CHOCOLATE PUDDING

Once I began my pudding mania, chocolate pudding was bound to happen, and I am happy to report that it was just as delicious as expected. I’d bookmarked this recipe from Smitten Kitchen, but at the last minute I balked at the thought of having to futz with a double boiler, even though I’m sure pudding made with pure melted chocolate is divine. I figured there must be puddings made with cocoa powder instead, and as usual, Simply Recipes delivered a strong, straightforward one.

As usual, I used 1% milk instead of whole and detected no ill effects. I also tossed in a little vanilla extract, because it always seems to make chocolatey things taste even better. My one error was managing to cook my pudding until it was actually a tiny bit too thick; I didn’t really think that was possible, but I’d forgotten that this pudding would be enriched with chocolate chips at the end, which of course makes it set to a firmer consistency. Mine was almost like a soft ganache instead of a pudding—not unpleasant by any means, but I think I’ll go easier on it next time. This is definitely a must-have basic recipe, so easy to throw together whenever a chocolate craving strikes. If you’ve never made pudding that didn’t come out of a box (which I certainly hadn’t before this summer), I urge you to give this one a try.

¼ cup sugar
¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 pinch of salt
2 cups milk (original recipe calls for whole, but 1% worked fine for me)
1 large egg
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
4 ounces semisweet chocolate chips

1. Whisk together the sugar, cocoa powder, cornstarch, and salt in a heavy 2-quart saucepan. Gradually whisk in the milk. Bring to a boil over medium heat, whisking constantly, and boil, continuing to whisk, until pudding is thick, about 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from heat.

2. Immediately beat the egg lightly in a medium heat-proof bowl. Very gradually, add the hot chocolate mixture to the egg, whisking constantly. Whisk in the vanilla, then add the chocolate chips and stir until they are melted and the mixture is smooth.

3. Pour the pudding into the ramekins or cups. If you want, cover the surface of each of pudding with plastic wrap or wax paper to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate, covered, until cold, at least 2 hours.

Serves: 4
Time: 30 minutes
Leftover potential: OK; pudding will keep for a few days in the fridge.

SWEET CORN HASH

Shortly after making chilled avocado soup with a corn-bacon-jalapeno-onion-cilantro topping so delicious I could have just as happily eaten it sans soup, I stumbled across a recipe that’s pretty much exactly that. This iteration—from The Way the Cookie Crumbles, based on a version by Joy the Baker, who is the source of the avocado soup recipe, so we have truly come full circle here—is rounded out into a hearty breakfast (or, in my case, a cozy Saturday night supper) with the addition of potatoes and eggs. I punched up the color and vitamins by serving the whole thing over a bed of greens (spinach because I had an orphaned half-bag in the fridge, although I would have used arugula otherwise), which added a nice freshness and texture—the greens achieve a pleasant state of semi-wiltiness, with the egg yolk coating them like a dressing. The original recipe didn’t call for jalapeno, but Bridget mentioned adding roasted green chile, and since jalapeno had been so tasty in the soup topping, I figured it would be good here, too (spoiler: it was). And, in a further effort to replicate the magic of the soup topping, I subbed cilantro for parsley again and was well pleased.

My one misstep was to distrust the idea of cooking potatoes in the microwave (I know it’s perfectly possible, but I’ve never done it and our microwave is rather temperamental, so I wimped out). The original Joy the Baker recipe calls for them to be roasted, but my oven’s still defunct (GRRR), so I boiled them instead. This of course (a) took more time than microwaving and (b) made them quite soft and damp, which in turn made them take forever to get browned and crispy in the skillet, and they broke down quite a bit in the process. I don’t know why I didn’t just start frying the potatoes from a raw state, which is what hash recipes usually direct you to do, except that sometimes it’s hard to get the potatoes tender that way before they’re too well browned on the outside, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a crunchy potato. (This is, in my view, the downfall of 70 percent of restaurant breakfast potato preparations.) In retrospect, I should have just tried the microwave method. Next time! For there will certainly be a next time; this is my favorite version of hash I’ve ever made. I loved the way the sweetness of the corn balanced out the smoky fried flavors, with a hint of spice from the pepper and brightness from the cilantro. Also, I’m late to the party with this—it took me a long time to learn to tolerate runny yolks—but I’m becoming obsessed with topping things with eggs. Note to self: Eat more eggs; you like them. Also: learn to poach.

4 slices bacon, chopped
4 medium red potatoes, cubed
1 onion, chopped
1 medium jalapeno, seeded and chopped
4 ears corn, kernels removed
¼ cup cilantro, minced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
4 eggs
4 large handfuls spinach or arugula (optional)

1. In a large nonstick skillet (preferably cast iron) over medium heat, cook the bacon until almost crisp.

2. While the bacon cooks, put the potatoes in a medium microwave-safe bowl; spoon a couple teaspoons of rendered bacon fat from the skillet into the bowl; stir. Cover the potatoes loosely and microwave on high for 3 minutes, stirring twice.

3. Add the onions, jalapeno, and potatoes to the skillet with the bacon; cook, stirring occasionally, until browned, about 8 minutes. Stir in the corn and most of the cilantro.

4. Lower the heat to medium-low. Using the back of a spoon, create 4 wells in the hash. Break one egg into each well; season with salt and pepper. Cover the pan and cook, without stirring, until the white is set, about 8 minutes. Garnish with the remaining cilantro; serve immediately, over spinach or arugula if desired.

Serves: 4
Time: 1 hour
Leftover potential: OK, except the eggs will not keep or reheat well. If you’re planning to save some as leftovers, fry the eggs separately for the servings you’re going to eat right away (as shown in the photo above), then fry additional eggs as needed when it’s time to eat the leftovers. Alternately, you can break the eggs into the cooking pan but break the yolks of the ones you want to save for leftovers, so that they cook thoroughly and harden (they will be slightly tough in the leftovers, but edible—more of a scrambled consistency).

CHILLED AVOCADO SOUP WITH CORN AND BACON

In general, ice cream and popsicles aside, I don’t like cold food. Even in the hottest weather, I prefer my salads at room temperature. And the less said about cold pizza, the better. (Ugh, I can’t get over the congealed melted cheese.) Obviously, then, I have never really warmed (ha) to chilled soups. Most of the gazpachos I’ve encountered have just made me feel like I’m eating a big bowl of salsa. Given that logic, when I spotted this cold avocado soup at Joy the Baker I should have assumed it would taste like eating a big bowl of pureed guacamole, but instead I thought, “Ooh, pretty!” and “Ah, corn and bacon!” Maybe it’s just that I really like guacamole, or maybe the warm topping made it seem less like sauce disguised as a meal to me, but I bookmarked it instantly and made it soon afterward, in the throes of a 100-plus-degree heat wave.

This soup is good, with a wonderful velvety texture. The dominant flavors are, of course, avocado and lime (which I was even more generous with), but the savory broth (the recipe called for vegetable, but I used homemade chicken stock because I like its flavor so much) and the dollop of dairy (the recipe suggested sour cream, crème fraiche, or milk, but I knew plain yogurt—specifically, Trader Joe’s nonfat European-style yogurt, which is thin but not watery and my go-to for stirring into soups and sauces—would be the perfect choice for me) save it from guacamole-dom. I took a taste after blending it up and liked it pretty well but wasn’t sure I could eat a whole bowl of it. But the topping—oh, the topping!

The original recipe called for “cooked bacon,” as though you would just happen to have some sitting around, and then had you sauté the vegetables in olive oil. LOGIC FAIL! The best part of bacon is the grease, specifically the heavenly, transformative things it does to whatever you happen to cook in it. So I fried up some bacon, removed it from the skillet, and then cooked the onion, corn, and jalapeno in it, which was absolutely the correct choice. My second gripe with the original recipe was that it called for parsley when, to me, cilantro is made for moments like this—big handfuls of it, too. I mean, with avocado, jalapeno, and corn, we’re clearly already rocking this soup southwestern-style, am I right? When the topping mixture was all softened and browned and generously seasoned, I took a taste and had to stop myself from eating the entire skilletful with a spoon while standing over the stove. Stirred into the soup, it elevated it from “Hmm” to “Hell yes!”, its smoky heat providing much-needed textural, temperature, and flavor contrasts to the cold green creaminess. Instead of feeling like I was eating a beverage or condiment in a bowl, I thoroughly enjoyed this as a refreshing, satisfying summer meal.

Sauteeing the topping in bacon fat and swapping in cilantro really made this dish extra awesome, but then I made a major misstep in packaging up the leftovers: Not realizing how much I was going to enjoy the interplay between the warm topping and the cold soup, I premixed all my topping and soup portions before putting them in the fridge (perhaps I was a bit distracted by the complicated serving instructions in the original recipe, which asked me to put the topping in the bowls and then add the soup around it; for me, that just ended up burying the topping). When I went to eat the leftovers, I realized this meant I either had to heat the whole thing up (Cooked avocado soup? No thanks) or eat it all cold. It turned out I didn’t enjoy the topping nearly as well cold—especially the soggy-chewy-greasy texture of the bacon—and it was clear I should have stored the two components separately, so I could microwave the topping and then add it to the chilled soup. If I’d done that, this recipe would have been downright perfect. Oh, well; live and learn. I’m almost hoping for another heat wave this month (not unlikely, given Southern California’s traditionally hot Septembers) so I have an excuse to eat this one more time before autumn sets in.

2 ripe avocados
1 cup vegetable or chicken broth
1–2 tablespoons lime juice
2 tablespoons plain yogurt (or sour cream, creme fraiche, or milk)
¾ teaspoon salt, plus extra to taste
1¼ to 1½ cups water
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small yellow onion, diced
2 ears fresh corn, sliced from the cob
1 small jalapeno pepper, de-seeded and diced
4 slices diced bacon
1 handful cilantro, chopped
Freshly cracked pepper to taste

1. To make the soup, place avocado flesh in a blender along with broth, lime juice, yogurt (or sour cream, crème fraiche, or milk), and ¾ teaspoon salt. Blend until the avocados are creamy. Remove the center from your blender lid, and while blending, slowly add 1¼ cups water. Soup will be done when smooth, with your desired consistency—feel free to add another ½ cup water if you prefer a thinner soup. Taste and add salt and pepper as necessary. Place in a covered container in the fridge (I just left it in the blender pitcher) while you make the topping.

2. To make the topping, cook bacon in a skillet over medium heat until crisp. Remove bacon with a slotted spoon and set on a paper-towel-lined plate to drain. Add onion to the bacon fat in the skillet and cook until translucent and browned, about 5 minutes. Add corn and jalapeno and cook for 3 minutes more. Add bacon and cilantro. Cook until everything is warmed and just browned. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

3. Divide the cold soup into four bowls and top each with one-quarter of the warm topping mixture (unless you’re planning on keeping some of the soup as leftovers—see my note below). Garnish with additional cilantro, if desired.

Serves: 4
Time: 40 minutes
Leftover potential: Soup will last for about three days in an airtight container in the fridge. I recommend storing the topping mixture in a separate container, so you can reheat it before adding it to the cold soup.

BANANA PUDDING

After getting hooked on homemade pudding, I started looking for new pudding recipes. I’d already bookmarked the usual suspects, vanilla and chocolate—which make up the vast majority of available recipes—as well as my childhood faves, butterscotch and pistachio, but it was surprisingly hard to find other options. In trying to narrow my search, I was brainstorming my way through the Jell-O instant pudding varieties and remembered banana pudding. Literal banana-flavored pudding, not the Southern dessert made with vanilla pudding, sliced bananas, whipped cream, and Nilla Wafers. I do remember my (most definitely not Southern) mom making this occasionally when I was a kid, and although I liked the flavors together, I was never really a fan of all that lumpy stuff interrupting the nice, smooth texture of my pudding. I preferred the fake-banana flavor of the instant variety, so I thought it would be fun to try to replicate that with real banana. Unfortunately, 99 percent of the “banana pudding” recipes on the Internet are for the Southern-style version, and of the remaining 1% that are actually banana flavored, most seem to call for banana extract rather than an actual banana. After a dogged search, however, I finally found what I was looking for—at least, sort of—at Homesick Texan. It was still a version of the Southern dessert, but lo and behold, there was a pureed banana in the pudding itself!

I ended up improvising to an uncharacteristic degree with this one. I tinkered with the procedure to make it more similar to the other pudding recipes I’ve made (adding the egg midway through the cooking time rather than at the end), but my main changes were to the banana cooking method; since my oven was broken, I couldn’t roast the banana as the recipe asked me to. My original plan had been to use a ripe frozen banana instead (I always have some in reserve for banana pancakes), because when defrosted again they become almost totally liquefied. But then I happened to acquire some non-frozen ripe bananas from work that week, and I couldn’t resist gilding the lily. I’d had great success with adding rum to my vanilla pudding, so what about taking a cue from bananas Foster and putting rum in my banana pudding too? And if I was doing that, I should really go whole hog and sauté my banana in butter and brown sugar, right? I don’t even like bananas all that much, but I can’t resist a caramelized banana. I also, afraid there wouldn’t be enough banana flavor, used two small bananas instead of one large one.

For the most part, I think my plan worked pretty well, but I’d like to experiment a bit more in the future. I went easy on the brown sugar (just 1 tablespoon, I think) in sautéing the banana, fearing the finished pudding would be too sweet, but I didn’t end up getting much caramel flavor and almost wished for more sweetness at the end. The caramelizing also created some textural challenges; as the pureed banana mixture cooled while I heated the milk, the sugar resolidified and I had to whisk it like the dickens to break up the chunks after adding it to the pot, so either this isn’t the best method, I need to sauté the banana simultaneously while heating up the milk so it doesn’t get a chance to cool, or I need to learn to live with some lumps in my banana pudding. The latter may well be the case; I always think of bananas as being smooth and soft, but they have some fibrousness to them and never break down entirely in baked goods, so it’s probably unrealistic to expect them to do so here. I suspect the reason that I didn’t find many pudding recipes using real banana is that it’s nearly impossible to get a totally smooth end product resembling the creamy, pillowy artificially flavored Jell-O version. I even strained mine to be sure and still ended up with small grainy flecks. But if I can live with pistachio pieces in my pistachio pudding, why not banana pieces in my banana pudding? Or did I simply use a bit too much banana?

Texture issues aside, the flavor was quite good. I thought it tasted a smidge flat (it needed more brown sugar, a pinch of salt, or both), but A, who was absent for the initial tasting session and ate his portion after I went to bed, loved it so much that he wrote a note to me on the bathroom mirror singing its praises, so it’s possible my expectations were just too high. Even though it wasn’t my favorite of the puddings I’ve made so far, it was certainly worth making again. I’d like to try some variations to see if I can improve it, though—once with the frozen-and-defrosted banana to see if that makes it smoother, once (if my oven is ever repaired) with roasted banana as written, and once again with the caramelized banana but more brown sugar. The best thing about pudding is that it always seems to taste good even if it’s too thick or too thin or too lumpy, so I’m happy to devour any number of “failed” batches in the name of science. I’ll keep you posted!

1 large ripe banana or 2 small ripe bananas
1–2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons brown sugar (optional)
2 cups milk (1% worked just fine for me)
⅓ cup white sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon rum (optional)

1. Place the unpeeled banana(s) on a parchment-paper lined sheet and roast in the oven at 400 degrees for 15 minutes or until skin blackens; then peel banana and lightly mash with a fork. Alternatively, peel and slice the banana(s) and sauté in 1 tablespoon butter over medium heat with the 2 tablespoons brown sugar, then puree with a food processor, blender, or immersion blender until smooth.

2. Place the milk, white sugar, and cornstarch in a saucepan, mix well with a whisk, and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until just before it boils. Add the mashed banana and whisk until as smooth as possible.

3. Beat the egg in a separate dish. Very gradually add 1 cup of hot pudding, stirring constantly, and then add egg mixture back to the pot of pudding on the stove.

4. Bring pudding to a boil, stirring constantly, and boil 1 minute or until thickened.

5. Remove pudding from heat and mix in the vanilla, 1 tablespoon butter (I skipped this here since I’d already sautéed the banana in butter, but you could do both for a richer pudding), and rum (if using).

6. Press pudding through a fine-mesh strainer to remove any stringy banana pieces.

7. Divide pudding among four ramekins or airtight containers, cover surface of pudding with plastic wrap if you don’t like pudding skin, and chill.

Serves: 4
Time: 1 hour
Leftover potential: Will keep in the fridge for a few days.

HERB GARDEN POTATO SALAD WITH SPINACH AND LEMON

I seem to be accumulating a lot of potato salad recipes for someone who hates potato salad—or at least claimed to until last year, when I realized it doesn’t necessarily have to be ice-cold and dripping with mayonnaise). Just when I think I’m all set with my two faves, along comes another good-looking recipe, like this one from The Kitchn, so alluring with its lemony greenness. I love potatoes with dill and parsley and shallots, I love lemon-olive oil dressings, and I love spinach, so it seemed like it couldn’t go wrong—and it didn’t, even though I tried my best to flub it by temporarily forgetting how many ounces are in two pounds and only putting in three-quarters of the amount of potatoes. Luckily, one of the main things I like about this recipe is how many greens are packed in here, yet they’re wilted by the heat of the potatoes so you still feel like you’re eating a potato dish, not a leafy salad with potatoes in it. Even A, not always a veggie fan, claimed to like my overly high ratio of spinach to potatoes and said he’d happily have it that way again.

Aside from that inadvertent change, I did make one important improvement to the recipe: adding Dijon mustard to the dressing. I think mustard and potatoes are BFFs, but even if you don’t care for the flavor of mustard that much, a dab of it in a salad dressing will work savory wonders without necessarily being identifiable as mustard. I always add it to my everyday lemon vinaigrette, and since the dressing here was basically the same thing, I thought it seemed a shame to leave it out. Mine was probably a pretty heaping spoonful, but I’ve added it to the recipe below as a more modest 1 teaspoon; use your judgment depending on your degree of mustard love. My one regret: Adding the 1 teaspoon of sugar that the original recipe called for. I was trying to play by the rules the first time around and trust that it added some important element, but I should have trusted my instincts—I enjoy my lemony tartness straight up, so I could taste the sweetness in the dressing and didn’t like it. I wouldn’t add the sugar in the future, and I’ve removed it from the recipe below.

Lemons and dill and new potatoes always remind me of spring, so that’s when I’d be most likely to crave this salad, but it was good in the summer too. Plus, since it can be served warm and the ingredients are things most people can get fresh year-round, it would be a lively way to brighten up your winter diet.

2 pounds extra-small Yukon Gold potatoes
1 large lemon, juiced and zested
⅓ cup olive oil
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
5 ounces fresh baby spinach, well-washed
⅔ cup flat-leaf parsley leaves, loosely packed
⅔ cup fresh dill fronds, loosely packed
3 shallots, peeled and thinly sliced
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper

1. Heat a large pot of water to boiling and salt the water generously. Add the potatoes and cook for 15 to 18 minutes, or until they are quite tender and creamy. Drain, slice each potato in half, and place them in a large bowl.

2. In a measuring cup, whisk together the lemon juice, zest, mustard, and olive oil. Whisk until well-combined; it will be thick and opaque yellow. Pour over the hot potatoes and stir gently until the potatoes are coated with dressing.

3. Slice the spinach leaves into thin ribbons. Mince the parsley leaves and the dill fronds as well. Add the spinach, parsley, dill, and shallots to the potatoes, and toss gently. The spinach and herbs will wilt as they are combined with the hot potatoes. Taste and season with salt and pepper as needed. Serve warm, at room temperature, or chilled.

Serves: 4–6
Time: 45 minutes
Leftover potential: Good.

WATERMELON SALAD WITH FETA, MINT, AND LIME

Even though I firmly believe summer isn’t summer without watermelon, my appetite for it is limited. I love its cool, crisp, and well, watery properties, but its sweetness can be cloying. I’d had savory treatments of watermelon before—a restaurant near my office serves a complimentary appetizer of watermelon with balsamic vinegar, feta, and basil—but they’d never really spoken to me. This one, however, looked so pretty, and I am fully aware what wonderful things mint and lime can do for fruit, and my obsession with feta only grows, so I gave it a try and HOLY COW, PEOPLE.

Make this right away. Seriously. It does crazy things to your taste buds, transforming the relatively uncomplicated flavor of the watermelon into a salty-sweet-savory kaleidoscope. You can even leave off the cheese if that seems just too weird to you—it does add a wonderful saltiness, and the contrast of its creaminess with the liquidity of the watermelon is interesting, but I’m convinced that it’s really the lime, mint, and pinch of salt that I love the most here. The lime adds that tang I’m always missing from watermelon, the mint makes the watermelon even more refreshing than you ever dreamed possible, and the salt cuts the sweetness so much that it really brings out the melon flavor in the watermelon, something you can’t always detect when it’s accompanied by all that sugar. This is all theoretical, though, because I haven’t tried it without the feta yet; I’m addicted to it just the way it is. It’s become my default way of preparing watermelon, and I’m going to have trouble going back to the plain stuff after this.

I first made this when A and I were going to the Hollywood Bowl, and it was very tasty as a picnic food—I just assembled it a few hours ahead of time, leaving the feta, mint, lime, and salt on the very top of the container of watermelon until it was time to eat. I’ve also taken it to work for lunch that way, putting it together the night before. But over time, the salt draws so much juice out of the watermelon and the feta starts to break down in the acid, leaving you with a milky-watery mess, so it’s really best to eat this fresh, with all the ingredients still chilled from the fridge. Luckily, it’s so easy to make that I can throw together a single serving at the drop of a hat. Measurements aren’t really necessary here (just don’t drown the watermelon in the toppings; it should still be the main feature), but if I had to guess I’d say I use the juice from a quarter of a lime, a tablespoon of chopped mint, a tablespoon of feta, and a single pinch of fleur de sal per every cereal-bowl-sized serving of watermelon.

Watermelon, cubed
Feta cheese, crumbled
Fresh mint leaves, cut in ribbons
Freshly squeezed lime juice
Coarse finishing salt, such as fleur de sal

1. Place your watermelon on a plate or in a bowl.

2. Sprinkle watermelon with feta cheese, mint ribbons, lime juice, and a pinch of salt.

Serves: As many or few as you like
Time: 5 minutes
Leftover potential: Will be OK for a few hours in the refrigerator (leave the toppings on top of the watermelon and don’t stir to combine until you’re ready to eat), but it’s best freshly made.

VANILLA PUDDING

I wish I had fallen in love with a dessert that’s a little more photogenic…

It’s puddingmania over here right now. I’ve made four kinds of pudding in the past month (one of which will be posted shortly; the other I forgot to photograph and will be forced to make again—poor me!), one of them twice. I can’t get enough! All the recipes are similar in terms of ingredients and basic procedure (heat milk, add egg, heat again until thick), but it’s interesting to see how much the methods vary—more so than, say, your basic cookie or cake recipes. Some have you heat the milk with the cornstarch and sugar, others have you add them to the egg mixture. I sense that pudding is a lot more forgiving than I expected. Even if you mess up and it turns out lumpy, you can always just strain it. And if it’s too thin: it’s creme anglaise!

Of all the recipes I’ve tried so far, this one has been, rather surprisingly, my favorite. I say “surprisingly” because even though I love vanilla more with each passing year, I still tend to think of it as a plain favor on its own, something I would rarely choose over, say, pistachio or butterscotch. I don’t know if this recipe was just the best of the bunch (which wouldn’t be a shock, considering it’s from the Smitten Kitchen) or if I just really nailed the execution, but it came out wonderfully. Part of what I loved about it was that it is really custardy, by far the thickest pudding I’ve made so far (even though I used 1% instead of whole), so thick it pulls away slightly from the sides of the ramekin when you stick your spoon into it, and it turns out I love thick pudding. It also seems that I love pudding skin, which I’d never encountered before because I’d never had homemade pudding, except my mom’s (skinless) rice and tapioca puddings when I was a kid. It’s often maligned and I’d always thought it sounded gross—I mean, “skin”?—but in fact, the way I’m encountering it in my own puddings, it’s just a slightly thicker top to the pudding, not something slimy and chewy that you can peel off in a big sheet, as I had always envisioned it.

I am also learning that the full flavor of pudding doesn’t tend to come through when it’s still warm. The vanilla bean I was using was rather elderly, and once I’d finished making the pudding, I kept tasting it and it seemed sort of bland, so I added some vanilla extract (about a teaspoon, I think) just in case. Then I saw that Deb had mentioned that you could add a teaspoon of rum if you wanted, and I had a tiny bottle in the cupboard left over from some baking project, so I went for it. I wasn’t sure I could taste any difference in the hot pudding, but into the fridge it went. A few hours later I spooned a bite of chilled pudding into my mouth and—zowie! It probably would have been fine if I’d left it as written, but the extra vanilla and rum pushed it over the top into amazing. (You couldn’t identify the rum and rum per se—it just seemed to enhance the vanilla even more.) Not too sweet, slightly eggy, intensely creamy without being especially rich, and super-vanilla-flavored, this recipe is definitely a keeper.

2⅔ cups milk (the original recipe calls for whole milk, but I used 1% with no ill effects), divided
½ cup sugar
¼ cup cornstarch
¼ teaspoon salt
½ vanilla bean (or 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract) (or ½ vanilla bean plus 1 teaspoon extract, if you’re me)
1 large egg
1 teaspoon rum (optional)

1. Bring 2 cups of the milk just barely to a boil in a medium saucepan over medium heat.

2. While the milk is heating, if you are using a vanilla bean, scrape out the seeds into the bottom of a medium, heatproof bowl (I recommend adding the scraped-out pod to the pot of simmering milk for an extra vanilla boost). Add sugar, cornstarch, and salt, and whisk to combine. Gradually whisk in the remaining ⅔ cup milk, a little at a time so lumps do not form, then whisk in the egg.

3. Once the rest of the milk is boiling, remove the vanilla pod if you used it, then very gradually add the milk to the cornstarch mixture in the bowl, whisking the whole time.

4. Return the mixture to the saucepan, stirring constantly with a silicon spatula or wooden spoon. Once it comes to a full simmer, cook it for one minute longer. Stir in vanilla extract if you’re using it and the rum if desired. Divide pudding among 4 to 6 dishes (cover the surface of each pudding with plastic wrap if you don’t like pudding skin). Chill in refrigerator until fully set, about 2 hours.

Serves: 4–6
Time: 45 minutes
Leftover potential: Good; will last a few days in the fridge.

MUESLI

For several summers when I was in my early teens, I attended a two-week German-language immersion camp. The counselors spoke German to us all the time from the instant we arrived, and in addition to the language, we learned German songs, dances, games, and so forth. The food was German, too, and I remember it actually being pretty good, which is a glowing testimonial considering what a picky eater I was at the time. I liked the noodles and schnitzel and potatoes, and different varieties of bread were baked fresh on site daily, so if there was nothing else I liked I could always have plenty of tasty brot und butter. (It also helped that there was great chocolate—we could buy Ritter Sport and Toblerone, which at the time were hard to find in the U.S., at the little commissary every day.) I remember enjoying the breakfasts especially; there were these wonderful big, fluffy white rolls with butter and jam, and sometimes there was muesli.

I probably would have forgotten about muesli completely if it hadn’t been for the fact that my oven has been out of order for months, depriving me of my two favorite breakfast foods, granola and baked oatmeal. I tried making oatmeal in the microwave or on the stovetop for a while, but I just couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm for it, especially as the summer temperatures soared and the prospect of eating a piping hot breakfast held less and less appeal. In my desperation, I wondered, what if I just threw most of my usual granola ingredients—oats, coconut, nuts, fruit—in a bowl and poured milk over them? Well, duh: That’s muesli! I gave it a shot, and as soon as I tasted it, I was transported right back to those happy days at camp. More importantly, it was delicious: I love the taste of raw oats (I pop a handful in my mouth whenever I’m cooking or baking with them), and I’ve always been a little disappointed by the way that taste gets muted in cooked oatmeal. In muesli, the oats absorb enough milk to become tender, but they still retain their flavor and a pleasing chewiness (although unless you want to soak them in milk overnight, I recommend sticking to the smaller quick oats). I add oat bran and flaxseed for more fiber, nuts for protein, a hint of sweetness and spice, and fruit for moisture, vitamins, and color. Plus coconut, because I love coconut.

I’ve really been enjoying this as a summer breakfast—it’s hearty but not heavy, easier to eat than granola (sometimes all that crunching can be tiring first thing in the morning!), infinitely customizable, and very cool and refreshing, plus a great way to use up some of that juicy summer fruit (I always seem to buy a bit too much, and then it ripens all at once). You can put whatever you want in it, in whatever quantities you prefer, but the following is my rough template. I usually just mix it up in the morning before I eat it (on weekends or days I’m working at home), without worrying about precise measurements, and sometimes I throw together two or three servings at once while I’m at it, but I haven’t tried making a big batch yet. It would be really easy, though, if you don’t mind doing the math.

½ cup quick oats
1 tablespoon oat bran
1 tablespoon flaxseed meal
1 tablespoon unsweetened flaked coconut
2–3 tablespoons nuts (I usually use sliced almonds or chopped pecans)
1 teaspoon sesame seeds
1 teaspoon brown sugar
A few pinches of cinnamon and/or cardamom
½ cup fresh fruit (I usually use fresh blueberries, sliced strawberries, or chopped peaches or nectarines, but banana or apple might be good too, and I imagine you could use dried fruit such as raisins or apricots)
Milk to taste (or yogurt, if you prefer)

1. In a cereal bowl, combine all ingredients except fruit and milk. Stir well, then top with fruit.

2. Add enough milk to moisten the oats to your liking (they absorb some of the liquid, so be generous), stir, and eat.

Serves: 1
Time: 5 minutes
Leftover potential: If you double, triple, or otherwise multiply this recipe and want to save some for later, stop before adding the fruit and milk; place muesli in an airtight container and store at room temperature or in the refrigerator. Add the fruit and milk when ready to serve.

BUTTERSCOTCH PUDDING

Pudding is one of those things I rarely remember to think about, but on the rare occasion that I do, I also remember that I love it. So smooth, cool, and creamy! One of the only things I liked about my college cafeteria, besides the perpetual availability of cereal and ice cream, was that I could almost always get a little bowl of pudding with a dollop of whipped topping with (or, occasionally, as) my meal. So naturally, what do I do to satisfy my sweet tooth when it’s too hot to make or even buy ice cream (we have no air conditioning, and our freezer gets a bit indifferent about keeping things fully frozen when the outdoor temperature tops 90) and I can’t bake cookies, cake, pie, cobblers, or crisps because my oven is STILL BROKEN (not that I’m not bitter or anything)? Why, learn to make homemade pudding, of course!

Which, it turns out, is as easy as easier than pie. Sugar, milk, cornstarch, eggs, simmer, stir, a little butter and vanilla, chill, done. Sure, you have to temper things, but that’s just a fancy way of saying “pour, stir, pour.” I was worried my pudding wouldn’t set, but it turned out just fine—and besides, once I had a little taste, I realized it was so delicious I’d drink it through a straw if I had to. Given my intense love of all things caramel-like, this Cooking Light recipe for butterscotch (or, probably more accurately, brown sugar) pudding was a no-brainer for my first outing, and it’s going to be a hard one to top—but I’ve already hunted down further recipes for pistachio (my childhood fave), chocolate, vanilla, lemon, banana, and peanut butter, so expect many more pudding posts in the near future. Sweet but light, comforting but cold, it makes a surprisingly refreshing and grown-up (if slightly unphotogenic) summer dessert. The only change to the recipe I made was to nix the fat-free whipped topping, because ew. I like this pudding straight up, but if I wanted whipped cream I’d use the real stuff.

Postscript, September 2011: After trying a few more pudding recipes and becoming more confident in my pudding-making skills, I made this again and got a much thicker, more satisfying result, so I’ve made a few small changes and clarifications to the recipe below. I think I was too meek about cooking the pudding until it was thick enough the first time around, thinking that it was OK that it was fairly thin when I finished cooking because it would do most of its thickening when chilled, like instant pudding. Not so! It should really be close to normal pudding texture before you take it off the stove, so when Step 3 says “bring to a boil,” it means it; it may take more time than you expect, but there should be bubbles that can’t be stirred away before you start the 1-minute clock, and—assuming that, like me, you prefer a thicker pudding texture—you should definitely rely on your eyes rather than the timer to make the judgment about when it’s done. As long as you’re stirring constantly (good arm workout!) and nothing’s burning (keep the heat at medium; I’ve found that a silicon spatula is the best tool here, for making sure the pudding doesn’t stick to the bottom and corners of the pot), I don’t think you need to worry about overcooking, so let that sucker thicken. Oh, and I edited out the part about chilling the pudding in a bowl of ice; it’s a hassle, no other pudding recipe I’ve seen calls for it, and I skipped it the second time around with no ill effects. I suspect that perhaps it’s intended to reduce the formation of pudding skin, but it turns out I love pudding skin!

1 cup packed dark brown sugar
¼ cup cornstarch
½ teaspoon salt
3 cups 1% low-fat milk, divided
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon vanilla

1. Combine brown sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a saucepan. Gradually add 2 cups milk and stir with a whisk until blended. Cook mixture over medium heat to 180 degrees or until tiny bubbles form around the edge (do not boil), whisking occasionally.

2. Place egg and egg yolk in a large heatproof bowl and beat lightly with a whisk. Add 1 cup remaining 1 cup milk and stir with a whisk.

3. Very gradually add 1 cup of hot milk mixture to egg mixture, stirring constantly with a whisk. Add egg mixture to saucepan. Bring to a full boil over medium heat; cook 1 minute or until thick, stirring constantly (a silicon spatula works very well for this). Remove from heat; stir in butter and vanilla.

4. Spoon pudding into individual serving bowls; if you don’t like pudding skin, cover surface of pudding with plastic wrap. Chill.

Serves: 4–6
Time: 45 minutes
Leftover potential: Keeps in the fridge for at least a few days.

SUMMER LASAGNA

I don’t think I’ll make this recipe again, but I couldn’t resist sharing it because it’s so pretty, even with my sloppy construction and poorly lit photography. And maybe someone else will enjoy it more; after all, we didn’t hate it, just found it a bit bland. (It’s also hard to eat, even more slippery than normal lasagna—it deconstructs itself as soon as you put a fork into it.) But layering noodles with cheese and vegetables right on the plate for a refreshing no-bake lasagna (yes, my oven is still broken) is such a clever idea that I’m sure someone with more improvisational skills could adapt it into something amazing. I did make a few additions in an effort to punch up the flavor, and I’m glad I did, because otherwise it would have been totally boring.

The original recipe is from Martha Stewart, but I spotted a link to an adaptation of it in a roundup of summery lasagna recipes at The Kitchn. The adapted version made a few changes to Martha’s recipe, most notably increasing the quantity of the cheeses and basil, which I of course was on board with. Also included in the roundup was this recipe from Rachael Ray, which wasn’t as useful to me because it doesn’t involve noodles (I was looking to get rid of a half-boxful that had been haunting my cupboard for ages), but it did captivate me with its addition of lemon to the ricotta, making it similar to this tasty sandwich recipe in my archives. Further inspired by that sandwich, I decided to add my basil to the ricotta filling as well, rather than just sprinkling it around the finished lasagna. (I also did away with the 2 teaspoons of olive oil in the ricotta—it seemed unnecessary.) And while cooking, I decided to throw some red pepper flakes into the tomatoes to add a little spice.

I was a bit perplexed by how to build the actual lasagna. Martha calls for the noodles to be cut in half, which I did, but that makes them more like long rectangles than the squares shown in the photos, and I ended up trimming the ends off them so they would fit on my plates and not make gigantic servings (they still ended up being generous portions). I noticed that the adapted version has the noodles cut into thirds, which makes more sense, but it still calls for the same total number as Martha does, without explaining what to do with the extras. (If you cut your noodles into thirds, you’d really only need to cook six of them instead of eight, yielding 18 noodle pieces of which you’d use 16, four per serving.) And then since cherry tomatoes are involved, my layers didn’t lay flat, but got all lumpy. The photos at the other sites are a lot prettier than my finished product, but they look like they only contain a fraction of the total filling—a few zucchini slices and tomatoes scattered on each layer. I didn’t want to throw food away, so I ended up with askew, teeteringly high piles. I don’t like recipes that have you cook a bunch of food and not use all of it.

This is an elegant presentation for a summer pasta, but unfortunately it’s more interesting to look at than to eat. Once you bite in and the layers slide every which way (you may want to serve this in shallow bowls rather than on plates), it quickly becomes just tepid noodles, tomatoes, and zucchini in a creamy (but at least lemony, thanks to Rachael Ray) sauce—not unpleasant, but nothing too special. Next time I have noodles to use up, I’ll try stovetop lasagna or lasagna rollups instead.

The chaos!

1 cup ricotta
¼ cup grated Parmesan
Zest of one lemon
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
8 lasagna noodles, broken in half crosswise
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 minced garlic clove
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 pints cherry tomatoes, halved
2 medium zucchini (about 1 pound total), halved and thinly sliced into half-moons
½ cup torn basil leaves

1. In a medium bowl, combine ricotta, Parmesan, lemon zest and juice, basil, and salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.

2. Cook lasagna noodles according to package directions and drain.

3. Meanwhile, heat 2 tablespoons oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add garlic, red pepper flakes, and tomatoes. Cook until slightly broken down, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a bowl.

3. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon oil to the same skillet and when it is heated, add zucchini. Season with salt and pepper and cook about 5 minutes or until tender.

4. Scatter a few tomatoes over four plates. Top with one noodle, a spoonful of ricotta mixture, zucchini, and more tomatoes. Repeat layering twice, then finish with one more noodle and the remaining tomatoes. Serve, garnishing with more basil if desired.

Serves: 4
Time: 30 minutes
Leftover potential: Good.

SHAVED SUMMER SQUASH SALAD WITH FETA AND PROSCIUTTO

Shaved salads seem to be in vogue this year, or at least I’ve seen a lot of them (especially asparagus ones) on the food blogs lately. I can understand why: they are undeniably pretty, as well as being texturally exciting; it’s nifty how a vegetable that is rarely consumed raw can be rendered tender and palatable through thin slicing and a flavorful acidic marinade. This was the only recipe I dogeared in June’s issue of Cooking Light (I’ve been subscribing long enough that most of the recipes have started to look the same to me), but it’s a doozy, colorful and abstract-looking, pepping up the somewhat bland squash with mint, lemon, and salty pork and cheese for a sophisticated and refreshing summer dish.

Maybe it will be clearer to you, but it took me a while to figure out the proper squash-shaving technique in Step 2, especially the “discard seeds” part. I was shaving the squash (that sounds like a euphemism for something) the way I’d peel the skin off a cucumber—run the peeler down the length of it, rotate a few degrees, and peel parallel to the last spot—so I was getting some pieces that were all skin and then, after a few series of rotations, pieces that were all seeds. Was I supposed to discard any piece that had seeds in it? Wouldn’t that be most of them? Well, duh, no. I was supposed to peel a strip, then peel another strip in the same spot, repeating until I reached the seedy part, then turn the squash about 90 degrees and start peeling new strips in a spot adjacent to the one I’d just done, and so forth, until basically what was left was a square of the interior core of the squash, which is then discarded. This method has less waste and gives you the photogenic slices that are mostly lighter-toned squash flesh with borders of the darker skin.

1 medium zucchini
2 medium yellow squash
¼ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh mint
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
½ teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3 thin slices prosciutto (1 ounce), chopped
¼ cup (1 ounce) crumbled feta cheese

1. Shave the zucchini and squash into thin strips using a vegetable peeler. Discard seeds. Place zucchini and squash in a medium bowl, and toss with salt.

2. Combine mint and next 4 ingredients (through pepper) in a small bowl; stir with a whisk. Pour over zucchini and squash; toss.

3. Heat a small nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add prosciutto; sauté for 2 minutes or until crisp.

4. Place ¾ cup salad on each of 4 plates. Top each serving with 1 tablespoon cheese; sprinkle evenly with prosciutto.

Serves: 4
Time: 15 minutes
Leftover potential: Surprisingly good; keeps for several days in the refrigerator.

SUMMER CORN CAKES WITH TOMATO AND AVOCADO SALSA

Few things say “summer” to me more clearly than the combination of corn and tomatoes, unless perhaps it’s the incredible medley of avocado, cilantro, and lime, so even though I already have a very good corn cake recipe in my archives, I bookmarked this one (originally by Sara Foster) at Ezra Pound Cake the instant I saw the photo. Sure, I could just throw some salsa on top of my usual corn cakes and call it a day, but these corn cakes looked totally different than mine—thick like crab cakes, with lots more leavening and the added flavors of cornmeal, buttermilk, basil, and red onion. Could there be room in my life for two different corn cake recipes? But of course!

Despite our large appetite for all things fritter-like (we routinely eat them as entrees, especially in the summer), these corn cakes looked so hearty in the picture that I halved the recipe, which claimed to serve six to eight people. This resulted in the rather awkward requirement of 1½ ears of corn, but I used two smallish ears and it was just fine (I imagine one large ear would also be OK). I decided to stick with the full recipe for the salsa, mostly because I didn’t want half an avocado floating around in my fridge, but also because I figured extra salsa never goes amiss. This was a wise decision; the corn cakes are sturdy and stand up well to toppings, so feel free to pile on the salsa to your heart’s content. In fact, because the corn cakes have the drier texture of cornbread rather than the pancake-like texture of my usual recipe, the salsa provides an important contrast. The salsa has a fair amount of liquid in it, most of which I’d left behind in a bowl, spooning on the chunkier parts with a slotted spoon because I was afraid of making the corn cakes soggy, but their crispy surfaces turned out to be largely impermeable (at least in the short time it took to go from plate to mouth), so I needn’t have been so shy—the juiciness would have been quite welcome.

Following the recipe’s instructions to use heaping tablespoons of batter, I got slightly smaller cakes than I’d expected; they puffed up tall but didn’t spread much, turning out like cute sliders where Ezra Pound Cake’s photo had made them look like burgers. At this appetizer-like size, the recipe yielded eight cakes, which made for a perfect four per serving: generous enough to be satisfying, but still a light summery meal (we had something else on the side that I can’t quite recall—grilled chicken thighs, maybe?). I would definitely make these again.

For the salsa:
1 large tomato, cored and chopped
1 scallion, trimmed and minced
1 small jalapeno pepper, cored, seeded, and diced
1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro
1 garlic clove, minced
Juice of ½ lime
1½ teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1½ teaspoons white wine vinegar
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 ripe avocado, peeled, pitted, and diced

For the corn cakes:
1 large ear or 2 small ears corn, shucked
½ cup all-purpose flour
¼ cup cornmeal
2 tablespoons diced red onion
2 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh basil
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon well-shaken buttermilk
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted
2 tablespoons olive oil

1. Place all of the salsa ingredients except the avocado in a bowl, and stir to mix. Refrigerate in an airtight container until ready to serve, for up to 2 days. Just before serving, add the avocado and mix gently.

2. Cut the corn from the cobs into a large bowl, and scrape the stripped cobs with the back of the knife (or a spoon) to release the juices into the bowl.

3. Place 1 cup of the corn kernels into a food processor and pulse several times, until the corn is slightly pureed but still chunky. Scrape into the bowl with the remaining corn kernels.

4. Add flour, cornmeal, onion, basil, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and pepper to the corn. Stir to mix.

5. Add the egg, buttermilk, and butter, and stir just to combine. (Do not overmix.)

6. Place a large skillet over medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons olive oil, and heat until sizzling hot.

7. One heaping tablespoon at a time, scoop the batter into the skillet. Cooking in batches of 4 to avoid overcrowding, fry the cakes for about 2 minutes per side, until golden brown. (I got 8 small corn cakes.)

8. Remove corn cakes from pan, set them briefly on a paper towel to blot away any extra oil, and set on a cooling rack (or on a parchment-lined baking sheet in a warm oven if you want to keep them hot) until ready to eat. Serve warm, topped with a heap of salsa.

Serves: 2 as a main dish, 4 as a side
Time: 45 minutes
Leftover potential: For the corn cakes, unknown. Extra salsa will keep in the fridge for a few days and can be eaten with tortilla chips, used on tacos, or mixed with black beans for an easy salad.

HUMMUS AND VEGETABLE PIZZA

Another brilliant “Why didn’t I think of this?” recipe. Pizza crust slathered in hummus and topped with fresh vegetables and feta cheese is pretty much just my go-to meal of hummus and pita crisps plus a nice side salad, but in a handy streamlined form, with all of pizza’s warm, crunchy, melty deliciousness as a bonus. I’ve made this twice already and I’m hooked; its lightness makes it particularly nice in the summer (I could totally envision it as a party appetizer).

The recipe is from Everybody Likes Sandwiches’ column at Poppytalk, but I made a few changes. I used my homemade hummus recipe, which I highly recommend; it’s simple and bright with lemon. Instead of using ricotta, half blended into the hummus and half dolloped on top, I went with feta, which seemed more flavorful and better suited for the Mediterranean theme (also, I am obsessed with it lately), just sprinkled on top—hummus seems plenty creamy on its own without any additions. I was accidentally forced to use Trader Joe’s garlic-and-herb flavored pizza dough because they were out of normal dough, but I actually ended up really liking the zippier flavor it added—it reminded me of the dried oregano I sprinkle atop my pita chips, and so I used it again the second time. If you’re using plain dough, I’d suggest perhaps sprinkling a little dried oregano on the pizza when you add the salt and pepper. Further inspired by my pita crisps recipe, I added a little finely grated Parmesan the second time as well, again for added flavor as well as more thorough cheese coverage, and was very pleased with the results. One less successful modification was using a yellow pepper the first time around, on the theory that I usually prefer their sweeter flavor—it was fine, but on my second try I found that I preferred the red pepper the original recipe called for. Of course, you could add any vegetables you like to this pizza—I could see kalamata olives being nice, if I didn’t hate olives with a violent passion—but the pepper and broccoli work very well, being exactly the sort of crudite veggies you might dip into hummus on an appetizer tray.

1½ cups hummus (conveniently, my homemade hummus recipe makes exactly this amount)
1 small head broccoli, broken into small florets and lightly steamed
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 small red onion, thinly sliced
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
4 ounces crumbled feta cheese
¼ cup shredded Parmesan cheese
1 pound pizza dough

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

2. Roll out your pizza dough on an oiled or cornmeal-sprinkled baking sheet.

3. Spread hummus evenly over pizza dough and scatter the steamed broccoli florets, red pepper slices, and onion over the top. Sprinkle with salt and black pepper, then feta and Parmesan. Place in oven and bake for about 15 minutes or until crust is golden.

Serves: 4
Time: 30 minutes
Leftover potential: Good; heat up in the oven or in a skillet on the stovetop to restore crispiness.

CUCUMBER-RADISH SALAD WITH FETA VINAIGRETTE

The problem with my newfound interest in radishes is that when you buy radishes, you get a lot. Oh, sure, they look so innocent, sitting there all cute and pink in small, tight, manageable bunches, but unless you like popping them whole into your mouth (and I’m not there yet), most recipes involve thinly slicing them, and you can get a surprising number of thin slices out of just one radish. (I’d like to try cooking radishes, which often calls for them to be whole or halved instead of sliced—I’ve heard they’re incredible roasted, but my oven is still defunct, so that will have to wait.) And it’s possible that they multiply in the crisper drawer like rabbits when no one’s looking. Neither of the radish recipes I’ve posted so far has used an entire bunch of radishes, so I’ve been burdened with many extras. While hunting down ways to use them that seem palatable to our household of radish newbies, I found this one at Kalyn’s Kitchen, bookmarked it because it was pretty and it involved feta (one of my latest obsessions), and decided to try it one day when I realized I had spare radishes, cucumbers, feta, and buttermilk all waiting around serendipitously in the fridge.

Cucumbers and radishes seem to be paired together fairly often (maybe because they’re both so refreshingly crunchy, maybe because the mild coolness of the cucumbers balances out the peppery bite of the radishes, or maybe just because hot pink and green are a great color combination)—in fact, I’ve got a totally different cucumber-radish salad bookmarked that is apparently based on a traditional Russian recipe—but I’d never tried them in tandem. I could tell A was skeptical, and maybe I was too, because I only made a half-recipe, not wanting to be stuck with leftovers if we didn’t like it. But I like all the ingredients here, and there are few surprises when you put them all together. Cucumbers and radishes and feta: what’s not to like? The creamy feta vinaigrette, enhanced by a small quantity of tangy buttermilk (although I think you could use plain yogurt instead if you don’t have buttermilk on hand), is not only a great foil to the crunchy salad but extremely tasty—it’s based on a recipe by David Lebovitz intended for a green salad, and I’d definitely eat it that way as an alternative to my usual lemon-olive oil dressing. I used dried oregano instead of fresh thyme (which I’d neglected to buy), on the theory that feta and oregano belong to the same Greek-food family—and oregano is about the only dried herb that I think tastes good in its own right. Afterwards, I looked at Lebovitz’s recipe and realized that the original version (from Joy of Cooking) actually did call for oregano, so I guess I knew what I was doing.

Anyway, long story short, we both enjoyed this salad. Maybe it was the oregano, but we thought it would make a great side dish for a Mediterranean meal like chicken gyros. (We just had it with zucchini fritters.) Radishes, you keep on surprising me!

4 small Persian cucumbers (or other small cucumbers without large seeds)
10–12 large radishes
¾ cup crumbled feta cheese, divided
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon chopped fresh oregano or ½ teaspoon dried oregano (or thyme if you prefer)
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons buttermilk (or plain yogurt)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Cut the ends off the cucumbers; slice the cucumbers in half lengthwise and then into half-moon slices about ¼ inch thick. Wash radishes and trim off ends, then slice the radishes in half lengthwise and into half-moon slices just slightly thinner than the cucumbers (I used French breakfast radishes, which are very long and narrow, so I just sliced them). Put cucumbers and radishes into a large salad bowl.

2. To make the dressing, put ½ cup crumbled feta into a small bowl. Add oregano and red wine vinegar and mash with a fork to your desired degree of smoothness. Stir in olive oil and buttermilk, plus salt and pepper to taste (it probably won’t need much salt, thanks to the salty feta).

3. Stir the dressing into the bowl with the cucumbers and radishes. Season to taste with salt (it may not need any more) and pepper. Sprinkle with the extra ¼ cup crumbled feta.

Serves: 4
Time: 15 minutes
Leftover potential: Untested by me; the original recipe says that “this will keep in the fridge for a day or two, but it's better freshly made.”

PEACH FROZEN YOGURT

Just another step in my continuing (and blissful) effort to make every single recipe in David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop. I think it will surprise exactly no one that this was incredibly delicious. Mine was perhaps a tad on the icy side, but I’m willing to chalk that up to either the vagaries of my freezer (which tends to freeze things either rock-hard or inadequately) or too-watery/small early-season peaches. Luckily, I had accidentally disregarded Lebovitz’s directions and used Greek yogurt—he says this is the only fro-yo recipe he uses regular, non-strained yogurt in, “since the peach puree is so velvety thick.” I don’t recall my peach puree being exactly velvety thick, so the Greek yogurt helped compensate. Anyway, slightly textural issues aside, this was a cool and refreshing way to welcome the summer stone-fruit season (especially since I still don’t have a working oven, so no fruit cobblers, crisps, crumbles, pies, or cakes for me…sigh).

1½ pounds ripe peaches (about 5 large)
½ cup water
¾ cup sugar
1 cup plain whole-milk yogurt
A few drops freshly squeezed lemon juice

1. Peel the peaches, slice them in half, and remove the pits. Cut the peaches into chunks and cook them with the water in a medium, nonreactive saucepan over medium heat, covered, stirring occasionally, until soft and cooked through, about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat, stir in the sugar, and then chill in the refrigerator.

2. When the peaches are cool, puree them in a food processor or blender with the yogurt until almost smooth but slightly chunky. Mix in a few drops of lemon juice.

3. Process in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Yields: About 3 cups
Time: 20 minutes, plus chilling and processing time
Leftover potential: Good; should last for about a week in the freezer

CORN, ZUCCHINI, AND FETA PIZZA WITH CILANTRO-LIME PESTO

I remember back when I was studying abroad in England, I thought it was hilarious that corn is a common pizza-topping option there (like, you can get it at Pizza Hut). Those Old Worlders and their lack of understanding of New-World foods! I was vegetarian at the time, so I was grateful for any extra vegetable choices that weren’t green peppers (ew) or olives (hate), but I gotta say, corn doesn’t do much in that context, its delicate flavor and crunch overwhelmed by tomato sauce and cheese (and of course it’s canned corn anyway). Now I’ll put just about anything on a pizza that isn't nailed down, and it feels only fitting that I’ve come full circle and made a pizza where corn is the main feature. Of course, there’s a world of difference between that poor, sad British corn and this fresh, snappy treatment, where it’s paired with its good buddies cilantro and lime (anyone who's ever eaten elote knows what a great idea that is) and its summer compatriot zucchini, and topped with tangy, creamy, salty feta.

Do I even need to tell you that this was fantastic?

OK, fine. THIS WAS FANTASTIC.

I’m extra pleased with it because I made it up myself…well, I combined two similar recipes into one, but that’s about as creative as I get with kitchen improvisation. I don’t remember what Internet rabbit hole I’d fallen down when I stumbled across this recipe at food52, but seeing the words “corn,” “feta,” “cilantro,” “lime,” and “pizza” all together pretty much blew my mind and I bookmarked it immediately. I was so obsessed that I couldn’t stop thinking about it and exactly how awesome it was going to taste. The author mentioned having based the recipe on a pizza she’d tasted at the Cheeseboard Collective in Berkeley, so I did some Googling just to see if anyone else had given this a try (because when I can’t eat something right away, the next best thing is reading other people’s descriptions of it). Lo and behold, I found lots of mentions of a corn, cilantro, and lime pizza from the Cheeseboard Collective, the recipe for which had even been published in the Cheeseboard Collective cookbook—but that pizza looked different, with zucchini, onion, and mozzarella added (even better as far as I’m concerned), and no cilantro-lime pesto, just a paltry sprinkle of cilantro and squeeze of lime over the finished pizza (boo).

Obviously, I was going to have to McGyver my own ideal version. I took the cilantro-lime pesto from the first recipe and added it to the second recipe, omitting the garlic oil from that one and simplifying the directions somewhat. The quantities are approximate—with pizza, you just add toppings until it looks right—and I made a few additional changes because I was cooking the pizzas in cast-iron skillets on the stovetop using the newly discovered method I’ve perfected over the past two months of oven-brokenness…which, remind me to write that down sometime, because it’s pretty nifty, so nifty that I might keep using it occasionally even after my oven is fixed. Anyway, since the toppings don’t get cooked as much on stovetop pizza as they do on oven-baked, I gave the onion and zucchini a quick sauté in some olive oil before putting them on the pizza, and I gotta say, I liked the results so much (I’m not crazy about crunchy onions unless in salads or on certain sandwiches) that I might do it every time, even though it means dirtying an extra pan. My corn was also pre-cooked, because it’s way easier to cut the kernels off the cob that way—they don’t fly all over the kitchen as much as they do when it’s raw, and anyway I was boiling some other ears of corn earlier in the week, so why not throw that one in the pot too? You could go either way, depending on what’s more convenient for you.

2 medium cloves garlic
1 bunch cilantro (about 1 tightly packed cup), plus a bit extra to taste if desired
Juice of ½ lime, plus a lime wedge to squeeze over the finished pizza if desired
¼ teaspoon kosher salt, plus extra to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus a little extra if you want to sauté your toppings
1 ear of corn (raw or briefly boiled), kernels removed
1 pinch of black pepper
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
6–8 ounces mozzarella cheese, shredded
½ yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 medium-large zucchini, thinly sliced
4 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
1 pound pizza dough

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

2. Make the pesto by adding the garlic, 1 cup cilantro, juice of ½ lime, ¼ teaspoon salt, and olive oil to a food processor or blender and processing until smooth.

3. In a small bowl, toss the corn kernels with the black pepper, red pepper flakes, and a pinch of salt.

4. Optional: In a skillet, sauté the onion and zucchini in a little olive oil over medium heat until just tender.

5. Roll out the pizza dough on a baking sheet dusted with cornmeal. Spread the pesto over the pizza. Add half of the mozzarella, all of the onion and zucchini, the remaining mozzarella, and then the corn and feta.

6. Bake pizza for 12–15 minutes, or until crust is golden brown and cheese is melted. Remove from oven, and garnish with extra cilantro and a squeeze of lime if desired.

Serves: 4
Time: 45 minutes
Leftover potential: Good; reheat in the oven or in a skillet on the stovetop for optimal crispiness.

SPRING POTATO SALAD

I toyed with a few (non-mayonnaise) potato salad recipes over the last couple of summers, but aside from this one (which, at least the way I make it, is more of a leafy green salad with potatoes in it), never settled on one I could wholeheartedly embrace. Part of the problem, I think, was that I had not yet evolved into the mustard fiend I now seem to have become. To keep a potato salad from being bland, you need a big, bold dressing, and mustard can be very kind to potatoes. Another issue is the other vegetables involved; I don’t adore potatoes enough to consider them "salad" in their own right, and some veggies complement them better than others. Several of the non-winning recipes used tomatoes and peppers, which didn’t do it for me. My favorite pairings with potatoes are green: asparagus and green beans. And of course, I have a recent interest in radishes, so when I saw Smitten Kitchen's gorgeous spring potato salad featuring all those elements, plus another one of my growing obsessions, pickled vegetables, the deal was sealed.

This salad rocks. It’s wholesome, delectable, and beautiful. The mustard-laden vinaigrette packs a wonderful punch, and the sweet-sour pickled onions are the coup de gras. As I learned from an earlier Smitten Kitchen recipe, a quick soak in sugared and salted vinegar takes just the right amount of bite out of raw onions to keep them from overwhelming the rest of a salad (and you from reeking for the rest of the evening), as well as adding a delicious zip, and this particular version, made with delicate spring onions, is so mild you can snack on them straight. And you will probably have leftovers (although after eating the salad, I decided I could have put in more of the onions), so you can do just that—or try adding them to sandwiches, grilled meat, or other salads later in the week.

We devoured big bowls of this as a main dish for dinner, with small grilled chicken thighs on the side, and then again for lunch the next day, and I’ll probably make it again next week. I’m sure you could mess around with the vegetable ingredients however you wanted (I substituted green beans for the peas Deb used, because A hates peas and the potato-green bean combo is so good, and tweaked the ingredient proportions slightly based on availability—a bit less potato, a few more green beans), but this version is perfect for me. Good thing summer weather has been slow to arrive in Southern California, because I could happily eat this springy salad all year long.

1¾ pounds small new or fingerling potatoes in assorted colors
1 pound asparagus
½ pound green beans
4 medium radishes, thinly sliced

Pickled spring onions:
3 spring onions (about 6 ounces)
¼ cup white wine vinegar
¼ cup water
1 tablespoon coarse kosher salt
1½ teaspoons sugar

Sharp mustard vinaigrette:
¼ cup olive oil
2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard
2 teaspoons smooth Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Place potatoes in a medium saucepan and cover with one inch of water. Bring to a boil and cook for about 15 minutes, or you can easily pierces a potato with the tip of a knife. Drain the potatoes and let them cool until they’re almost room temperature. You can hasten this by covering them with cold water, and replacing the water a few times as it warms up.

2. Meanwhile, pickle your spring onions. Whisk vinegar, water, salt, and sugar together in the bottom of a small container with a lid until the salt and sugar dissolve. Slice the onion bulbs and paler green parts into very thin coins and submerge them in the vinegar mixture. Cover and put in fridge until you’re ready to use them; if you can put them aside for an hour or even overnight, even better. Reserve the onion greens.

3. Refill the saucepan you used for the potatoes with salted water and bring it to a boil. Trim the tough ends off the asparagus and slice the ends off the green beans; cut both vegetables into ½-inch pieces. Once the water is boiling, add the asparagus and the green beans. Two minutes later or when vegetables are crisp-tender, drain them, rinse them under cold water until cool, drain again, and spread them out on towel to absorb excess water.

4. Place the asparagus, green beans, and sliced radishes in a large bowl. Chop potatoes into moderate-sized chunks and add them to the bowl. Cut some of the reserved onion greens into thin slivers (no need to use all of them) and add them to the bowl.

5. When you’re ready to serve the salad, or an hour or two in advance, whisk the dressing ingredients and toss it with the vegetables, to taste. Stir in as many pickled onion coins as you please. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste.

Serves: 4−6
Time: 1 hour
Leftover potential: OK. The salad was still very tasty the next day, but the acid in the vinaigrette had discolored the asparagus and green beans somewhat. If you want to make this ahead, it would probably be better to chill all the vegetables separately in the fridge overnight and wait until the last minute to combine them and add the dressing.

SPRING QUINOA SALAD WITH RADISHES AND MICROGREENS

I never really liked radishes, mostly because they were only ever presented to me whole, raw, and on their own, in which form I found the flavor too sharp and bitter. But the more I got obsessed with food, and vegetables in particular, the more I wanted to like radishes. They are always described as peppery, and I like things that are peppery, like arugula, and, well, pepper. And they’re so crisp and cool and clean and so very pretty! A lot of food blogs touted thinly sliced radishes on bread with butter and salt, which I tried and found palatable but not craveworthy. And then I realized that maybe it would be better to try radishes as an ingredient instead of a main feature, where there flavor could blend into and complement a larger dish. And then I saw this alluring salad at The Kitchn, and y’all know how I love quinoa salads and lemon, so it seemed like just the thing to help me warm up to radishes.

I had never bought microgreens before, and I found them easily at Trader Joe’s, albeit in a 2-cup package when the recipe, which I’d decided to double (because all my other quinoa recipes call for 1 cup of quinoa and I know that makes the perfect amount of leftovers), called for 3 cups. I bought two packages, but found I couldn’t cram much more than 2 cups into the salad without overflowing the bowl anyway, so in the future I’ll just stick with 2 cups, which was still plenty of tender, tasty microgreeniness. Then I realized that doubling the recipe meant that it called for 6 tablespoons of butter, which seemed wildly excessive. I get that the recipe creator was trying to mimic that bread-and-butter-and-radish-and-salt combo I mentioned earlier, but since the butter was just melted into the quinoa cooking water, rather than being featured as a cold and creamy spread, I doubted so much was necessary. Besides, I’d decided to add feta to the salad, because I love feta more with each passing day, particularly in quinoa salad. So I cut the butter way down to 2 tablespoons, and I suspect you might just as well leave it out completely. The feta brings the cold creaminess way better and, it turns out, tastes awesome with radishes. I also increased the lemon quantities, figuring I’d might as well use all the juice from the one I’d just zested. The flavors of this salad are so delicate that I welcomed the added zip.

After all this beneficial tinkering, I totally effed up the recipe by absentmindedly quadrupling the water quantity and massively overcooking the quinoa, which came out sodden and sticky (you can see the sad clumpiness in my photo). But despite this textural tragedy, the flavors were still so delicious, novel, and springy, I knew I’d found a way to love radishes and a salad I’d enjoy many times to come—in fact, I’ve already made it again, and with the quinoa properly cooked, I can attest that it’s truly a knockout. And the cheerful pastel green, pink, and yellow make this one of the more beautiful dishes to grace my table in recent memory.

1 cup quinoa
2 cups water
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2–3 cups microgreens
1 cup thinly sliced radishes
¼ cup thinly sliced basil
Zest from 1 medium lemon
Juice from one medium lemon
½ teaspoon fleur de sel or other flaky sea salt
4 ounces feta cheese, cubed or crumbled

1. Measure out quinoa, place it in a fine-mesh strainer, rinse thoroughly with cool water, and drain.

2. Place quinoa in a small saucepan with water and butter. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer over low heat for about 15 minutes, or until all liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat and let stand for 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork and let cool completely.

3. Toss the cooled quinoa with all other ingredients. Taste and add more salt if desired.

Serves: 4
Time: 45 minutes
Leftover potential: Great.

FARMER’S LUNCH SANDWICHES

When called upon to rustle up a snack or easy weekend lunch for myself on the spur of the moment, I rarely resort to sandwiches, preferring instead a plate of small bites—cheese, bread or crackers, apples or some other fruit, and raw veggies or pickles if I have them (you can imagine how excited I was when I went to England for the first time and discovered this, called a ploughman’s lunch, on nearly every pub menu). But how could I resist this sandwichified version of my go-to meal, especially when it not only featured my favorite cheese-fruit combo, sharp cheddar and apples, but was also adorned with my new bestie, Dijon mustard, and the kicker, that mind-blowing shallot-jam sauce I wrote about last week?

Thanks to the Kitchn, this sandwich will be accompanying me on every summer picnic—and I plan to find a lot of excuses to have picnics, the better to eat more sandwiches. It’s simple enough to throw together in a few moments (just make the shallot-jam sauce ahead of time and keep it in the fridge—heck, make a double recipe and eat the other half over chicken) and to tote around without making a soggy mess, but the flavors are incredibly complex—the sharpness of the vinegar, cheese, mustard, and apples balanced by the sweetness of the jam and the savoriness of the shallots—and the contrast between textures is exciting.

1 tablespoon olive oil
5 medium shallots, peeled and sliced thin
½ cup chicken broth
¼ cup balsamic vinegar
2 heaping tablespoons apricot jam or other preserves (such as peach or raspberry)
Salt and pepper to taste
1 loaf crusty baguette or ciabatta
Whole grain Dijon mustard
Good-quality, very sharp cheddar cheese, thickly sliced
Butter lettuce
2 hard, tart apples such as Granny Smith or Braeburn, very thinly sliced
2–3 tablespoons lemon juice (from one lemon)

1. Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the shallots, season with salt and pepper, and cook for about 5 minutes, until they begin to get soft and the bottom of the pan begins to brown. Add ½ cup chicken broth to the shallots, scraping the brown bits off the bottom of the pan. Let the broth reduce, then add the balsamic vinegar, reduce the heat to medium-low, and cook for about 5 more minutes. Add the jam and stir to combine. Remove from heat and let cool to room temperature.

2. Slice the baguette into four sections and slice the sections in half lengthwise. Spread a little whole grain mustard on the top half of each section. Smear one-fourth of the shallot-jam sauce on the bottom half of each section.

3. Toss the apple slices in a little lemon juice, and then add them to the bottom half of each sandwich. Add a few leaves of lettuce and then top with a layer of cheese. Press the sandwiches closed.

Serves: 4 (1 sandwich per serving)
Time: 30 minutes
Leftover potential: I didn’t test this—just made the sandwiches and ate them immediately—but the original recipe says that they’ll be OK wrapped in waxed paper and kept at room temperature for several hours, if you want to take them on a picnic.