weeknights at T H E Y E L L OW H O U S E

A diary of !ve practical, seasonal dinners S U M M E R 2 0 1 2

TA B L E O F C O N T E N TS

Introduction 3

A “dinner diary” 4

About the ingredient lists 4

Monday Bucatini with squash & its blossoms

5

Tuesday Tartines with soft cheese, smashed peas, & preserved lemons

7

Wednesday A salad with fennel, radish, egg, & soft cheese

8

ursday Pizza with golden beets & their greens

11

Friday Summer vegetable risotto + fried egg

13

I’m sometimes approached by friends asking for advice on grocery budgets or menu planning. While I’d love to be able to offer help, the fact is that I neither budget nor plan my everyday meals. is isn’t for lack of thrift or thought, but instead because it’s just not the way cooking and food !t into my life. Meals are shaped by the day: by my schedule, by the weather, by my mood, by the season, by what’s on hand. Dinner, especially, is shaped by the people for whom I know I’ll be cooking, whether it’s just me or a crowd.

At e Yellow House, I don’t often have the opportunity to share my most everyday meals. is is not because I care less for them, but more because I work a full-time job, and come home to cook, to eat, and to attend to other things around the house. If anything, I enjoy this kind of cooking more. It’s comforting, but no less creative than my slower, weekend-style cooking.

In this little book, I want to explore the types of weeknight meals I most enjoy: honest, !lling food that is not ruled out by getting home from work late, or failing to plan the week’s meals in advance. A thoughtful, home-cooked meal every night is not only within our reach, it might be pretty easy.

e big caveat here is that we all need to get off our high horses about what constitutes a dinner. I am a simple cook, to say the least. I used to be ashamed by this, feeling that my suppers might be considered a bit plebian by others. Now, I embrace it. Simple, weeknight dinners spill out onto the weekends. ey’re lower stress, require less-perfect timing, and allow a certain grace to my cooking that isn’t present with fancier meals.

I N T RO D U C T I O N

is little book re$ects an actual week of meals that I cooked and ate at our house. I didn’t shop any differently than normal, I didn’t change my schedule, I didn’t plan ahead, and the photos were snapped seconds before we sat down to eat (or in some cases, as we dug in).

After I wrote a post about home cooks, I had great dialogue with a lot of readers over email and phone. A recurring theme in these conversations was the fact that most “food documentation” revolves around special moments, extraordinary settings, or particular events. I set out to document the daily and the ordinary.

A “ D I N N E R D I A RY ”

Lists of ingredients are broken down into sections: “From the farm market”, “From the grocery store”, “From the pantry”, etc.

is is a bit different than a typical list of ingredients in order of addition to the dish. e unusual format stems from discussions with folks: “How much of your food is actually local? How much of your own food do you actually grow?” Likewise, I’m convinced that a home cook can get by very easily with just a few fresh dairy and produce items if he or she has a well-stocked pantry.

Rather than a primer on “what I bought at the farmer’s market this week” and “what is in my pantry,” I think seeing the breakdown of where various parts of the recipe come from might be useful, especially in the context of an entire week.

A B O U T T H E I N G R E D I E N T L I S TS

e week starts off as a classic manic Monday. I walk into Union Station to catch the train home and am greeted by an LCD screen full of glaring yellow “DELAYED” alerts. My stomach grumbles, seeming to anticipate a late return home, and I begin thinking, as I do often when I’ll need dinner in a rush, of pasta.

Earlier this week, I was lucky enough to snag a sack of zucchini blossoms from a nearby farm for cheap. Special ingredients that don’t need much prep are a boon on evenings like these, elevating a thrown-together bowl of spaghetti to something with more semblance of a meal to sit down to.

M O N D A Y

Bucatini with squash & its blossoms

From the pantry 1 pound bucatini 1 cup vegetable broth 1 clove garlic, smashed and minced Olive oil Salt, pepper

From the farm market 2 pints squash blossoms, roughly chopped, several reserved for garnish 3-4 baby zucchini

From my garden

Fresh marjoram

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. When rollicking, add the bucatini and cook 7-9 minutes, until just before done. Reserve a mug of

pasta water and drain.

While the pasta is cooking, heat a glug of olive oil in a wide saucepan. Brie$y saute the garlic. Add the squash and cook, until it begins to soften and break down. Add vegetable broth and bring to a rapid simmer, allowing to reduce.

Add the drained pasta to the squash and garlic. Add the squash blossoms. Cook, tossing pasta with tongs to coat with the broth and garlic. If more liquid is needed, add pasta water.

Remove from heat. Taste for salt and pepper and season if necessary.

Garnish with marjoram and whole squash blossoms.

Ben is at a vineyard association meeting tonight, so I’m on my own for dinner. It’s funny how the dynamic changes when he’s not around; and I get excited for the “me time” the opportunity presents.

Lately, I’ll pack up a tray of bread and pickles and cheese and carry it to the garden. ere, I pluck lettuce and mustard greens and peas, piling up simple open-faced sandwiches that I wash down with cold beer. I like to think of this as my version of the “ploughman’s lunch.”

T U E S D A Y

Tartines with soft cheese, preserved lemon, & smashed peas

From the pantry Preserved lemon (I made these in December), !nely chopped Freshly ground pepper

From my garden

Sugar peas, shelled Lettuce, butterhead or romaine

From the grocery store

A soft, oozy cheese –this one was a goat’s milk brie

Already on hand Bread, baked earlier in the week. I like a good brown bread for these types of sandwiches.

If desired, toast slices of bread to start. Spread each piece of bread with a bit of

the cheese. Lay a few leaves of lettuce across the top.

en, pile on a !stful of fresh peas. Using a fork, smash them down, bursting the skins and crushing them a little.

Top off the tartine with a little bit of the minced preserved lemon. A little goes a long way.

Grind fresh pepper over the top and serve.

Variations Substitute radishes for the peas and omit the black pepper Substitute salted butter for the cheese and layer on raw mustard greens Spread bread with Greek yogurt, sprinkle with celery salt, top with rounds of sliced cucumber and parsley.

A long, frustrating day at my office. e evening is beautiful as the gravel crunches under my tires when I pull into the driveway, but something is clenched hard in my chest, my mood at odds with the soft setting sun and breeze.

I walk inside, head upstairs, change into running clothes, and take off across the yard and down the lane, barely saying a word to Ben. It only takes about twenty pounding-heart paced minutes to bring me back to earth. A cool rinse in the shower, and I can actually entertain the idea of dinner.

My mother felt equally as comfortable serving a grilled rib-eye with all the trimmings for dinner as she did slicing a summer tomato and fanning it across a plate, salted and peppered, with cottage cheese dolloped on the side. When you’re young, you just assume that grown-ups know what they’re doing; that there’s a logical, adult reason why we sometimes ate only tomatoes for supper.

Now, older, I wonder if mama’s dinners, like mine, were so driven by mood; if she too, after a frustrating day, could only muster slicing aromatic vegetables, dotting them with soft cheese, and slicking them with oil and vinegar, letting things speak for themselves.

W E D N E S D A Y

A salad of fennel, radish, egg, & soft cheese

From the pantry 5 tablespoons olive oil 3 tablespoons red wine vinegar 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard Salt, pepper

From the farm market 1 small bulb fennel, tough ends removed, halved lengthwise and sliced into very thin strips (a mandolin is useful here) 4-5 small red radishes, scrubbed and sliced

From my garden Lettuce, a few cups, washed and softly torn

From the grocery store A soft, oozy cheese (I used the same goat’s milk brie-style cheese from yesterday) Several eggs

Put the eggs in a pot of cold water. Heat the pot to boiling over high heat. When the boil is rapid (big bubbles breaking the surface at least once a second), immediately remove the pot from the heat source. Clap a cover on top. Allow the pot to sit,

undisturbed, for exactly 12 minutes.

While the eggs are cooking, make the vinaigrette. Whisk together oil, vinegar, and Dijon. Taste for salt and pepper and season if necessary. Set aside.

Assemble the salad. Gently, with your hands, mix lettuce, radishes, and fennel.

When the eggs have reached the 12 minute mark, drain them immediately plunge into cold water to stop them from cooking. When cool enough to handle, gently peel the hardboiled eggs and slice across their width or into wedges. Layer these on top of the salad, and drizzle the entire thing with the vinaigrette, reserving some of the vinaigrette for the table.

Dot the salad with oozy chunks of the soft cheese, nestling them into the crannies on the surface of the salad.

Serve immediately, with bread if desired.

Ben is one of those people who’s a total sucker for ritual and habit. So I knew, when I suggested that we have a homemade pizza night once a week, that he’d go along with it. ursday evenings, I usually come home to pizza dough already rising. If Ben makes the dough, it’s a riff on Deb Perelman’s with white wine and honey (he throws in cornmeal). If for some reason I’m in charge (I try not to be), it’s a whole wheat or rye crust that I roll out as cracker thin as the dough will allow.

At !rst we planned our pizza toppings, but pizza night quickly morphed into a challenge: make a pizza using nothing but ingredients you have on hand. We are a bit vociferous on this point, foregoing sauce or cheese if we simply don’t have it. Rather than leading to disappointing results, we !nd that these pizzas are the most interesting.

T H U R S D A Y

Pizza with golden beets & their greens

From the pantry

Your favorite pizza dough ($our, water, salt, and yeast, or a pre-made crust or dough from your freezer or fridge) Prepared horseradish

From the store Parmesan, gouda, or any salty, hard or semi-hard cheese you have on hand

From the farm market

3-4 small golden beets, scrubbed and rinsed, greens removed, thinly sliced Greens from the beets, washed and roughly torn

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees Fahrenheit.

On a metal baking sheet or a pizza peel

sprinkled with $our, roll out and stretch the pizza dough to !t. If its springs back, allow the dough to rest a few minutes, then try again.

in out a few teaspoons of prepared horseradish with a little water, and spread it in a thin layer over the dough. (I’ve also made a more luxurious white sauce, and then stirred horseradish into it.)

Top the pizza: beets, then greens, then cheese. I give the pizza a drizzle of olive oil before going into the oven.

Do not open the oven for ten minutes. Check. If the cheese is sizzling, the beets have softened, and the crust is dark golden and a little charred, take it out. If not, give it another few minutes. Allow to sit for 5 minutes, then serve.

As I jotted down these notes, I was surprised at how pulled together this week-of-meals seemed----until today. “ere’s nothing to eat,” I whine, stomping around the kitchen and slamming the fridge door. e only fresh veggie in the house is a lone yellow crookneck squash that Ben brought in from the garden. is is the kind of patched-together meal I scratch out with mostly pantry staples, trying to last until the next market trip. e rest is cobbled together with dry goods, canned goods, and cold storage alliums that can live in a dark closet for awhile without complaint. e result is comforting and !lling and good, if not mindblowing. As we sit down to eat, though, I get the little thrill of having made something out of “nothing.”

F R I D A Y

Summer vegetable risotto + fried egg

From the pantry

Olive oil 1 yellow onion, roughly chopped 2 cups brown short grain rice ¼ cup light beer or white wine 1 can whole tomatoes (you can use several fresh tomatoes if you have them), roughly chopped, juices reserved 1 clove garlic, smashed and chopped 1 dried chile, crumbled (optional) Up to 4 cups water, milk, broth, or a combination of any

From the garden

1 yellow squash, cut in half lengthwise and sliced

In a wide saucepan, heat a glug of olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and

cook, stirring, until aromatic. Add the rice and coat with olive oil, stirring, but don’t let the rice brown. Deglaze the pan with the beer or wine.

Add the chopped tomatoes and their juices, garlic, and chile. Bring to a simmer. Add the water/milk/broth, one cup at a time, allowing the risotto to come to a comfortable simmer each time. Add more liquid only after the last cup of liquid is absorbed. When risotto is tender but still toothsome, turn off the heat. Allow it to sit for a few minutes. Keep in mind the rice may continue to soak up liquid. I like my risotto a bit soupy.

Serve topped with a fried egg and some parmesan.