Kale Stem Pesto

A pile of kale leaves next to a pile of kale stems

Some years ago, my partner and I moved from Lansing, Michigan, to Boston. It was a big step personally, the first time I’d left my home state with no plans to return. It was also a big step financially, as I would be unemployed for several months while I studied for the Massachusetts Bar exam and the cost of living in the city was sharply higher than that of Lansing.

We found ways stretch one income, taking a flat in East Boston long before it was trendy and making weekly pilgrimages to Haymarket. Haymarket is where fruits and vegetables go to die—literally. Middlemen buy up the produce that wholesalers can’t offload to grocery stores and truck it to north Boston, where it’s sold at cut-rate prices on Fridays and Saturdays. It’s where the city goes to shop, and it isn’t uncommon to see be-suited attorneys and finance types queuing behind members of Boston’s various immigrant communities. In our Haymarket heydays, we carried home absurdly good deals—a crate of mangoes for $5, bunches of pencil-thin asparagus for $0.50—and if the produce had to be consumed or frozen nigh-on immediately, well, it was worth it. At the time, I was more concerned with keeping our food expenses low (and studying for the bar), so I overlooked Haymarket’s other benefits, like how it helps provide access to produce for low-income communities and reduces food waste in the Boston area.

Food waste isn’t the sexiest of environmental topics to tackle, but it is a huge one. Americans waste 20–40 percent of their food each year, nearly the equivalent of throwing out half of your sandwich every lunch hour. If the environmental impact of that waste isn’t enough to make you squirm, consider the damage to your pocketbook: if the average American spends $7,700 per year on food, they’re basically tossing $3,000 into their rubbish bin along with their overly ripe bananas.

Going to Haymarket helped us avert food waste at the retail level, but I still shudder to think of the household-level waste we’ve generated, the pounds of carrot peelings and thousands of kale stems I’ve thrown away over the years. Why did I waste time peeling carrots when I could have just given them a good scrub and eaten them whole? And why did I get rid of all those kale stems when I could have been turning them into a delicious pesto?

Rather than throwing away your kale stems—ahem, perhaps those from my Tofu, Mushrooms, and Hearty Greens in Miso Broth recipe—may I suggest making the below recipe instead? Truthfully, it isn’t so much a recipe as a guideline for pesto that can be scaled up or down and is infinitely adaptable. Use whatever type of nuts you have on hand—I’ve used almonds, pecans, pine nuts, and walnuts with good results—and add more or less basil, or even parsley, according to preference. You could even blanch whole kale, ribs and leaves and all, and use that along with (or without) the basil. I call for a relatively small amount of oil, but if you prefer an oil-ier pesto, feel free to add more. Make a half batch. Save up your kale stems and make a double batch.

Trying to save the environment feels like such a big issue that I’ve often wondered whether there’s anything I can do. Does shopping at Haymarket or hoarding my vegetable scraps really matter, in the grand scheme of things? I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. What I do know is that doing something feels good—close to scoring a crate of mangoes for $5 good—even if all I’m saving is a handful of kale stems.

Kale Stem Pesto

Source: I Thought There Would Be Free Food

Makes ~2.5 cups

Active time: 20 minutes

Note: Since kale is remarkably hardy, you can cook a kale dish on Monday, keep the reserved stems in the refrigerator, and not make this pesto until the weekend. If you do so, you may need to re-trim the cut ends of the ribs before continuing, but the end result will be just as good.

Ingredients:

Water
Salt
Stems from 2 big bunches of any-kind kale (I had about 30 stems of various sizes)
2 ounces fresh basil
1/2–1 cup your choice of nut (I prefer the higher amount)
1 cup grated, shaved or shredded Parmesan
1–2 cloves of garlic, optional
1/4–1/2 cup olive oil

Directions:

Heat water in a lidded pot large enough to hold all your kale stems with room to spare. Salt prodigiously; the water should be ocean-style salty.
While the water is heating you have time for several tasks. First, chop your kale stems in half or thirds, if they’re particularly long, and set aside. Chop away the tough ends of the basil stems and discard, then chop the rest of the basil, stems and all, into 1-inch long pieces and set aside.
Second, prepare an ice bath for blanching the kale stems. Half-fill a large bowl with ice, then top it off with water, and set aside.
Third, heat a large skillet over medium heat. When it’s toasty warm, add your nuts and toast until they’re golden brown and fragrant. This will likely take 5–10 minutes, depending on your stove and how many nuts you’re using. If you’re like me and tend to burn nuts on the stovetop, you can also try roasting them at 350°F for 3–5 minutes, check in on them and shake the pan around, and then roast for an additional 5 minutes or so.
By this point, your water should be boiling, or close to it. Once it’s boiling, dump in the kale stems and let them cook for ~3 minutes, or until bright green and you can insert the tip of a knife through the meatiest part of a rib. This may take longer if the stems are very thick and less if they’re thinner. Use a slotted spoon to remove the stems from the boiling water (which you can use to cook pasta and make a meal of this pesto) and plunge into the ice water until the stems have cooled, ~3 minutes. Drain the stems in a colander and set aside.
The nuts should be toasted by now; if they are, transfer them from the skillet to a plate and let them cool slightly. Grate, shave, or shred your Parmesan, if you haven’t already.
Once the nuts have cooled somewhat (they needn’t be completely so), pulse them in a food processor with the Parmesan, salt to taste, olive oil, and garlic, if desired, until the mixture is uniformly ground. Add the kale stems and pulse again; you may need to stop the food processor, scrape down the sides of the bowl, and process again. Finally, add the basil and pulse to your desired consistency. If at any point the mixture becomes too thick to pulse, add enough oil to help it along, adding a tablespoon or so at a time. Scrap your pesto out of the food processor and enjoy with pasta, wraps, scrambled eggs, leftovers, or anything else that could use a dollop of green goodness.

Tofu, Mushrooms, and Hearty Greens in Miso Broth

Entrees, Vegan

I expected to hear a lot of comments when I told people I was starting a food blog, “not another,” being the one I most expected (but happily heard the least). Nowhere on the list was, “You know what I hate about food blogs? When the writer has to tell you their life story before they get to the recipe,” and yet this is the theme that repeated through dozens of conversations.

It was a bit bracing to hear such strident opinions before I’d even finished the first draft of my first post, but I also understand the critique: if you’re looking for a recipe, the last thing you want is a lengthy discourse on some blogger’s trip to somewhere and how that absolutely changed their life and by the way, almost as an afterthought, here’s something to cook. No, you’re there for the food! You want the recipe! It’s the same with the endless artsy photos of heirloom tomatoes and impossible-to-find ingredients that can take an endless amount of time to load. If I wanted a photo essay, I’d look for a photo essay. I want food.

So I’ll keep this, and future posts, short given that we’re all hungry, and just note that one of the huge benefits of being known as a food lover is that people bring you things to cook. And if the person bringing you things happens to volunteer with an amazing farm and be willing to share excellent mushrooms and sweet potato greens, you have the inspiration for a quick dinner, one that’s easily adaptable to the types of mushrooms and greens you have on hand and ready in under an hour, because aren’t we all just here for the food?

Tofu, Mushrooms, and Hearty Greens in Miso Broth

Source: I Thought There Would Be Free Food

Serves 4–6 people, depending on hunger levels

Total time: 45–60 minutes, depending on your knife skills

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon sesame oil, divided
1 medium onion
~ 3 garlic cloves
1 14 ounce package of firm or extra-firm tofu
16 ounces white button mushrooms (you can use other varieties, but the cooking times may vary; for example, shiitakes release very little water and won’t require much sautéeing)
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1/2–1 full bunch hearty greens (after chopping you should have about 4 cups); kale, sweet potato greens, or Swiss chard will all work well
1/4 cup red miso paste (red has a slightly stronger flavor than other varieties, but feel free to use what’s available)
2/3 cup hot water
Soba or rice, for serving

Directions:

Remove the tofu from its soaking liquid and slice into 8 equal rectangles. Lay the slices on one half of a clean dish towel and then fold the other half of the towel over the tofu. Place a large cutting board or baking sheet on top of the slices and press down firmly, with even pressure, for 2–3 minutes, or until the towel has absorbed much of the tofu’s excess liquid.
Stack four slices of tofu on top of each other and then cut into eighths, forming neat cubes approximately one-inch square. Set aside. Repeat with the remaining tofu.
Finely chop the onion and set aside. Mince the garlic and set aside.
Heat a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat. When the wok is hot, add 1 tablespoon of sesame oil; when it’s warm, toss in the tofu. If your cooking vessel isn’t very large, you may need to brown the tofu in two separate batches, as crowding the pan will cause it to steam rather than brown.
Keep an eye on the tofu and toss occasionally to prevent scorching. While it cooks, wash your mushrooms, trim the tough ends at the bottom of the stems, and thinly slice the mushrooms, stems, caps, and all. Set aside.
Once your tofu is golden brown on most sides (it needn’t be on every side—don’t worry about perfection here), add the soy sauce. It’ll make a nice sizzling noise, bubble about, and then cook down in fairly short order. Once the tofu has absorbed the liquid, transfer it to a plate and set aside.
This is an excellent time to pause and start the water for your soba or rice, whichever you prefer. (I’ll let you take care of making that.)
Add the additional teaspoon of sesame oil to the wok; when it’s hot, add the onions and sauté; when they start to become translucent, add the mushrooms and garlic. Cook until the mushrooms have released all their water and the mixture turns dry and begins to brown.
It’ll take some minutes for the mushrooms to cook, so you’ve got time to wash your hearty greens, de-rib them, if that’s your preference (but don’t toss those stems! More on that in a future post), and slice them into ribbons. The best way I’ve found to do this is to work with a small pile of de-ribbed greens at a time, rolling them into an ovular tube/mound kind of thing before slicing thinly (if this isn’t making any sense, Food 52 has excellent photos instructions here).
Once the mushrooms are starting to brown, toss in the greens and sauté until they start to wilt. Meanwhile, stir together the miso and hot water in a medium bowl until the paste has dissolved. Add the miso mixture to your wilted greens and simmer briefly—about long enough to make sure your soba or rice are ready to eat. When they are, return the tofu to the wok, stir to coat it in the miso broth, and dish up.

Olive Oil and Halva Brownies

Chocolate, Dessert

In the not-too-distant past, I was something of a professional traveler, spending months away from home on various assignments. It was a mixed experience; as a travel lover and someone who enjoys learning about other cultures, I relished it. But as someone separated from their partner and, if I’m honest, someone separated from their kitchen, it was a challenge.

On a three-month long trip to Amman earlier this year, my partner surreptitiously snuck a packet of New York Times Cooking sections into my luggage as a “travel well” and “don’t miss your oven too much” gift. I started reading a section over breakfast each weekend, and it quickly became a treasured routine, in part because of the connection to home and in part because of the food. Weekend breakfast in Amman was a thing of beauty: hot, pillowy breads; an assortment of salads and olives and pickled vegetables (like my favorite, makdous); cheese and labneh; ful medames. At the end of the meal, I’d pour another cup of coffee, spread open a Cooking, and tuck into a wedge of halva, a fudge-like Middle Eastern sesame confection that’s sweet, a tiny bit bitter, and deliciously crumbly. It was a routine worth savoring, and also how I came to be reading an outdated column about cooking for Hanukkah in February. Melissa Clark’s recipe for olive oil brownies practically leapt off the page at me, and with the taste of halva lingering in my mouth, how could I not think to combine the two?

Back at home, I tinkered with Melissa’s recipe, removing a tablespoon of olive oil to make the brownies less oily, adding an extra ounce of unsweetened chocolate (because how annoying is it when most bars are four ounces but a recipe calls only for three?), and folding in a full two cups of chopped halva. The result is a one-bowl brownie, decadent chocolate married with halva, a bridge between the life I put on hold while I traveled and the one I found when I arrive

Three brownies are arrayed on a sheet of parchment with a scattering of crumbs between them.

Olive Oil and Halva Brownies

Adapted from Melissa Clark via the New York Times

Makes 9 or 16 brownies, depending on how much you feel like sharing

Active time: 15 minutes; total time: 35 minutes

Ingredients:

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate
1 cup sugar (I prefer dark brown sugar, but feel free to use white or light brown sugar, if that’s what you have on hand)
1 teaspoon table salt (trust me, the salt helps balance the sweetness of the halva)
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 egg
5 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon instant coffee or 1/2 teaspoon instant espresso (optional, but this will make your brownies taste more chocolatey without adding a coffee flavor)
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1/4 cup boiling water
1 cup all purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
About 1 pound halva, any flavor (I used pistachio)
Flaky sea salt, to finish (optional)

Directions:

Roughly chop the unsweetened chocolate into small pieces, about 1/2 inch square. Place the chocolate in a large glass bowl and melt in the microwave—several one minute blasts at 50% power usually does the trick without burning the chocolate—or over a double boiler.
While the chocolate is melting, check your oven and make sure the rack is in the middle, and then preheat it to 350F. Grease an 8 inch by 8 inch pan with butter or cooking spray, and line the pan with parchment paper (it’s fine to leave a parchment overhang on two sides, as this will make it easier to get the brownies out of the pan).
Assemble the rest of your ingredients and chop enough halva into cubes about 1/2 inch square to get two cups. If the chocolate finishes melting before you’ve finished all of this, that’s fine; just set it aside for a few minutes.
Once the chocolate has melted and you’re ready, add the sugar, salt, vanilla, egg, oil, and instant coffee (if using) to the melted chocolate. Mix well to combine. No need for fancy techniques here; just get everything mixed up.
Add the cocoa powder and boiling water next, again mixing well and mashing out any little cocoa lumps against the side of the bowl until the batter is smooth and homogenous.
Now add the flour and baking powder, mixing well to ensure there are no unblended pockets of flour. This is a good place to sneak a taste and make sure you’ve added all the ingredients. Did you forget the salt? The olive oil? No? Well then, proceed.
Finally, add the halva. It’ll likely crumble as you stir it in, and that’s fine! This way, you’ll end up with some nice big chunks and some tiny crumbles, and it’ll be all the more delicious.
Tip the batter into the prepared pan and spread it about with a spatula to cover the bottom. Remember that these are brownies, so it doesn’t have to look perfect.
Slid the pan into the oven to bake. It’s absolutely critical that you don’t over-bake these brownies, so I recommend setting your timer for 15 minutes and checking every two or three minutes thereafter—my brownies took about 18 minutes, but they could take several minutes longer if your oven runs cool. You’ll know the brownies are down when everything looks set (it shouldn’t look as though it would jiggle if you shook the pan) and only parts of the middle are still shiny.
Remove from the oven and immediately scatter sea salt over the top. Allow to cool most of the way before cutting and serving. These will keep on the counter, covered, for several days.

Bukhari for Bravery

Breads

It’s been quite a month.

First, I quit my job.

Then, I started a food blog.

I didn’t quit my job to start this blog (I’m under no illusions I’m the next Deb Perelman, let alone the next Julia Child), but I realized that I’d outgrown it, wasn’t getting any younger, and that it was time to reprioritize, to focus on what I most want to do—like starting the blog I’ve been dreaming about for years. From those realizations, it was a series of terrifying steps to submitting my notice, buying a domain name, figuring out what web hosting/widgets/plugins, and hitting publish on this first post.

That’s an awful lot of risky moves for someone with a strong aversion to the F word—failure—which is why I’ve felt the need for a little extra boost these past few weeks, and why the first recipe on this blog is for bread. You see, making bread requires bravery. It’s no surprise to me that so many casual bakers are afraid to attempt it; there’s so much that can go wrong! To transform flour, salt, and yeast into a beautiful loaf, you have to face a lot of potential obstacles, from dough that doesn’t rise to over-proofing. Maybe your bread turns out perfectly—great, and congratulations! Maybe it never rises or you forget the salt or your oven goes on the fritz and burns it. That’s okay too. Hopefully you learned something, and hopefully it was more fun to have tried than not. The experience of trying is what baking and cooking are all about it. Heck, they’re what this site is all about: trying for the sake of trying. Trying for the sake of fun. Trying, just because.

Enough talk, more carbs. Bukhari bread is inspired by the intricate breads of Uzbekistan, and it is lovely: soft, a little sweet, tender from the egg-enriched dough, and with a bit of crunch thanks to a scattering of nigella (black cumin) and sesame seeds. The top is covered with endearing little peaks, a hedgehog of a bread, and it’s deeply satisfying to plop a still-warm loaf on the middle of your table and invite your friends to tear into it. Bukhari bread makes an excellent accompaniment to virtually any meal, but I think it’s best alongside a dish of layered tahini and date molasses, which swirls together and ends up a fabulous mix of savory and sweet—an excellent reward for bravery.

Bukhari Bread

Adapted from Epicurus and Honey & Co., The Cookbook

Makes 1 large or 2 small loaves, comfortably serving 6 people

Active time: 1 hour; total time: 4 hours

Ingredients:

1 1/2 tablespoons active dry yeast
2 tablespoons sugar
1 cup warm water
3 1/2 cups all purpose flour (I prefer unbleached)
2 teaspoons table salt
1 egg, lightly beaten
3 tablespoons neutral oil (olive, sunflower, canola—whatever you have on hand), plus enough extra to grease a large bowl
1 tablespoon nigella seeds, sesame seeds, or a mixture of both (my favorite)
1 egg beaten with a little water (for egg wash—optional but highly recommended)

Directions:

Put yeast and sugar in a small bowl. Add the water, stir to mix, and set aside to proof. It’s ready to use when the mixture is bubbly and frothy, which should take about 5 minutes.
Meanwhile, stir together the flour and salt in a large bowl. When the yeast is ready, add it to the flour/salt mixture along with the beaten egg and oil and stir to combine. Your dough likely won’t look very dough-like at this point and that’s fine; just work everything together a bit.
Once the wet and dry ingredients are largely combined, tip everything out onto a clean countertop. Knead for 10–15 minutes until you have a ball of smooth, only slightly tacky dough. If you’ve been kneading for at least three minutes and the dough feels very firm and dry, consider adding a bit of additional water, one tablespoon at a time, as necessary, kneading after each addition until you reached the desired consistency. If you have the opposite problem and your dough is so wet it’s slopping about the counter, consider adding a bit of additional flour, tablespoon by tablespoon, kneading well after each addition.
When your dough is ready, place in a large, well-oiled bowl. Cover and let it rise until doubled in size, 1–2 hours depending on how warm it is where your dough is living.
After your dough has risen, knock it down to push out the air. At this point, you can opt to bake one large loaf or two small ones.
To make one large loaf: Plop the knocked-down dough on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Use your fingers to press it out to a circle-like shape, about 1/2 inches tall and 11 inches in diameter. Cover loosely with plastic wrap or a damp towel and leave to rise again, about 1 hour.
To make two small loaves: Divide the knocked-down dough into two equal pieces (you can do this in the bowl your dough rose in). Working in turns, give each ball a few quick kneads before putting onto a parchment-lined baking sheet—you’ll need one for each loaf. The dough will likely resist being pressed out at this point, so cover it loosely and let it rest for 5–10 minutes. Come back and press each ball into a circle-like shape about 1/2 inch tall and 7 inches in diameter. Cover loosely and leave to rise again, about 1 hour.
When your bread is about done with its second rise—it should be at least 1 inch tall—make sure you have a rack set in the middle of the oven, then start it preheating to 475F.
Here’s the fun part: take a pair of kitchen shears (or exquisitely clean scissors) and snip into the bread, as little or as much as you like, as deep or as shallow as you want. You have full creative license!
When you’re done with the scissors, use a pastry brush to coat the top of your bread with a beaten egg, then sprinkle on the nigella and/or sesame seeds. The egg wash is optional, but without it, the seeds won’t adhere to your bread.
To bake one loaf: Pop your loaf into the oven and bake for 10 minutes at 475F. Reduce the oven temp to 400F, rotate the baking sheet, and bake your bread another 6 minutes or so, or until the loaf is golden.
To bake two loaves: If your oven is big enough to hold two baking sheets at once, do that; otherwise, you’ll need to repeat these instructions for both loaves. Bake each loaf at 475F for 7 minutes, then reduce the oven temperature to 400F, rotate the baking sheet, and bake your bread for another about 3 minutes, or until golden.
Bukhari bread is best eaten warm on the day it was baked. If you can’t finish it, eat it as soon as possible or pop part of your bread into the freezer for another time.