Archives for category: Summer

Last month, my roommate hosted a party in our apartment celebrating his grandmother’s 90th birthday. I was in Milwaukee, but enjoyed the leftovers when I returned to New York. One of my favorite dishes Mark made with his mother was this Israeli couscous salad with dried cherries, arugula, and walnuts. We had so much of it left in our fridge I brought some out to my grandmother, knowing she’d probably never had couscous (which she now calls “frou-frou”) but might like it nonetheless.

Did she ever. I was sorry I’d only brought a pint-size container full. She wanted more and has asked for it ever since. So Labor Day weekend, before driving out to Long Island, I whipped up a batch to take over. I had most of the ingredients on hand; the day before, at the co-op, I only had to pick up some more couscous in bulk (Israeli couscous, also known as pearl couscous, is made from baked wheat and is bigger and rounder than North African couscous, which is finer and made from semolina). Instead of orange juice, like the recipe called for, I used grapefruit juice since that’s what I had in my fridge.

Of course, this recipe is just asking for substitutions. I bet fresh squeezed lemon juice, cooked eggplant, feta, and mint would work nicely. Or chickpeas, turmeric, a dried red chile pepper, and cilantro.

This salad makes for a great lunch during the week, and doesn’t require heating up. Leftovers last a few days at least, although the arugula will begin to wilt once dressed. Give it a try, and hey, offer it to someone who thinks couscous is called “frou-frou” because I think they just might like it.

Couscous salad with dried cherries, walnuts, and arugula

For the couscous:
1 c water
2/3 c orange or grapefruit juice
1 1/3 c (1/2 lb) Israeli (pearl) couscous

For the salad:
1/4 c orange or grapefruit juice
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
2/3 c dried cherries
2 stalks celery, finely diced
3 oz (a couple handfuls) arugula
1/2 c walnuts, lightly toasted
1 shallot, peeled and minced
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Put the water and the juice in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil. Stir in the couscous, cover the pan, and turn the heat down to a simmer. Cook for 20 minutes. Prepare a large baking sheet by covering it with parchment paper. When the couscous has absorbed all the liquid spread it out on the baking sheet to cool.

Whisk together the juice, olive oil, and red wine vinegar in a glass measuring cup or bowl. Add the dried cherries and microwave for 2 minutes on high. (Alternatively, you can bring the mixture to a simmer in a small saucepan on the stove, then stir in the cherries and turn off the heat.) Let the cherries stand in the liquid for at least 5 minutes, until they are glossy and plump. Drain off the liquid into another cup and reserve.

When the couscous has cooled to lukewarm, slide the couscous into a large mixing bowl. Take the reserved liquid drained from the cherries and whisk vigorously until thoroughly combined. Stir this into the couscous. Stir in the steeped cherries, celery, arugula, walnuts, and shallot. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Serves 4–6.

Some said it was like being in a Chekhov play: two days on an island in a big red barn with fourteen people, some of us strangers to one another, some old friends and lovers, in town to attend the wedding of two dear friends. The weather was warm and sunny during the day, foggy and damp at night; there was a big lawn for playing croquet; old German cars were strewn about; characters paced and smoked alone in the yard; a big kitchen provided opportunity to bump into people early in the morning, late at night. Main characters included architects, a writer, an actor, mathematician, photographer, doctor.

Secondary in the cast of characters were an irate local property manager, a David Lynch-esque grumpy cashier, a housekeeper whose scratchy voice betrayed years of smoking. And then there’s Nantucket: a character unto itself. Stately and charming, it can intimidate while pretending to welcome. At least, it can come off that way to a group of New Yorkers that included Jews, Indians, Japanese, Mexicans, Chinese, and Koreans. We were the most diversity on the island since the Wampanoag Indians were forced out by the English in 1641.

But I digress. The wedding was a beautiful, artful celebration of two dear friends, very much in love, surrounded by loving friends and family. We danced into the wee hours until I’d developed a shin splint; we ate suckling pig, local cod, end-of-summer tomatoes and corn; fingerling potatoes roasted in duck confit, and vanilla, chocolate, and carrot wedding cupcakes. (Chef Michael LaScola of the island’s beloved American Seasons restaurant catered the event.) The Tempranillo and Grüner veltliner flowed freely.

Our friend Amy manned a photo booth in the cabana, where the guests came in to have their photos taken with fake moustaches and other found props. The photos were coming out great – hopefully I can get my hands on a few and post them. Many of the other photos I took are on my other camera, so perhaps I can post some of those later too.

The photo of the ice cream cone at the top is from the famous Juice Bar on Broad Street, serving homemade ice cream, waffle cones, and fresh juices. The kid who scooped this couldn’t have been more than twelve, but he was fast. I’d never had mint-M&M ice cream before but now I understand what the long lines are about at this place.

Here’s the head of one of the two suckling pigs served at the dinner. Of course, this became one of the props in the photo booth. I’m going to apologize in advance to Peta, and my vegan and vegetarian friends.

Before leaving on Sunday we had a few hours to kill at Steps Beach, a close walk from the Chekhovian red barn where we stayed. It was a gorgeous, bright, blue, sunny day, the eleventh of September.


Staying in town Labor Day weekend has many benefits. Not sitting in traffic, attending the U.S. open, and time for all those food projects, are among the main attractions. I love Vermont and upstate and swimming and grilling and hammocks, but once in a while a staycation can be just as restful and restorative.

Yesterday I met my friend Laura, in town from D.C., for brunch. I like going out to eat with Laura, a vegan for at least the past two years, because it gives me the opportunity to venture out from the typical eggs-benedict brunch and try something a little more interesting, mindful. A bit of internet research, and a recommendation from my friend Jill, suggested Sun in Bloom, a small, sunny restaurant and cafe on Bergen Street in North Park Slope, near Flatbush Avenue.

I think a lot of us have been scared off from restaurants that bill themselves as vegan, or gluten-free, or raw, let alone all three. Sun in Bloom is not one of those freaky deaky joints that serve lots of tvp or fake meat or unsalted greens. The only cliché about this place was Bob Marley on the sound system, which I didn’t mind at all. The space was bright, simple, and inviting.

They have a rotating daily lasse or smoothie and yesterday it was a Blueberries & Cream Immunity Booster, made of coconut kefir and fresh blueberries. Also on the menu: an energizing & alkalizing raw greens oup of cucumber, romaine, parsley, avocado and lemon. I’ll have to go back to try that.

Laura ordered the quiche with roasted tomatoes, shitake mushrooms, caramelized onions, kale, roasted garlic, and pepper flakes, with a side of parsnip hash, for $10. I had the “huevos rancheros” burrito with butternut squash hash; the burrito was filled with a spicy tofu scramble, greens, brown rice, and black beans, wrapped in an Ezekiel sprouted tortilla, for $10.50. Next time I’d also love to try the tempeh reuben and bloom burger.

Earlier in the weekend I went to see the documentary El Bulli: Cooking in Progress, by the German Gereon Wetzel, about the famous Spanish restaurant, which closed its doors last month to much press and fanfare. The film is a meditation on an idea. The creation of a dish from seed to flower, the deconstruction of a sweet potato, from root vegetable to juice to gnocchi. The art of the film was not so much in the technical savvy of the filmmaker, but in the way it shows artists at work, regardless of the profession. Yes these happen to be very skilled chefs in southern Spain, but they could’ve been painters or sculptors, architects or musicians. They begin with an idea for a dish, they mess up, there are trials and errors, but after six months of lab-testing in Barcelona in the winter, the chefs of el Bulli would come up with a hundred ideas for new dishes to present in the restaurant in springtime.

The film does a good job of not treating the restaurant, or its star chef, Ferran Adrià, as too precious. The chefs make fun of themselves, and have fun, amidst all the seriousness and pressure. At one point, one of the chefs is meant to be serving an invented cocktail of oil and water, to be poured at the table; he discovers to his horror, mid-pour, he has brought a bottle of sparkling water instead of still water. You really feel for the guy as he’s recreating the tale back in the safety of the kitchen.

As an aside, this is one of the things I love about New York: Film Forum. Where else can you see a film about avant-garde cooking, Serge Gainsbourg, and a film-noir of post-war Tokyo all in the same night? If I had money and a will I would leave them something. (I recommend House of Bamboo by the way.)

Finally, tennis. The U.S. Open started last weekend in Flushing, Queens and this was my first year to attend. I started playing tennis last summer and have gotten hooked on the game. This weekend I got to play on Saturday on Long Island, while visiting my grandmother, then watched a number of matches over the weekend, and attended two matches at Arthur Ashe stadium (the largest tennis venue in the world) Sunday night: the number-four men’s player in the world, Andy Murray from Scotland, who beat Feliciano Lopez; and the number-two women’s player, Vera Zvonareva, who beat the German Sabine Lisicki. Not much to say about the food I’m afraid, except as one friend put, why isn’t there a Shake Shack?

Posts to follow soon on some food projects from this past weekend that I couldn’t fit in here. Look out. And go Rafa!