Chef Crush

I cannot believe we've gotten this far along without addressing my, ahem, crush on Jamie Oliver. I think I can sum my admiration up like this: when Jake and I talk about moving to London, as we sometimes do, I always, always remind him that if we did transport our lives overseas, I could finally apply to work for my chef crush. Nothing spectacular mind you. I would sweep floors for a living if it meant I could pick that Brit's brain.

I bring this up tonight because I was having a bit of a blah day, with nothing much on the agenda and nothing at all simmering on the stove for dinner tonight. Because it is a Saturday and because I had time to spend hours in the kitchen, I supposed I should make something special. But by four o'clock I hadn't so much as picked up a spatula, much less made a grocery list or any real plans for dinner. Thank goodness I reached for my favorite Oliver tome just then; finally, I became inspired.

Many dishes caught my eye, among them cheat's pappardelle with slow-braised leeks and a quirky sounding, new-to-me dish called bubble and squeak. But what really interested me was the grilled squid salad with warm chorizo dressing that Jake and I made last summer. I'd forgotten how good it was. 

Obviously, the grill is tucked away for the rainy winter, and I'm not really one for grilling anyway. (When you marry a firefighter, you let them deal with the flames.) Nor was I in the mood for squid  - it seemed too chewy, too tough for my tender mood tonight. What I needed was an adaption, one that used a neutral fish fillet as the base for that warm, smoky chorizo dressing.

Within 30 minutes - including a trip to the store - I was spooning my twist on Oliver's dressing over the top of a thin strip of Dover sole. The dish on its own was impressive enough - all layers of sweet-spicy dressing balanced by the clean flavor of the fish. But because I'm the kind of girl who needs greens to consider a meal complete, I repurposed my favorite quick, pan-kissed kale as a side dish. Only this time, I tossed the kale with quartered artichoke hearts, crusty cubes of bread and slivers of Parmesan cheese. The plate was perfect, something I'd like to think Oliver might call "proper feel good food." 

Dover Sole with Warm Chorizo Dressing
You could use any type of white fish here, though I'm told halibut and chorizo don't play well together. I found sole fitting since the long, thin fillet was perfectly portioned for one. Be sure to get soft chorizo when shopping because if you mistakenly use the hard variety, you'll be sorely disappointed by this dish. 

Serves 1

1 white fish fillet, such as Dover sole
Olive oil
1 teaspoon red onion, finely chopped
1 ounce soft chorizo sausage
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 sprigs thyme, leaves picked clean

Set the oven to broil. Place the fillet in an oven-safe baking dish and drizzle a bit of olive oil over it. Season it very lightly with salt and pepper, and slide it into the oven to cook. (The fish will take approximately 5 minutes, depending on the thickness of your fillet).

Saute the onion in a bit of olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat. When the bits are transulescent, add the chorizo to the pan. Using a spatula or wooden spoon, break the meat into pebble-sized pieces as it cooks. When the chorizo has released some of its fatty juices and is cooked through, turn off the heat. Stir in the thyme and balsamic vinegar.

Remove the fish from the oven and place it on a plate. Spoon the chorizo dressing over the fish and serve immediately.

-Adapted from Jamie at Home by Jamie Oliver

Trading Pastries for Produce

Pardon my pregnant pause but I have a good excuse...I was in Paris, land of buttery pastry, fluorescent macaroons and dozens upon dozens of those little raisin-studded artisan rolls that had me tramping about the city in search of the best one.

As you might guess, after eating all that and more chouquettes than I care to count (a rough estimate halfway through the trip suggested we were approaching triple digits), I entered my kitchen ready and willing to trade the pastries for produce, the cream for cabbage - literally. I was ready for Brussels sprouts.

For the sake of honesty, I have to admit that I haven't made these post-trip, yet. But I did make this dish multiple times before we departed and the memory of the dish is informing the way I'm cooking these days. It's January, after all, time for those New Year's resolutions to start eating well again. Part of that, for me, is embracing the much-maligned sprout. 

Before you start your diatribe against Brussels sprouts, let me say this: I know they are stinky and sulfurous. They are the red-headed step child of the produce aisle, an ingredient shrouded in many decade's worth of bad memories and misinformed opinions. I wasn't subjected to them as a child but I know they are the terror of the table for many of you.

But when you cook Brussels sprouts properly and pair them with equally bracing ingredients - say a biting coarse ground mustard - they shine. You'll forget the mushy sprouts of your past, those charred, overcooked little nobs that your relatives tried to pass off as food at Thanksgiving when you were ten, and find yourself craving the things.

Proper cooking, in my opinion, starts with proper prepping, so we're going to start this recipe off by hashing those little green spheres. Throw the strips in a smoking hot pan with a bit of white wine, olive oil and butter and they'll turn silky without loosing their delicate crunch. Then dress them with a bit of that aforementioned mustard and you'll develop a soft spot for sprouts. You might even find yourself trading them for pastry.  

Hashed Brussels Sprouts
You can, as my friend Amber did, eat these sprouts plain for dinner. But you could also toss in pine nuts or bacon to add some texture to the dish, serve it atop creamy polenta or try it for breakfast with corned beef hash. One thing to note: the hashing of these sprouts takes time. Your best bet is a mandoline slicer, food processor fitted with a slicing disk or, failing that, the help of a good, sprout-loving friend.  

4 Servings

1 pound Brussels sprouts
1 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/8 cup dry white wine such as a Sauvignon Blanc
1 tablespoon coarse ground Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste

Rinse the Brussels sprouts and slice off the stem at the end of the sprout. Remove any blemished leaves and, using a sharp knife, half the sprouts. Slice each of the wedges into 1/8-inch strips. Alternatively, use a food processor fitted with the slicing disk attachment or a mandoline blade to hash the sprouts. Place the pieces in a large bowl and dress them with the apple cider vinegar.

Heat the butter and olive oil over high heat in a large skillet. When the skillet is very hot and the butter melted, but not browned, add the sprouts. Turn the heat down to medium and cook the sprouts, stirring occasionally, until they have wilted slightly but are still bright green and slightly crisp, or about 4 minutes.

Add the wine, and cook the sprouts for a minute longer, stirring occasionally. Turn off the heat and add the salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the Dijon mustard until well mixed. Serve immediately.