter knife.-Place into oven and let cook for 35 minutes. The chocolate will be set and look like a brownie crust.-Once the tart is out of the oven, sprinkle decoratively with chopped ginger. The heat will adhere the ginger to the tart.

-This can be left refrigerated, once cooled, for 2 days. Slice into wedges, cooled or at room temperature.

Tuxedo Tuna

Deciding what to make the night after you've sampled Daniel Boulud's couscous, and face-to-face charm, is not a simple feat. This was the task at hand after attending Le Fooding at P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center. Lucky enough to score a ticket, I spent an evening ogling an international crowd clad in skinny jeans, and the Parisian culinary masters, imported to man their booths, plate their course of choice, and flash a dashing smile - all while miraculously guzzling bubbly. I'd say the monsieurs caught on to la fête of New York City pretty smoothly.

I knew it'd be a good night, when after waiting on a line which extended from one G subway stop to another, us non-VIPs were greeted by mounds of tomme and gruyère cheese by the entryway. Little wooden plates of our cheese course, accompanied by Balthazar pain à la rustique, were just the push I needed to itch my way past the crowds towards the drink ticket line.

Maybe it was too much Côtes du Rhone, or perhaps the intoxicating late summer air which carried the scent of the much-regaled Minetta Tavern burger, but each long queue seemed absolutely worth the wait. A small batallion of sous chefs within each station plated a small paper plate with each grand chef's menu contribution. The winner in my eyes was Daniel Boulud's moroccan couscous with simmered lamb, chicken, and spicy sausage, which tasted to me like merguez. The couscous was light and airy. The meats were the perfect texture and wonderfully seasoned. And with Daniel right there, sipping Pellegrino, and fanning the couscous with a fourchette, you can commiserate with my dilemma of what to make for dinner tonight.

Le Fooding did help me out in just one way, though. Each chef's menu contribution involved meat. It wasn't at all redundant since each tasting had such different character and coinciding components, but laden with stewed/seared/poached meats, I settled on fish to follow up Le Fooding. And sure, I've whisked a béchamel sauce or two before, but tonight I made an Asian-themed dinner - so as not to mess with my lingering memory of cuisine à la francaise, here in Queens.

I had to transport the high drama and chic flair of my Saturday into my Sunday, so I decided to go the tuxedo route. And when it comes to sushi-grade tuna, this can mean only one thing: black and white sesame seeds.

Done in advance, this is a fun one for entertaining. The tuna steaks get seasoned with salt and pepper, and then coated with a mixture of both seeds. Left in the fridge until ready to sear, then slice, this is the makings of a black tie affair.

Serves 2

2 sushi-grade tuna steaks, washed and patted dry

sesame oil

1/4 cup sesame seeds

1/4 cup black sesame seeds

salt and pepper

- Lightly coat tuna with sesame oil.

- In a small dish, stir both seeds with a fork to combine.

- Take each steak and press into the seeds on each side.

- Place on a dish and leave refrigerated, wrapped in plastic wrap, until ready to sear, at least 15 minutes.

- Heat up a large saute pan with sesame oil, to coat.

- Sear on both sides for 1 minute, for "black and blue," or rare tuna.

- Let cool for 10 minutes, and slice thinly.

On the side, I boiled some thai rice noodles, drained them, and mixed them with:

- 1/4 cup soy sauce

- 1/4 cup mirin

- 1/4 cup sesame oil

- 3 chopped scallions

- 2 carrots, peeled and sliced

- 1/4 cup defrosted edamame

All combined together, these can be served at room temperature.

Also alongside, you can try Spinach Salad with Ginger Dressing, Mushrooms and Wasabi Peas. If spicy is your thing, you'll love this. Just like toasted nuts get a rough chop as a salad mix-in, an Asian-themed salad works great with roughly chopped wasabi peas. They're unexpected and pack in a great crunch.

Serves 2

2 cups spinach leaves

1/4 cup purchased ginger dressing (the orange kind we're all used to in sushi restaurants)

1/2 dozen button mushrooms, thinly sliced

paprika

salt and pepper

sesame oil

1/4 cup wasabi peas

- In a small saute pan, heat up sesame oil to coat. Season oil with a couple dashes of paprika, salt, and pepper.

- Add in mushrooms and saute until cooked through with a slightly red tint.

- Toss salad with ginger dressing.

- Garnish with warm mushrooms and wasabi peas.

Seafood pasta, Take Two

I have this oral memory, that persists years later, of watching Mario Batali on his former TV show "Molto Mario." With fuming pasta water rushing up towards his already beet red face, Mario would delcare that today he'd be making, "linguiiiiine con le vongoleeee ingrosssso." I'd sit there on my parents' couch, and repeat the phrase over and over until I was a shade of Mari, myself. And minutes later, the steamed clams would open up, al dente pasta would be simmering in the clams' juice along with white wine, and Mario's guests would dig in to a bowl containing something so fresh, so dynamic, and just plain fun.

If you can't tell, I'm on a seafood pasta kick. I just love how, #1, shellfish are so darn cheap compared to fish filets. And even more importantly, considering I have an over-indulgent shopping quota for my food habits, pasta with shellfish is so simple and quick to make.

You see, unlike with a roast, shellfish beg to be cooked just till they're done, which happens in just minutes. And with mussels or clams - could these little molluscs help you out anymore? The two open up their shells, when just enough seasoned heat has permeated, and let you know that it's time to dish them into pasta-friendly bowls. Amore.

Serves 4

3 pounds clams, rinsed and scrubbed and refrigerated until using

1 box tricolore penne pasta

1/2 bottle pinot grigio, or another dry-ish white wine

1 pinch red pepper flakes

2 shallots thinly sliced

2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1/2 cup olive oil

salt and freshly-ground black pepper

roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley

- Heat up a pasta pot with water and a pinch of salt, to a rolling boil.

- In a large skillet, heat up olive oil and medium-high heat. Add in shallots, garlic, and chile flakes. Let simmer for 2 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon, and take off the heat.

- Once the pasta water is bubbling, add in penne.

- Place the skillet back on medium heat, and pour in wine. Let simmer for about 5 minutes until wine reduces by half. Season with salt and pepper.

- Add in clams, cover, and reduce heat to a simmer.

- Uncover after about 5 minutes. Stir clams in sauce, and add in parsley.

- Once the clams have opened, dish out into pasta bowls. Enjoy with some crusty bread to mop up the clams' juices.

Pasta and Salad...More similar than you think

Sure, there's cream sauce, red sauce, and the like. But pastas can be completely light and still flavorful when dressed with little more than you would use to dress a salad.

That's what I did here when making this spaghetti with scallops and shrimp. The components for this "sauce," if you will, begin by flavoring olive oil in a saute pan. Then the seafood is added in at high heat to give it a nice sear. Once the pasta is al dente, it's transferred into the saute pan. A moment, first, on this step: The only time I ever drain my cooked pasta in a colander is when I'm making pasta salad. If I'm cooking up a pasta dish to serve right afterwards, I transfer the pasta with a slotted spoon into the olive oil-based sauce I've started off while the pasta has been boiling. Along with the transferred pasta comes some of the pasta cooking water. This liquid is full of fibrous starch - a key agent in thickening your olive oil pasta sauce - all without adding in unnecessary, flavor-masking thickening agents, like flour or butter.

The pasta gets a quick rotation in the sauce you've started off. This added heat also serves to finish cooking the al dente spaghetti. The seafood gets added back in. An added dash of parsley or basil brings the dish to life. And you'll be so satisfied, eating this out of a salad bowl, by how the salad and pasta can both start off with little more than olive oil, salt, lemon, garlic, and pepper - the simplest, age-old of salad dressings.

Serves 2
1 container spaghetti
1/4 pound shrimp (have the fish monger devein the shrimp; I like to leave on the tails for playful removing while eating)
1/4 pound bay scallops (the little kind - adorable and delicious)
1 pinch red pepper flakes
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 lemon, juiced and zested
1/2 cup olive oil
salt and freshly-cracked pepper
roughly chopped basil or parsley

- Set a pasta pot off to a rolling boil with water and a pinch of salt.
- In a large saute pan, drop in olive oil at medium-high heat.
- Lightly rinse seafood in a colander and dry on a paper towel.
- Drop seafood in and spread out in the saute pan to sear. Let cook on each side for 1 1/2 minutes, or until shrimp are light pink.
- Remove from pan and set aside.
- In the same saute pan, on medium heat, season your oil with salt, lemon zest, and chile flakes, stirring with a wooden spoon. Add in sliced garlic and take off of the heat.
(The reason you want to take the pan off of the heat at this point is because the garlic and chile flakes can easily burn and become bitter. Within the heated olive oil, which also has the flavor of seafood, their flavors will now gently seep, with no danger of burning)
- Once the pasta is done cooking (about 9 minutes for al dente - try a piece to make sure!), add into the saute pan.
- Add in about 2 tbsp. of the pasta cooking liquid.
- Add in lemon juice and seafood, and let simmer for 3 minutes at low heat.
- Turn with tongs to coat pasta with seasonings.
- Add in fresh herbs and serve into salad bowls to enjoy your salad-dressed pasta, guilt free.

Couscous with apricots and almonds

This dish is all about color and texture...and about ignoring the package's instructions for whichever store-bought couscous you use.

Sound risky? Stay with me here...

Like I've said when cooking couscous's cousin, quinoa, I always cook rice/grains risotto style whenever possible. This method simply adds more flavor to your rice or grains, without the need for butter, and ensures a fluffy, al dente grain.

The idea here for this Moroccan-esque take on couscous, is to start off cooking apricots, sliced almonds, and red onion. Next, the couscous is incorporated and will take on the great flavors you've already started in the pot. Heated chicken stock is added in, and the couscous is left to absorb and steam. Before serving, fresh flavors, with added color and texture are added in. This side dish turns out so lovely that it would make an elegant lunch or light dinner as the main course, itself, by incorporating in some leftover sliced chicken or salmon.

Serves 4, based on Tyler Florence's Couscous with Apricots

2 cups couscous
3 cups chicken stock (if using storebought, which is perfectly fine, use a low sodium chicken stock)
1 dried bay leaf
1 lemon, zested
1/4 cup dried apricot, roughly chopped
1 red onion, roughly chopped
1/4 almond slices
olive oil
salt and freshly-ground black pepper
1 bunch fresh cilanto, roughly chopped
2 scallions, thinly sliced

- In a small saucepan, heat chicken stock on low. Add in bay leaf and set aside to simmer.
- In a larger saucepan, add in some olive oil, and set to medium heat. Drop in apricots, almonds, and red onion. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon, until onion is translucent, about 8 minutes.
- Drop in couscous and stir.
- Add in chicken stock and stir. Cover with lid and set to low heat. Let the couscous absorb the water for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
- Before serving, toss with lemon zest, cilanto, and scallions. Check for seasoning, and add more salt if necessary.
- The couscous can be made the day before and served at room temperature with Chicken Under a Brick, or cold as a picnic-like lunch.

The Butcher: Your budget's best friend

Unless you're sleeping under your brownstone, you're aware of New York City's latest sex symbol: The Butcher. And I've just joined the fan club.

Read on, and before you know it you'll skip past the plastic wrap-sealed loins and chops for a meet-and-greet with the the meat conoisseur in dashing whites, too.

I have no shame in admitting that Julia Childs and Julie Powell are better women than I. On any night of the week, I'm not about to come home, grab my cleaver, and go at it with whatever carcass lies before me. And why should I when there's an excellent, rock star-of-a-butcher in each NYC neighborhood, along with plenty of men in white behind most supermarket butcher counters. With a simple request, your local butcher can transform a plain ole cut of meat or poultry into something totally new and memorable.

This is just what I did when, faced with the task of cooking for Mike's parents, I took my first stab at chicken under a brick. I wouldn't often recommend trying out something new on one such a crowd, but, there is some logic to this weighty decision:
- I knew the centerpiece of the menu would have to be something comforting, hearty, and roast-like to win over the invitees at hand
- I was bored-to-tears with my usual whole-roasted chicken with lemon wedges and garlic
- Sure, I'd love to make rack of lamb or a crown roast, but then I would have to forfit this month's cable, and I am just too addicted to True Blood

And that's how your butcher becomes your best friend. With the simple query, "Can you take out the backbone of a 3 pound chicken?", a regular chicken dinner is transformed into a surprising entree, made delicious by the genius technique of cooking chicken under a brick wrapped in aluminum foil.

Serves four, based on Tyler Florence's Brick Chicken with Apricot Couscous

3 pound chicken, butterflied down the backbone
3 tbsp. cinnamon
3 tbsp. paprika
2 tbsp. garlic salt
2 tbsp. cumin
2 tbsp. cayenne pepper
generous amount of salt
olive oil
brick wrapped in aluminum foil and cast iron skillet (or, follow same steps using a smaller skillet as a weight)

- In a small bowl, combine spices. In a small pan on low heat, stir spices for 2 minutes, or until fragrant.
- Wash and dry butterflied chicken.
- Place chicken into a glass dish. Cover with spices on breast side and within cavity. Let sit, covered in refrigerator overnight.
- 1 hour before cooking, remove chicken from refrigerator, so it can come to room temperature.
- Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
- Heat a heavy skillet to medium-high heat. Place chicken breast side down into skillet and cover with brick or a smaller skillet. Let cook for 20 minutes. The pan will be sizzling, but let the method do its trick, worry-free.
- Using a large spatula, and tongs in the other hand if necessary, turn the chicken, and place brick/skillet to cover, and sear on the other side for 15 minutes more.
- Place into oven for 20 minutes, or until cooked through. (Feel free to pierce the bird along the bone to check for doneness).
- Remove chicken. Let sit for 15 minutes, and carve.

The whole method of "brick chicken" relies on the brick, of course. This weight makes sure that the chicken is in direct contact with the pan, rather than with the fatty cooking liquids released while a chicken cooks, so that the skin has no choice but to caramelize into a crispy, irresistible exterior. Plus, I was able to stay shmaltz-free before joining my guests à table, because the chicken is much easier to carve when butterflied.

The spices pair perfectly with a quick yogurt sauce, which when served family style, guests can garnish their chicken pieces, as desired:

Mint yogurt sauce:
18 oz. yogurt (use full fat yogurt or a Greek-style yogurt, like my amour: Fage)
a generous bunch of fresh mint, roughly chopped
1/8 cup olive oil
salt and freshly-cracked pepper

- Mix all ingredients in a small bowl. Store covered in fridge until serving as a condiment.
(Leftover sauce makes a great marinade for lamb!)

Whether you choose to enjoy this Moroccan-style meal tableside or on pillows, your mecca of the moment will be your neighborhood butcher stall.

The holy trinity: dried oregano, paprika, and garlic salt

What's holier than dried herbs? Yes, fresh herbs get all the attention with of-the-moment green tendencies, but their dried, practical counterparts must not be forgotten. Dried herbs actually pack in more flavor than fresh. Often, I'll combine dried herbs for the base to a dish while it cooks, and simply save the fresh stuff for garnish to make things pop and to echo the modestly lurking seasonings of my go-to holy trinity: oregano, paprika, and garlic salt.

Short on time after excessive wandering within the irresistible confines of Chelsea Market's Lobster Place, I came away with some gorgeous lookin' goods from the sea: calamari and scallops, tentacles included. I whisked them home, trying not to make enemies on the 4 train, gave them a quick douse in a trinity-based marinate, and seared them at super high heat. The oregano adds earthiness, the paprika lends some mild spice and brings out a nice, festive color while the fish sears, and the garlic salt packs plenty of flavor in little time. Adding in fresh lemon juice brightens up the dish and reawakens the dried herbs. My starch of choice to round off the plate? Red quinoa with shallots and parsley.

Serves 2
1 pound calamari, sliced into 1/4 inch rounds
1 pound sea scallops
1 tbsp. dried oregano
1 tbsp. paprika
1 tbsp. garlic salt
1 lemon, juiced
1/4 cup olive oil
generous sprinkling of salt and freshly-ground black pepper
chopped fresh parsley

- Rinse and pat dry the fish. Set aside while making marinade.
- In a medium-sized bowl or ziplock bag, mix together all other ingredients. Drop fish in and coat with hands. Let marinate for about 10 minutes. (Marinating the fish longer will cook the fish like ceviche...save that for Latin night!)
- Set a large saute pan or griddle to high heat. Once heated up, drop the fish onto the pan. You won't have to add in more oil, as the fish are already coated.
- Let sear on each side for 2 minutes. Careful not to overcook - the scallops, especially, can become rubbery.
- Garnish with chopped parsley and some more squeezed lemon, if desired.

A word on quinoa:
You know that game in women's fashion magazines: "What's in/What's out"? It seems like restaurants are playing the same mind games with us these days, swapping in couscous for orzo; barley for wild rice; and next up: quinoa, pronounced "kin-wa."

At first I resisted, but now that you can find so many varieties of quinoa in just about every market, I had to try. And it really is great, and is a great-for-you source of dietary fiber. I like to make a great, big batch and serve as a side that night (like I've done here with Holy Trinity Seafood), and use it as a salad mix-in or as a cold side dish throughout the week.

To pack in more flavor to the quinoa, I start it off by cooking chopped shallots in a small saucepan and then add in the quinoa, similar to the method of making a risotto. That way, once I add in the water (check out the package's instructions, or just add 1 cup quinoa to 2 cups water), there is already seasoning in the pot which will penetrate the seeds as the quinoa cooks and absorbs the liquid.

What do to with leftover shmear

This was the dilemma I faced, when overly giddy at the thought of preparing a picnic for my B.Y.O.M. Meatpacking afternoon on the Highline, I prepared an over-abundance of ricotta spread. My usual solution for making use of dips, spreads, and the like is almost always a take on salade composee, French for "composed salads."

Don't shy away from your desktop: There's nothing fancy about a salade composee, other than its name. In fact, you'll find one on just about every neighborhood bistro, bar, or cafe in Paris. And that's just the place where I grew to love them. You see, here in NYC, we like to take our greens in a plastic bowl, have them chopped up and minced up in every direction known to the gloved hands on the opposite side of the counter, and then, we have presented to us, a mish-mosh of previously wholesome veggies. Not so on the Seine! The French consider it in poor taste to slice and dice your greens. I object in certain circumstances; such as, when I encounter an intimidatingly hefty leaf of romaine that I am expected to plunge into my mouth with one fell swoop. Non, non! But the French do have the idea right: Why not compose your greens into a purposefully-displayed arrangement on the plate, so that the diner can mix and match vegetables with each bite, and be actually able to identify each component while eating it.

And my hands-down favorite type of salade composee? Because there are many...is the chevre chaud. With this salad, basic greens are simply dressed alongside hearty homemade croutons of baguette, slathered with chevre (goat cheese), and broiled to meld bread and cheese together. As you make your way through mustard-laced leaves of lettuce, a bite of crouton both acts as a utensil, and an added, essential component to the composee, which you never new you needed.

Beyond chevre, you can top oven-toasted slices of baguette with just about any combination. These mini open-faced sandwiches can stand alone as a hors d'oeuvre, or can act as garnish for your salads, as I've done with leftover ricotta shmear. Your friends will be so pleased to find their bread already buttered, toasted, and ready for their first bite.

Salade composee with baby arugula, olives and sundried tomatoes
For the baguette base:
1 baguette, sliced into 1/4 inch rounds
olive oil, salt, and freshly ground pepper

- Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
- Dump baguette slices onto a cookie sheet. Sprinkle generously with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Using your hands, coat each baguette slice and spread out onto cookie sheet. The baguette slices should not be overlapping, so that each slice can brown.
- Toast in oven, turning once, for about 10 minutes, or until golden brown.
* This can be done in advance, and stored in an airtight container.

For the dressing:
1 tbsp. dijon mustard
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup olive oil
salt and pepper

- Whisk together and set aside. Taste for seasoning.

To assemble:
4 cups baby arugula (the portion in 1 store-bought container/bag)
good handful of nicoise olives, or olives of your choice
good handful of chopped sundried tomatoes

- Lightly dress greens in a large bowl. Check for seasoning. (That means try a leaf!)
- Spread ricotta mixture onto crostini, liberally. Sprinkle with chopped parsely, if desired.
- Assemble a portion of salad onto each plate. Garnish with crostini on the side.

Pate Brisee...No way!

That's what I said aloud to myself yesterday, when short on time, and with a Labor Day BBQ invitation at hand, I racked my brain for what I'd make. The hostess had asked for dessert. Okay, fine. But it had to be foolproof and quick, as not all of my baking supplies have found their way to Park Slope yet. (I secrely suspect that my mother is joyously purchasing new cookbooks as she gazes through my repertoire of cake pans in "storage.")

I have a springorm pan with me, and these are ideal for transport, as you can just remove the sides and leave the baked cake resting atop the pan's base. And then I thought of a lovely-looking and simple-sounding recipe for a nectarine cake that I'd come upon in this month's Gourmet. Now doesn't that look like just the light and fresh sweet you'd pine for after eating one too many a burger, with end-of-summer depression setting in?

It did to me. And then I had the idea to use a tart pan that I had with me, also with a removable exterior, rather than the springform it called for. I figured the cake would come out looking like a beautiful tart, with a fluted crust from the tart pan's shape. And, I wouldn't even have to make pastry crust, or pate brisee. Don't get me wrong: I get great pleasure out making pastry crust in my food processor, refrigerating it, and rolling it out. But this demands a greater deal of counter space than my studio kitchen supplies. No complaints here, as I didn't know until yesterday that I could make a cake in a tart pan, and the genoise-like batter would gain a crispy, almost tart-like consistency around the edges. And when fellow guests ask which is yours on the dessert buffet, how much more fun is it to sneakily declare, "the nectarine tart," rather than,"the nectartine cake?"

I picked up two gorgeous, ripe nectarines at Union Market in Park Slope. I recently stumbled upon this new place to shop, and I don't think I'll be looking back. A great selection, beautifully displayed, with friendly and helpful staff. Back at home, I sliced the nectarines into thinner rounds than Gourmet calls for. I wanted to have many, many slivers swirled within the batter to create a pretty effect, also reminiscent of a tart. The sprinkling of nutmeg and granulated sugar on top is genius, and gives the cake/tart a lovely scent. And did I mention that I used amaretto rather than almond extract? Well, why not? What's the point in having a well-stocked bar, anyway?

When in the Meatpacking District...eat meat.

To both celebrate and mourn the last of my summer Fridays, Mike & I took a trip to the new Highline park. Beginning above the cobblestoned streets of the Meatpacking District, the Highline is a great way to check out Manhattan's west side views, without having to sit on the patio of an overpriced cafe with a stiletto quota far too high for 1pm. Back to the point here, the Highline is laid out in a sleek, modern style, with carefully inserted foliage, and natural mediums which extend the trendiness to sky level, but leave the attitude at ground floor.

Knowing that we'd avoid the cafes below, and that only a picnic could ensue, I eagerly got to work on our BYOM (Bring.Your.Own.Meat.) lunch on the eve of. I wanted it to be hearty, since we'd be seeing the movie 500 Days of Summer (you gotta see this!) afterwards, upon exiting the park in Chelsea. And I wanted it to be something that we could easily assemble, and that would be able to hold up to the Hudson's breeze. A take on Giada's turkey meatloaf seemed just the thing. Except I'd make it into a sandwich because that just seemed too fun and picnic-like to resist.

I made Giada's meatloaf on Thursday night and let it cool before slicing it on Friday morning. I packed up a bag with:
- sliced meatloaf
- 2 sliced semolina buns (these seemed like a nice fit, texturely, for the meatloaf. But use any kind of sandwich bread you like)
- a container of ricotta spread (combine ricotta, chopped parsely, some olive oil, salt and pepper)

For the meatloaf, I used grated parmesan rather than feta because it's what I had on hand. Because fresh feta adds lots of moisture to the meatloaf, I added in an extra egg and about a tablespoon more of milk. I sliced the meatloaf about 1/2 inch thick, as unlike with a steak sandwich, it's pretty easy to bite into while working your way through the bread. And it works great with the ricotta shmear! In fact, we kept on shmearing more as we went along.

A picnic demands lots of planning...and tupperwares. But it's well worth it when you can enjoy a table for two in a public park rather than a table for two in one of the private establishments just below.

Radishes with whipped herb butter

Next time you pop open a bottle of bubbly, rather than reaching for some cheese and crackers, try this refreshing and classically French starter to a meal. Radishes with whipped herb butter are an unexpected starter and unexpectedly satisfying. The crisp bitterness of a radish gains a richness when dipped into the butter...and of course when you sip between bites.

Radishes are best in spring or summer, but you can find them year-round. I just found some nice ones last night at the Union Square Greenmarket. I find it much more pleasant on Wednesday evenings than on the weekend. Radishes can be very gritty, so give them a good rinsing in cool water before serving.

For the butter:
1 stick of butter, at room temperature
a nice handful of flat-leaf parseley, chopped finely
1 lemon, zested and juiced
salt and freshly-cracked pepper

- In a medium-sized bowl whisp ingredients together, until smooth.
- Scrape into serving dish with a plastic spatula.

If you have some butter left over after all the radishes have gone, save for the next time you roast a chicken and need an herbed butter to evenly brown your bird.

Why make salmon when you can make tilapia?

I ask myself this question oh so frequently, passing through the fish market. Typically, salmon goes for around $8-10 more per pound. And what tilapia lacks in the trademark richness and lovely pink color of salmon, it gains with its summery lightness and flexibility as a blank canvas for strong flavors.

Needless to say, it was tilapia I rode home with on the 2/3, rather than salmon. And it was tilapia which would gain character from a zesty rift on bagna cauda, with capers, garlic, and lemon. The tilapia gets a gentle coating in seasoned flour, a quick saute in the skillet, and an even easier douse of this flavorful condiment, which pairs great with the chickpea salad I served on the side.

Serves 2
2 tilapia filets
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 lemon, zested and juiced
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon, capers
1 tablespoon, caper liquid
a dash of hot chile flakes
a good handful of flat-leaf parsely, chopped
olive oil
salt and freshly-ground pepper

- Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
- Rinse the fish and pat dry with paper towels.
- In a small dish, combine flour with a generous amount of salt and pepper.
- Lightly coat the fish with flour, and pat to remove excess. Set aside until ready to sear.
- Heat up a small pan and pour in olive oil so that the pan is coated with a thin layer. Drop in garlic and let sizzle until light brown. Remove from heat. If the garlic continues to cook, it will turn color and become bitter. A sad, sad end for a fresh clove!
- Off the heat, add in chile flakes, lemon zest and juice, capers and caper juice, salt and pepper.
- The sauce can be reheated when about to serve over tilapia. In the meantime, the flavors will meld in the slightly warm olive oil and will gain some last minute vigor just before serving. Again, you don't want to overcook the freshness of this sauce.
- In a medium-sized pan, heat up another thin layer of olive oil. Nestle in both filets and sear until golden brown, about 4 minutes per side.
- Place the pan in the oven to finish cooking for another 4 or so minutes. The fish will be just done, flaky, and tender.
- Meanwhile, reheat the bagna cauda, and serve, drizzling over the plated fish.

On housewarmings...and indoor picnics

I thought I had come up with the perfect solution. I would have a housewarming...outside of my house. Doesn't make sense? Here's my logic: I planned on having the usuals over for drinks and some hors d'oeuvres and then moving the party over to Prospect Park, picnic basket in tow. That way, no one would feel too crowded and could eat in peace, amidst the post-Michael Jackson birthday bash which took over the park on Saturday.

But everything worked out so well indoors...Or, my friends really just are the awesomely laid back guys and girls I take them for, and no one wanted to venture out to the Park. Munchies were had by one and all, and then we piquenique'ed buffet-style...and alas, my house was warmed!


Brie en Croute
An hors d'oeuvre is your chance to really show off as the curtains open. And this is your ticket to ooh's and ahhh's. You probably have gotten the gist by now that nothing makes me happier than do-it-ahead recipes, and you can add this one to the list. Plus, it's served communally, so your guests can dive in and fight over the ooziest and most buttery wedge of brie.

- 1 sheet of frozen, store-bought puffed pastry (I use Pepperidge Farms), defrosted overnight in the refrigerator
- tablespoon honey
- couple dashes of dried oregano
- 4 dried figs, roughly chopped
- 1 small, 4 or 5-inch diameter brie
- salt
- egg

Now's the time not to run over to Murray's cheese. The brie combines with multiple flavors here, and is not eaten at room temperature, so feel free to go for the $6 version at your local bodega or Gristedes. Often, brie en croute is made with tons of sugary nuts. I find this a bit cloying, and I feel like I'm eating dessert. This figs and oregano work nicely as a lighter, more meditteranean version.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Spray a glass dish, large enough to hold your brie (a pie plate works well) with Pam. Lightly roll out your puff pastry that is still somewhat cold. Place brie atop pastry. Place chopped figs on top of brie, sprinkling on dried oregano and drizzling honey. Decoratively, work the pastry on top of the brie and twist into a knot.

Whisk egg and, using a pastry brush, paint onto the pastry. This will give the croute that lovely golden hue and crusty exterior. Sprinkle on a bit of sea salt, and it's ready for the oven. You'll know when the brie is done when it's golden brown, and darker on the pastry creases.

Remove from oven and serve with lots of bread/crackers. Let the fromage competition begin!