on the side

Here we are, living in "prime rib country" (a phrase that should be a bumper sticker) and my husband is the rare bird who just doesn't care for it. A steak, he reasons, needs its crust. So that's why I found myself this morning cutting an entire rack of organically raised miniature Highlander prime rib into 2-inch-thick bone-in steaks. Later tonight we will grill them over the wood fire, for probably one of the last outdoor cookouts of the season. (I must admit, I'm partial to the char edge of a good steak, too.)

Even though I enjoy almost nothing more that making big blow-out dinners for my friends, lately I've been struck how home cooking takes its power from the memorable small things. It's the private moments--the schmear of farm-fresh egg salad on sourdough toast, the plate of just-picked boiled-and-buttered green beans, the fragrance from the raspberry-picking basket--that you remember the most.

Last week's cabbage salad, thrown together one afternoon in between recipe testing, is one of those great peripheral dishes. When I see a fresh cabbage my mouth begins to water, reminding me that 60 percent of the blood running in my veins is Germanic. When I worked in kitchens I made staff meal veg. from cabbage so often that they called me the Cabbage Queen.

Have you ever made coleslaw from fresh garden cabbage? I remember when the first time, years ago, that I shredded a fresh cabbage from our garden. Juice dripped on my cutting board--juice!--and I thought I had raised some sort of strange cabbage hybrid. But no, that's just what cabbage does when it's fresh.

The other day I shaved a fresh chunk of cabbage and threw together this salad, inspired by one I had at Frankie's 457 Spuntino on Court Street in Brooklyn. It couldn't be simpler, or better, and is hardly a recipe--although I did write it down, as is my habit these days.

I love the combination of toasted walnuts and shaved parmesan cheese, and I'm always looking for an excuse to use my precious bottle of toasted walnut oil. (LeBlanc is the best.)

Cabbage Salad with Roasted Walnuts and Parmesan

serves four as a side

1/4 large head of green (or red) cabbage

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1 tablespoon sherry (or wine) vinegar

2 tablespoons toasted walnut oil (or extra-virgin olive oil)

2/3 cup toasted walnuts, chopped

1/2 cup coarsely chopped parsley

chunk of good parmesan cheese

The only thing that really matters here is toasting the walnuts. I put them in a small cast-iron skillet it in a cold oven, set the oven to 350, set the timer for 20 minutes, and they're usually perfectly golden when it goes off. What's the point in preheating the oven to toast nuts?

Shred the cabbage thinly with a mandoline (or by hand). Toss the cabbage with salt, pepper, vinegar, walnut oil and parlsey and mix with your hands to combine. Toss with the chopped walnuts, shave plenty of parmesan over the salad and serve immediately. You can make this a bit ahead, but it does wilt. 

While I'm drifting on margins and tangents, here's a recipe (sort of) for Roasted Applesauce.

Faced with baskets upon baskets of small local apples--some from our trees and a few from the Retz farm tree down the road--and wanting to make applesauce but not wanting to spend an entire day paring miniature apples, I laid one basket of apples in my largest roaster, sprinkled them with sugar, set the oven to 375 degrees, and let it rip. What emerged 45 minutes later was so lovely it pained me to push it through the food mill--but I had to, as the seeds were still inside.

The skins came off in one piece and tasted like candy. I couldn't resist transferring a couple of the prettiest ones to a bowl and eating them with a dollop of whole milk yogurt. These two.

Then I poured a couple of cups of apple cider into the hot pan to deglaze it and scraped up the caramelized bits with a wooden spoon. Feeding the warm apples through the mill took about four minutes, and the sauce was as thick as if I'd spent three hours cooking down peeled, cored apples. I tested the pH and even with the sugar I had added, the apples themselves were acidic enough to be safe to can. I poured the puree into my largest pan and put it back in the oven to heat up, readied my jars and canned the sauce. The whole operation took about two hours and I think it's some of the best applesauce I've ever made, and certainly the easiest. (I canned my pints for 25 minutes in a boiling water bath, but you can also freeze this sauce in heavy plastic ziploc bags.)

a savory zucchini bread

Those who stand in front of a hot loaf fall into one of two camps: people who rip into the steaming thing without shame, and those who let it cool before sampling. (There are also peak-pinchers, but that's another strain.)

I've always been the kind of person who waits for a loaf to cool before tasting, especially when we're talking about bread. I do think that prematurely slicing into a hot loaf of bread (and particularly rye bread) will prevent the inside crumb from cooking fully and evenly.

But today I made a savory quickbread that I could not resist. I dropped it carefully from its loaf pan, nudging it to sitting position with my knuckles, like a hot potato. Steam rolled up its edges. I took a knife to one end; it buckled a bit--way too hot, my friend!--but I managed to pull out a nice slice. Before I knew what was what, the crust slice was long gone and another one laid half-whittled on the board.

Skipping breakfast might have had something to do with that, but I also think that the French do the quickbread right: this one has cubes of ham, zucchini and lots of grated gruyere . . . all the comfort of zucchini bread, none of the sugar. It's like a giant gougeres, or French cheese puff, with a dose of American loaf-style practicality--and ham, which is always welcome.

Ever since I read the piece in the New York Times about French savory cakes (the article is here) I have been meaning to try this recipe. I rarely pass on a pre-published recipe here on the blog because I usually can't resist tinkering significantly with the ones I find (and also, because I have some weird Minnesotan ethic that pushes me to always Work harder! Be more original! Be more authentic!) but this recipe was so good I dared not change a thing.

(Take that back: I added cubes of zucchini to the batter. But this time of year I add zucchini to nearly everything, almost without notice, and it was a good addition.)

Unsalted butter for brushing pan

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

3/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

3 large eggs

1/3 cup milk

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

6 ounces baked ham, cut into 1/2-inch dice (about 1 1/4 cups)

6 ounces gruyere, coarsely grated

1 1/2 cups diced (1/2-inch dice) zucchini

Center a rack in the oven and preheat to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt and pepper.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs. Combine the milk and olive oil in a liquid measuring cup and pour in a thin stream, whisking, until incorporated into the eggs. 

Using a rubber spatula, fold the wet ingredients into the dry, mixing until just combined. Fold in the ham, cheese and zucchini. (The batter will feel stiff.) Pour into a buttered loaf pan.

Bake loaf until golden and a toothpick inserted in the loaf comes out dry, with a few crumbs attached, 45 to 50 minutes. 

Transfer the loaf to a rack to cool for 10 minutes before unmolding: run a thin knife around the perimeter of the loaf and upend it. In theory, you should really let this cool before slicing. A serrated knife makes the neatest slices.