Open Faced

The French, they call them tartines, the Italians, bruschetta. And though you might not be familiar with these terms, you've been eating an Americanized version of these open-faced sandwiches since your mom slid that first crisp cheese toast onto your plate at age 5.

I don't recall loving open faced sandwiches as a kid (maybe I'm wrong, mom?). But I do love snacking on these European bites now. Those Europeans take the basic idea of an open-faced sandwich and dress it up with fancy spreads and elaborate toppings, or simply add a layer of creamy cheese and something salty, like prosciutto, and pronounce it perfect. Tartines, or bruschetta, make excellent meals for light appetites (there's only one piece of bread!) and are just showy enough that you'll feel good about serving a class of sandwich for supper. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I like to elevate my open-faced sandwiches with a spread like a freshly blitzed pesto or a thin layer of grainy mustard. But I won't leave it at that; I couldn't not tell you about my favorite open-faced sandwich spread. It goes by the name of crema.

I met crema on another blog (you won't be surprised when I tell you which one), and I've been lusting after it ever since. Just ask my husband, who rolls his eyes when I pull out the ingredients to make a new batch each week.  

Based on its name, you might think crema contains cups of cream. But actually, crema consists of just three main ingredients: a red onion, walnuts and olive oil. As separate entities, these pantry staples might add a hint of indulgence to a dish; when blended together, they deliver a degree of decadence that seems impossible for something so simple.

When I first made crema, I served it pooled under a bed of fresh-from-the-market asparagus, just as the recipe instructed. But when asparagus season waned and my crema cravings didn't, I started seeking other ways to use it. I quickly learned it loves to coat the noodles in a seasonally-driven vegetarian pasta and that it can stand in for tomato sauce on a margarita pizza. It has become my go-to dip for the baby carrots I store in my fridge (and not surprisingly, it looks just like hummus). And when it comes to sandwich spreads, I find it bests mayonnaise, mustard and pedestrian pesto every time.

So yes, let's get back to that sandwich (my apologies...crema sometimes distracts me like that). Like any good sandwich, open-faced or not, this one starts with a high quality bread like the rustic, country boule I pick up from Ken's Artisan Bakery every week. I sliver it oh-so-thinly, then crisp it's crumb in the oven since I like the spread to sit atop the bread, not soak it through. 

When it's slightly crunchy round the edges, I slather the bread with the crema and layer on whatever greens are waiting in my fridge - arugula, artichoke hearts, Swiss chard. Sometimes, I sneak in a whisper-thin slice of proscuitto in between the spread and the veggies and other times, I sprinkle the whole slab with feta cheese before I dig in.

The beauty of this sandwich is that it does not need a recipe; sometimes, it's nice to be free from the constraints of recipe rules. However, if you're ready to meet crema, you'll need the recipe below. It makes more than enough for one sandwich but I have no doubt you'll find a way to use the leftovers as well.


Crema Sauce
This sauce is incredibly easy to make and forever versatile. The only caveat I have is that nuts can be quite bitter to some tastes. If their bitter flavor doesn't suit you, try blanching the nuts in the salted water twice to further soften their bite.

Kosher salt
1 1/2 cups walnuts
1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 small red onion, diced (about 1 cup)
1/2 cup reserved cooking liquid, divided 

Bring a pot of salted water to boil. Add the walnuts and blanch for 10 to 12 minutes or until tender in the middle. Drain the walnuts, reserving 1/2 cup of the cooking liquid. Set aside.

Meanwhile, in a saute pan, heat the 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and generous pinch of salt and sweat for about 7 minutes, or until golden brown and tender. Remove from the heat. 

In a food processor, combine the cooked onion, walnuts and 1/4 cup of the reserved cooking liquid. Process until creamy. Taste for seasoning and add more salt if needed. 

With the processor running, gradually add the remaining 1/3 cup olive oil, processing until creamy. The crema should have the consistency of a smooth hummus. If it is too thick, add a little more of the reserved cooking water. 

Taste again for seasoning and adjust as needed. Store in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to a week before using - though I doubt it will stick around for that long.

-Adapted from the A16 Food + Wine cookbook

The New Salad Course

 

Years ago, I had the pleasure of working at a tiny French cafe. It wasn't the sort of cafe that's particularly charming, with black and white decor, vases of daffodils lining the kitchen counter and tiny twinkling lights strung overhead. Rather, it was a bare bones restaurant nestled into the corner of an art gallery on my college campus. Diners ordered at the counter then followed a ramp, yes a ramp, to a sunken dining room filled with cookie cutter tables and chairs. And, though there were rich, Cabernet colored walls and music, always music, piped in overhead, it wasn't idyllic in the least.

But the food was sturdy and solid and good, French cuisine with a Northwest twist. We served a French onion soup so seductive I snuck a spoonful of it with every turn through the kitchen. Back behind those swinging kitchen doors, the cheeky (in every sense of the word) chef layered petite baguettes with prosciutto and cheese, and crisped little Croque Bébés on the grill top until they were practically melting with butter. In the fall, students returning to campus clamored for a slice of bacon-studded Quiche Lorraine; in the winter, they soothed their stomachs with silky squash soup.

And always, there was the composed salad. At the cafe, the composition was made of an herb-dusted potato salad, a creamy celery root remoulade, jewel-toned roasted beets and a refreshing carrot slaw. I cared not for it.

In fact, I'd never ordered it myself and hadn't thought about it in years until recently, when I decided my salad plate was looking rather green.

Most days, I toss arugula or mesclun greens with a vinaigrette, homemade croutons, grated cheese and, maybe, baby shrimp. This loose-knit combination has been my fall-back recipe for years but lately I've been bored by my lack of creativity and starting to experiment with fresh alternatives. In the last month, Molly Wizenberg's red cabbage salad with lemon and black pepper had got me rethinking my previous opinions on raw cabbage. Jamie Oliver introduced me to the pleasures of pairing carrot and cilantro in one "treat for all" as he call his citrusy carrot salad recipe. And Mark Bittman, well, he offered 101 ideas to help me recreate the salad course of which I landed upon a fennel and apple salad dressed in a mustard vinaigrette.

After sampling these recipes individually, I recalled the salad I served at the cafe years ago, and decided to put all these pieces together on one plate (smaller versions of course - not even this veggie-lover can eat that much foliage). I'll warn you ahead of time that this cobbled together salad requires so much chopping and dicing and slicing that you'll soon feel like a sous chef whose bane of existence is to prep piece after piece of produce. But the result is a colorful plate that boasts three inviting salads in one course. It's not French by any means but it is a perfect meal for one.

Composed Salad 

This is really three recipes in one, each yielding enough for a leftover snack the next day unless you're really hungry. I find it helpful to approach each salad individually, doing all the fancy knife work, measuring and tossing for one salad before tackling the next one. Then, you're just left to assemble the trio of salads and set to work with your fork. Of course, if you are feeling particularly lazy - and I sometimes am - you can make each of these recipes individually and serve them aside something lovely like an omelet for supper.

 

For the Red Cabbage Salad

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Pinch of pressed garlic (approximately 1/16 of a tablespoon, if you own a spoon that small)

Pinch of kosher salt

1/2 of a small red cabbage

1/8 cup grated or crumbled Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Freshly ground black pepper

Make the dressing in a small bowl by whisking together the olive oil, lemon juice, garlic and salt. Set the bowl aside while you prepare the cabbage.

Pull away any bruised leaves from the outside of the cabbage, and trim its root end to remove any dirt. Cut the cabbage half in half again and, using a mandoline or a sharp knife, slice each hunk as thin as you possibly can (aim for no larger than 1/4-inch slivers). 

Add the cabbage to the dressing bowl and toss together. Add the cheese and toss lightly. Taste, and season as needed.

-From Molly Wizenberg's A Homemade Life

Fennel-Apple Salad

1/2 of a small fennel bulb

1/2 of a small crisp apple, like a gala

1 tablespoon mustard vinaigrette, like the one here

2 tablespoons parsley

Salt and pepper

Using a mandoline julienne your fennel and apple into tiny matchsticks. Place them in a bowl, then toss with the dressing. Add the parsley and season with salt and pepper to taste.

-Adapted from Mark Bittman

Carrot and Cilantro Salad

Zest and juice of 1/2 an orange

Juice of 1 lemon

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

3 medium-sized carrots, washed and peeled

Small handful of fresh cilantro leaves

4 tablespoons golden raisins 

Make the dressing in a medium-sized bowl by whisking together the orange juice and zest, lemon juice and olive oil. Set aside.


Cut all the carrots into fine ribbons (I use a peeler, though you could cut the carrots into matchsticks or grate them instead and the recipe would turn out fine). Add the carrots, cilantro and raisins to the bowl. Toss well, then season to taste with salt and pepper. 

-Adapted from Jamie Oliver's Jamie's Dinners

Lastly, mound equal amounts of each salad on a plate and serve.

Falling in Love with Fruit Crisp

 

When I think about what I really love to eat, there's fruit crisp hovering in my sub conscious. It's the quintessential dessert topping in the summer sprinkled over plump jewel-toned berries, and equally addictive in the fall forming a golden crumb roof over slivers of apples or cubes of quince. 

What I love most about a crisp crust is that it's flexible, allowing for whimsical adaptions or a last minute flip flop of say crunchy walnuts standing in for oats to give the streuselly, crunchy-tender exterior added texture and oomph.

I'd trade fruit crisp for any custard or cake - even a sliver of dense, raisin-pocked carrot cake (easily my second favorite dessert). I'd eat it for dinner if I could, and can knowingly recommend a bowlful for breakfast. It is the food of my childhood - a Sunday evening tradition for a house full of girls - and the food of my adult life as well, made many times over to impress houseguests, beat back loneliness or soothe a sour mood.

So yes, in my mind, fruit crisp is perfect. Well, almost. It does have one flaw: it feels incredibly gluttonous to make a big, rustic pan of crisp for one. 

The solution, I've found, is to hack my favorite topping recipe in half, then halve it again such that I have the perfect amount to crumble over a juicy peach. When my sweet tooth strikes, I split the peach in half and mound the crumb into the gaping indentation leftover by the pit. It's the same idea of combining plump, juicy fruit and an oaty, toothsome topping, only in a petite, personal-size version of my favorite dessert.

Personal-Size Peach "Crisp"

This recipe makes enough for two to four peach halves, depending on the size of your peach. I store the leftover topping in a tiny jar in the freezer so I have it on hand the next time a crisp craving arrives unannounced.

3 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

2 tablespoons all purpose flour

1/3 cup old-fashioned oats

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Pinch of kosher salt

1 ripe peach

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Plop the butter, sugars, flour, oats, cinnamon and salt in the bowl of a food processor. Blitz it all together until the ingredients are well combined, but still crumbly (you want to stop mixing it before it comes together in one uniform ball). Keep it in the refrigerator until ready to use.

Slice the peach in half and remove the pit. Place the halves in a small glass baking dish. Remove the topping from the refrigerator and scatter over the tops of the peaches, about a 1/2-inch deep.

Place the baking dish in the oven and cook for approximately ten minutes, or until the peaches are somewhat soft when poked with a fork or knife and the crust is golden brown.

Serve solo or, better yet, with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.

The Quinoa Cop Out

I have to admit: cooking quinoa seemed like a cop out in my new mission to cook well for one. It's been one of my pantry staples since college (not surprising since I went to school in hippie Eugene, Oregon) and by now, I figured I'd made quinoa salad in every possible permeation. 

The version I’ve eaten more times than I care to count involves dressing a cooked pot of quinoa with a squirt of lemon juice, then adding slivers of green onion, bright edamame and little pink shrimp. At times, I've tossed in lemon zest, currants and salty feta cheese to try and coax a lively flavor out of the wholesome, plain Jane grain; other evenings, I’ve turned it into a bed for a Mediterranean stir fry of chicken sausage, artichoke hearts and spinach. But if I'm being honest, all of these version were a bit boring.

When I made my latest quinoa salad, however, I finally understood what all those fall-back, thrown-together recipes lacked: crunch. Quinoa is couscous-esque in that it is one of those grains more favored for its fluffy texture than its toothsome bite. So, you can imagine that the pleasure of eating quinoa dulls after a few bites if you don’t add an ingredient that counters its soft character. 

I found my savior in a recipe that called for pistachios. I realized they were just what quinoa needed when I found myself rooting around in my bowl to make sure I had a pistachio bit in every bite. The recipe won me over even more by calling for jewel-toned cranberries; I threw in a shower of feta cheese – I figure if you’re going to add something crunchy, you might as well add something crumbly too.

Quinoa Salad with Pistachios, Cranberries and Feta

Adapted from The New American Olive Oil by Fran Gage

Quinoa is not something I like to eat plain. Served solo, it is boring and bland - not to mention plain Jane brown - which is why I have always turned it into a salad studded with bright greens or shiny dried fruit. This recipe adds color and crunch by way of chopped pistachios that are now my secret weapon for making quinoa salads that wow. I’m cheating a bit by sharing a recipe that serves 4 but trust me, these are leftovers solo diners will be happy to have on hand.

1 cup quinoa

1 1/2 cups water

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

3 scallions, green tops removed, sliced

1/3 cup pistachio nuts, lightly toasted and coarsely chopped

1/4 cup dried cranberries

¼ cup feta cheese

Salt and black pepper, to taste

Toast the quinoa in a medium skillet over high heat, shaking the pan occasionally, until it lightly browns, starts to crackle, and smells a bit toasted, or about 3 minutes. Meanwhile, bring the water to boil in a small pot. When the water is boiling, add the quinoa to the pot, cover and turn the temperature to low. Cook until the quinoa is soft but still has a little bite, and all the water has been absorbed, or about 12 to 15 minutes.

Transfer the grain to a bowl and let it cool slightly before tossing it with the vinegar and olive oil. Mix in the pistachio nuts, scallions, cranberries and feta cheese.

Serve immediately, or if not serving immediately, refrigerate the salad in a lidded container to peck at later for snacks and lunches as you like.