One of my favorite food quotes says, “Cooking is like love — it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” And so it was with wild abandon that I attempted a recipe I never thought I’d ever make: Moroccan Lamb Tagine.
Cooking is Like Love
Tag Archives: olive oil
Darling’s Summer Shrimp in Mojito Dressing
I am the sentimental kind. When I remember a moment, I am transported by all of my senses. So around this time last year, I was in Malibu, and I was falling in love.
That day I loaded up my car with my paella pan, my favorite black clay La Chamba pot, all sorts of utensils and pantry items, as I hadn’t any idea what the kitchen set up would be like. I wanted to be prepared because I was nervous. Well, just a little bit. It was my first time cooking for him. I wanted everything to be wonderful. I had some idea of what to make, but decided to chance the farmers’ market selections. We went that afternoon and gathered produce spontaneously from the different stands. I was captivated by the mushroom selection, the array of herbs. The noonday sun was bright and strong. He wore his straw fedora, I wore a silk paisley print sundress. Strolling through the open air market, our arms linked, holding hands, our fingers laced together, damp and sticky with desire. My cheap Venice beach sunglasses slipped down my nose, my heeled Italian sandals wobbled in the dirt. Even though I was nervous and awkward, I was overwhelmingly happy and the day sparkled. We tasted olive oil and inhaled fresh bunches of rosemary, thyme, basil. We chose lemons and red onions, slipped them into our canvas shopping bag. We selected halibut from the fish purveyor’s stand. It was a hot day, and the fishmonger gave us bags of ice to keep the halibut cold for our trip back to the condo with a view.
The place we stayed at was on the beach and our window had a picturesque view of the ocean. On the little balcony was a café table just for two.
I made mushroom risotto for dinner and halibut in my clay pot. We ate outside on the balcony with just a candle to light our dinner. As I looked at him, the light was like a Vermeer painting, or a Rembrandt. If I could paint that memory like a Dutch master, I would not have the ability to capture the delicate fragrance of ocean air mingled with herbs from our risotto, nor could my paintbrush translate the way his fingertips traced the line of my neck. There was a rolling, fluttering feeling in the center of my stomach. I held my breath in and paused as he tasted what I had made for him. Thrill. Summer heat was in his gaze. Desire. His hand caressed underneath my apron. Passion. My bare skin, damp thigh, heat of his palm. He loved my cooking. Happiness. Some moments will stay within me, always.
We stayed there twice within the months of August and September, and both times I made egg tartines for breakfast. The first time was an egg tartine made with pesto and cheese on English muffins. I found a blue and white China bowl in the cabinet that was just lovely for serving the coconut yogurt and blueberries. I was able to plate the morning creations and make tea just how I like it; strong English tea with half and half and honey. Balsamic crème drizzled on the eggs. I added the homemade pesto and decorated the egg tartine with torn leaves of basil, chives, Gouda cheese. I must have added ham for his egg serving because I wanted so much to impress him. Yes, I think it was honeyed ham. I tried to do everything with nonchalance, like serve breakfast as if it was easy to put together. He loved the yogurt and berries, which surprised him.
After that weekend, he began drinking tea instead of coffee. He started eating yogurt, which he used to dislike. As I uploaded photos back at home, I gazed at his reflection within the spoon in a photograph of an egg tartine. I was reminded of our breakfast on the balcony. And I wanted to capture that memory forever.
We visited the little place on the beach again about a month later for another romantic hideaway weekend. At the farmers’ market he gathered shrimp, watermelon, corn, cucumber, cilantro, mint. He had a plan to cook for me.
I wasn’t expecting to react the way I did. As I watched him cook, I felt like a teenage girl with my eyes glazed over in adoration. He was the rock star in the kitchen, whisking vinaigrette together casually, chopping mint and cilantro with confidence. It was like going to a concert and watching the handsome lead guitarist play his solo. All I could do was sigh. It was silly of me I am sure, but I had never had such an immediate sense of love overwhelm me. I had real passion, suddenly. Passion for everything. Oh I felt like such a cliché. I was in love and everything I had read about falling in love was happening to me. I felt ridiculously foolish and I didn’t care. I was in love. So what if I seemed cliché? It was all true, all the jazz ballads about it, all the sappy greeting cards, all the hokey love poems. And I was giddy with every minute of it. I deserved it, the happiness. It was about darn time.
When I think about what I want in a relationship, there are some things I know that are important requirements. Cooking together was at the very top of my list. As I look back on past relationships, what I realize is that I need a compatible partner in the kitchen. I have longed for that someone special to cook with me as well as cook for me. Really, it’s true. I want to create marvelous dishes with my tango paramour. Dancing together or cooking together, it’s sort of the same thing. Chef and sous chef, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Cooking together can be a great way to keep the passion going. It’s a romantic date in the kitchen.
So during the moment that my new lover was cooking something just for me, I realized that my wish had come true. It wasn’t just that particular wish, however, that caused me to shiver with delight. It was the shrimp dish he presented me with. Colorful with cubes of red juicy watermelon, diced cucumber, a confetti of yellow corn, cilantro and mint chopped fine and blended into a light vinaigrette, dressing the shrimp so pink and joyous on the plate.
My knees felt weak and shook under the dining table as I tasted his shrimp in mojito dressing, which was his name for the dish, and with each bite I felt my whole body tremble with pleasure.
We just celebrated our first year together and we are even happier with each other than we were before. To celebrate that romantic time by the sea, I am sharing this recipe. I am sure you will find it to be just as much an aphrodisiac as I did.
Summer Shrimp in Mojito Dressing with
Watermelon, Corn and Cucumber Salsa
Ingredients
- 1 dozen prawns or shrimp
- 1 cucumber diced, cored, seeded
- 1/4 watermelon diced
- 1 ear fresh corn uncooked, raw
- 1 bunch cilantro
- 1 bunch mint
- drizzles of olive oil
- dollop of honey
- 1/2 shallot minced
- 1 clove garlic minced
- dash sea salt/black pepper
- 1 lime squeezed
Poach the shrimp in brined water. Chill and save for later. Keep them moist and succulent.
Dice and cube the watermelon and cucumber. Remove corn from the cob. Cooking is not necessary. The taste of fresh sweet corn is wonderful and adds texture to the salsa.
Mince the shallot and garlic. Add black pepper and salt.
Finely chop equal portions of cilantro and mint. You can use a mortar and pestle or a blender. Add in equal parts lime juice and olive oil. Add a little honey, just a little. Whisk.
You can marinate the corn and cucumber early, but be warned there will be water extruded from the cucumber because of the salt and the lime juice.
Dress the shrimp with the mojito vinaigrette and serve with the salsa (at the last minute to keep the individual flavors separate and as not to “cook” the shrimp more with the citric acid like a ceviche).
Enjoy!
Make Food Love
Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.~ Harriet Van Horne
For the past few months, he has been cooking for me at home. Sunday was the day we had together, to linger over breakfast, croissants and tea, afternoons of luxurious kissing, and well, lovemaking. We’d enjoy romantic dinners in restaurants, and make love again. Food was always at the heart of our romance. Being greeted in the morning with a warm pastry box filled with a flaky guava and cream cheese pie was better than a bouquet of flowers. A cheese cart of French cheese after a glorious meal, messy fish tacos from a local stand next to a freeway, tea in the afternoon— our courtship revolved around food, and we were like a fork and spoon.
Aphrodisiac Recipe for Love : Passionata Pesto
The beauty of fresh bouquets of basil always attracts me when I’m produce shopping at my local farmers market. The wide green leaves not only look lovely, they smell wonderful as well.
There are more than 50 varieties of basil, and for many centuries it has been known as an aphrodisiac. The plant is native to India and has been grown in the Asian continent for over 5,000 years. Basil inspires desire and helps with fertility issues. It gives a sense of wellness and calm, relieving anxiety. In Roman times, the fragrant scent of basil also was thought to inspire men to passionate heights when their lover’s breasts were dusted with dried and powdered basil. No insignificant herb, basil has been popular for stirring up passion in pots and pans, especially in Italy, Thailand, and Vietnam. South Asian cuisines use the Thai Basil variety for many different dishes. Thai Basil, Lemon Basil, and Holy Basil are the main types of basil used all over Asia. Italians use Sweet Basil for their pesto sauces and other recipes.
Chinese cooks like to use basil in their soups. Thai basil is a fragrant addition to the Vietnamese soup, phở. In Taiwan, fresh basil leaves are added to soups and deep fried with their fried chicken recipes.
Of course, pesto is what I love to use basil for the most. It is fun to create different kinds of pesto, such as arugula pesto, but the traditional basil pesto is my favorite.
Here I’ve used the basic recipe but added pistachios in with the pine nuts as well as a hint of black truffles. Even though basil is a powerful aphrodisiac on its very own, pine nuts add another seductive dimension to your pesto. Pine Nuts, or Pignolias, are zinc-rich and tasty little things that flavor pesto with a creamy and luxurious flavor. And pine nuts are, you guessed it, an aphrodisiac known to bring couples together and fire up their mating instincts as well as their matrimonial dreams. Seriously. Pine nuts are magical things that make wedding bell wishes come true. To add this into an already sensuous recipe with gloriously green basil leaves, well. Not only will your pesto look deliciously green from the basil, but its texture will be voluptuous with this powerful little nut from the pine tree, known as the pignolia. And if you aren’t married yet and wish to make your lover hear wedding bells… make passionate pesto. If you are married and want to bring back the passionata, make a little mangia mangia and you’ll see. It works.
Passionata Pesto
I made this pesto the other night before Darling came home for dinner. Penne was all this pesto needed to transport his senses to the euphoric states of passionate love. I had grand designs to satisfy his hunger for food and l’amour. Just after I blended up this pesto recipe, he came into the kitchen and began nibbling the back of my neck, kissing here and there. From that point on, what amorous mischief evolved while the penne was boiling is my secret and most passionate ingredient. Wasn’t it mentioned somewhere that the fragrance of basil inspires the passion of men?
- olive oil, 2 generous cups
- bouquet of basil, plucked leaves
- lemon juice, 1/2 cup freshly squeezed
- parmesan, 1/2 cup and some
- garlic, 3 cloves, blanched to remove bitterness
- pine nuts, 1/2 cup and some
- pistachios, 1/4 cup
- sea salt, to taste
- Urbani Truffle Thrills “Pesto & Truffles” 1 tablespoon
Pour a generous amount of olive oil into your blender. Blanche the garlic quickly in boiling water for about two minutes. Add the garlic, lemon juice, basil leaves, parmesan, pine nuts, pistachios, and your tiny amount of (optional) black truffle (not too much) into the blender and combine until the pesto is smooth and green. Just a hint of truffle. Don’t go wild. It’s potent stuff. Yes, if you really want to seal the deal and go extreme with aphrodisiac passion, add the black truffles. I found this adorable little tin full of real black truffle, not the cloying truffle oil stuff. Urbani is the brand name of the magical truffle products. If you are lucky enough to get your hands on real fresh truffles, shave some into this passionately! Keep adding parmesan, basil leaves, and pine nuts until you have created a nice consistency, either rough or smooth, to your liking. Sea salt and pepper to taste.
You can also slather it on foccacia, add some ricotta and basil leaves chiffonade, and it’s simply decadent. Use pesto in the morning with a poached egg and drizzle of balsamic crème.
Sandwiches and wraps are also good ways to eat this pesto with passion. But I just love it on focaccia with an egg. Serve it up sexy with ratatouille or a soup and you have yourself a tantalizing lunch for two, passionata style.
Celebrate! New Year’s Dinner & Champagne at Home
Celebrating the New Year at home was a lovely way to bring in 2012. We planned on making dinner together, so I had picked up groceries with a few recipes in mind. Roasting a chicken with root vegetables was Darling’s job, while I put together beluga lentils with quinoa, potato celery root gratin, and cauliflower soup. Darling wasn’t sure about the temperature of the chicken as we didn’t get home until late in the afternoon, and the chicken was still in the fridge. He needed it to be room temperature. We had hoped to make the roast chicken a la Thomas Keller. Correction: I was thinking Keller, he was thinking Ludo. Well, he did his very best and I was getting all girly watching him in the kitchen. Of course, I had to leave to fetch a bigger roasting pan, so I missed watching him stuff the chicken with lemons, garlic, herbs, and seasonings. Darn that. I get a thrill watching him cook.
I made a tiramisu the night before just in case I didn’t get around to making dessert. And I didn’t get around to making dessert. I made the pastry dough and separated the yield into two discs, wrapped them up and refrigerated them for the next day. Dough must rest and I had too many other dishes to make.
With the pastry dough I had hoped to make a pear and hazelnut tart, but as time was pressing, I sighed and left the idea alone. Besides, we were having so much fun cooking together that I just didn’t mind leaving the tart for tomorrow. More cooking together would follow, as our plan was to cook over the New Year’s weekend. And that’s what we did. It was New Year’s Eve, so we did enjoy a little champagne!
Did I mention? My favorite champagne is Veuve Clicquot. Surely it would be nice to advertise for them someday, and I have visions of a burlesque me spinning around inside a giant champagne flute on stage when I mention that. If Dita Von Teese can do it, so can I. Because of all the champagnes I have tried, Veuve Clicquot hits the spot. There are days when a little champagne lifts the mood, and why wouldn’t it? And, did you know, that back in the 17th century, champagne was accidentally invented. Yes, it was not an intentional thing, the bubbles of carbon dioxide appeared in fermenting wine. Now, how it actually happened or who “invented” champagne is a debate. Some say it was Dom Pérignon, then a Benedictine monk at the abbey Saint-Pierre d’Hautvillers, where he tended the vineyards and was the master of the cellar. Others say it was a science experiment by an English physician and scientist Christopher Merrett, who created his own Champagne method in 1662. Well, whomever it was and however it happened— POP! Champagne was born. And thank goodness for that.
I absolutely love champagne. My two favorites are from traditional Champagne makers in Reims: Clicquot (founded in 1772), and Roederer (founded in 1776). We popped open our bottle of Veuve just before midnight and poured it during our very late dinner around 11pm. But isn’t that what celebrating New Year’s Eve should be all about?
Darling rubbed the chicken down with butter while I was off at the market doing the last minute run for various items needed at the store (for a larger roasting pan, mainly). When I came back, he was covered in butter. The urge to tongue bathe him back to pre-buttery state was a tempting idea, however, we had some cooking to do. The rutabagas, parsnips, potatoes, carrots and all were chopped up and surrounding the beautiful bird, and Darling’s hands, arms, and clothing all covered in butter and seasonings. You know, the saying goes, that everyone has their thing, and my thing is a handsome man in the kitchen covered in butter.
So what to begin first? The beluga lentils or the potato celery root gratin? Well, I began the lentils first. I really should have started the gratin before the lentils. I didn’t layer enough celery root and potatoes and the Béchamel sauce was a swimming pool of cheese and cream. Lesson learned! Don’t rush things. I was in too much of a scattered hurry to focus on one thing at a time. Something I should know already. I was indeed hurrying it along. Not enough potatoes and celery root layering the pan. Too much cream and cheese. Oh well! The next day it was lovely all mixed with the leftover vegetables from the roast chicken. Sometimes things taste better the next day, mixed in with other dishes. And the vegetables were, the next day, better when roasted longer and mixed with spoonfuls of the botched gratin. Point proven.
The lentils with quinoa, on the other hand, were quite delicious hot from the pan. (More quinoa next time is the only addition I’d make). I was very pleased with how they came out. I read somewhere that lentils symbolize wealth and prosperity and are served on New Year’s Day. Similar thinking for Chinese (Lunar) New Year: long noodles represent longevity and whole chickens symbolize happiness.
I started off the lentils with generous amounts of olive oil in the pan, adding shallots, garlic, carrots, celery, and pancetta. Once the mixture was softened by sautéing on a medium heat, allowing the shallots to caramelize and the pancetta to get juicy, I added in the beluga lentils, swirling them into the pan, coating them with olive oil. A splash of sherry, then a douse of red wine.
Separately in another pot (the kitchen was cluttered and every burner was going) I made the quinoa. Braising the lentils in the red wine, adding some homemade chicken stock (and defrosting it all the while), I added in some fresh bay leaves and Herbs de Provence, a dash of Himalayan salt. Once the lentils were done, I mixed in the quinoa. Voila! Beluga lentils with quinoa.
The roast chicken was smelling up the kitchen so wonderfully, and the cauliflower for the soup underneath the roasting bird was turning golden. Everything was humming along and being in the kitchen with my Darling made me so very happy. His chicken was succulent and quite a beautiful bird when done. The veggies needed some extra time, but we were happy enough with how the chicken and lentils came out.
The roasted cauliflower was easy to make into soup, dressed in dashes of curry powder and herbs, olive oil, sherry, and garlic. Just add to a pot of broth and blend smooth in the Vitamix blender. Add some cream, salt and spices to taste. Soups are enhanced by the roasted flavors and you don’t need to fiddle with it too much.
Eating so late at night seemed decadent and celebratory to welcome in the new year. I didn’t express my pleasure over the chicken as much as I felt it, but it occurred to me that chickens symbolize love. At least to me they do. I don’t have a reason for that except it’s my pet name for my youngest daughter. “Chicken of love” is a name I call her, which goes with a song I made up when cradling her as a baby. (The Chicken of Love song is best sung with a bluegrass sort of twang). My Darling has become part of this chicken-y kind of love, first with the photo of him with a chicken foot in his mouth that intrigued me for who knows what reason, but it did, and now with his delectable roasted chicken. I’d have to say that if anything during our New Year’s Eve dinner was symbolic, it was the Roast Chicken of Love in root vegetables. The lentils and quinoa were a good pairing to the chicken. And again, I wished I took the time with the gratin. It wasn’t altogether a bad gratin, just needed some improvement. I tend to mull over these little failures until I’m certain I’ll never make that mistake next time. So I can’t think of what the gratin symbolized for the New Year, except perhaps taking time and not hurrying good meals. Or just adding more potatoes to cheese.
By the time we finished dinner, we had much to clean up. I wanted nothing more than to sit out on the balcony (with a clean kitchen and dishes all washed) and sip champagne with my Darling man, to celebrate our new beginnings, our hopes, dreams, realizing that the moments we share are little happinesses all bubbling up like tiny champagne bubbles.
Midnight was approaching. Fireworks and noise outside clamoring, the warmth of food in our bellies, fireplace glowing and the sparkle of champagne in our crystal glasses. I felt thankful for such a moment with my family, and with a man that has given me reason to celebrate. Love, when you find it, is the best recipe for everyday meals, and an ingredient I never want to cook without.
We sat outside and barely had another glass of champagne before we kissed and went back inside. Dessert forgotten on its plate, bubbling glasses of champagne by the bed. Happy New Year.