Happiness is shelling peas

Freshly shelled peas

A friend recently asked me if there was any exciting produce at the farmer's market lately.

"Well," I told her, "besides all the baby squash, there is the matter of fresh peas."
"But it's such a pain to shell them." she said flatly.
And then there was an awkward pause.

I mean, I love shelling peas.
Love it.

And if you get yourself in a kind of zen mode you can stand there, staring out the window, shelling till your fingernails turn green, and when you finally snap out of it you've got a bowl full of peas and even perhaps some new realization about your life or the universe or your next door neighbour.

The shelling of peas requires the ability to space out, and that is something that I am entirely good at.

So yes, I went home with fresh peas while my friend did not. The requisite spacing out occurred as I shelled them and then it came time to eat them. I dwaddled around for about an hour doing other things, all the while trying to decide what exactly I wanted to do with them. This can sometimes take a while. I don't like to rushing into these things because I hate to be disappointed. So, I had a chit chat with my mom on the phone, threw some laundry in the dryer, flipped through a magazine until finally I had it.
Seared chicken breast with pesto and fresh peas-- completely inspired by the presence of peas on my counter and fresh basil pesto in my fridge.


Seared chicken breast with pesto and fresh peas


It's nothing fancy, but it sure made me happy. They say that basil is a mood lifter and I swear it's true. One bite of some fresh pesto and I make that Nigella face, the one that in some circles might be considered a bit over the top, maybe even obscene, especially when she adds the finger licking.
But I completely understand where she's coming from, because between the pesto and the peas I was pretty much on cloud nine.



*****************
How I made it

The peas were blanched in boiling water for a minute or two until desired tenderness, then drained and rinsed in cold water. The chicken was seared in a pan (with olive oil) and cut into strips/wedges when done. Combine the peas with the chicken in a bowl and toss with some fresh basil pesto-- as much or as little as your heart desires.
Easy peasy.
Pun intended.

*note, this recipe is especially easy if you happen to have pesto in your fridge. If not, you have no choice but to dig up your favourite recipe and get to it.


Variations:
This dish would also be good with some pasta shells in the mix.
Or try some crumbled feta on top.
It might even be great with a mint pesto, if you happen to like mint enough, which I do.

Pattypan!

Ontario grown pattypan squash and baby zucchini


Tomorrow is July 1st, Canada Day, and for the first time in 4 years I am actually at home, in Canada, for the holiday.

In honour of the occasion, I made a trip to the farmer's market and brought home some locally grown produce. In my 4 years abroad I rarely came across pattypan squash so when I spotted it at the market I have to admit I was pretty excited. For one thing, the word "pattypan" is particularly fun to say, but they're also pretty darn cute to look at.

Now, I'm worried that you're going to read this and think that I make the most boring salads. Well what's a girl to do. I like to keep my relationship with vegetables as uncomplicated as possible.

And yes I did notice that lately all my vegetables seem to be topped with some sort of cheese. I never said I was perfect.

This is the simplest salad to put together: nothing more than sliced baby squash which are blanched for no more than a minute in boiling salted water. They are then drained, dried off on a clean kitchen towel then dressed with olive oil and white wine vinegar and finally topped with goat cheese* and slivers of mint. It's not unlike a salad I talked about 2 years ago so it seems I'm still a fan of the zucchini and mint combo.

It's a perfect summer salad, great with some crusty bread and some homemade white wine sangria in a big jug in the middle of the table. I'll tell you about that soon, but in the meantime, eat your veggies and have a happy Canada day.






* I used goat milk feta
**This salad is completely inspired by a recipe in: "Best of Taste Cookbook by Williams Sonoma"

Dama Bianca. Indeed.

Fennel and Celery Salad, it's better than you think

Ok, enough with the cookies, right? Although, G and I are booked in for 2 more barbecues this weekend and I have a Chocolate Guinness Cake in mind to bring to one of them. That is if it even makes it out of the house. Does that thing not look dangerously good? It's not at all light and summery but it's supposed to rain all weekend so I think it might do just fine.

In the meantime, this girl has not forgotten her love of all things green. Even those that are so pale they are practically white.
Put your sunglasses on now if you must.
I tell you, they don't call this dish Dama Bianca for nothing.

I know fennel is not the most popular vegetable, and even I have to admit that prior to making this salad my love for fennel was somewhat conditional. I love it roasted, sauteed, and baked, but eating it raw was just not something I did.

But I try to be an open minded gal. And I had the most perfect bulb of fennel just begging to be appreciated in all it's raw glory, so I figured it was time to give it a shot.

I didn't have buffalo mozzarella on hand as the recipe calls for, so I used some ricotta salata, which is almost like feta cheese. With a simple lemon vinaigrette this salad made me quite happy, and definitely made up for all those cookies I've been indulging in lately.

I always determine the success of a recipe by whether or not I think I will make it again to serve to guests and yes, I do believe I know a few people who will enjoy this as much as I did.

I might switch up the cheese in the future, but the base salad worked well for me. It was fresh and light and the fennel, though raw, was made quite mild by the vinaigrette and by being thinly sliced.
Perhaps that was the key I've been missing all along.

And actually, I think you could even toss some white beans into the mix to to make the dish a bit heartier.
Or sliced white new potatoes.
Or even some white rice.
Or make a chicken salad out of it, and throw it in a wrap...

Oh be still my heart.
You gotta love a recipe like that.


**********
Fennel and Celery Salad (Dama Bianca) from Epicurious
note: I only cut up as much fennel and celery as I felt like eating and then reduced the vinaigrette by roughly 1/3rd. It's an easy recipe to adjust to your appetite.


Yes, I did eat the whole thing but I stopped to take a picture
halfway through because the cheese looked better crumbled.
Am I right?

Roasted cauliflower with a kick.

Before and after: Roasted cauliflower with Sel de Guérande and piment d'Espelette


I know, I know. I can hear you thinking that cauliflower isn't all that exciting.
Tsk tsk I say. Cauliflower is plenty exciting.
I mean, I've been known to sit down with a bowl full of it and if that just doesn't spell fun then I don't know what to say.

If you think about it, tearing it apart can be really therapeutic. You can put all your muscle into it, scrunch your face up, clench your jaw and just give it all you've got. And it makes such a satisfying crunching noise, like it knows you mean business.
So much cheaper than therapy.

Does it sound like I have anger issues? Because I swear to you this is completely innocent.
Although I will admit, sometimes a girl just needs to vent, you know?

And not only does it help you get all your demons out, once you've roasted it you'll realize how crazy good it is. I just can't seem to get enough of it and that whole 'me with a bowl full' was no joke. I love it when it gets those darkly browned bits-- little nubbins of concentrated roasted cauliflower flavour. It's such a sweet reward after all that venting.

So listen, if you've never tried roasting cauliflower before then you just better get right to it. Cancel your weekly therapy session and push up your sleeves.
I mean really, whatcha waitin' for?




Piment d'Espelette for a bit of a kick

Roasted Cauliflower with Piment d'Espelette

Since we're talking about being a bit fiesty, the Piment d'Espelette is important. But feel free to substitute that with whatever inspires you. It's also just as excellent with just salt.

Break a head of cauliflower into florets--they will cook more evenly if you keep them of relatively equal size, but I like to have some with well browned bits, so I break them up into various sizes.
Rinse the florets well and dry with a clean towel or the oil will not stick.

Toss the florets with enough olive oil to coat well. For a large head of cauliflower use a few tablespoons.
Sprinkle with a good pinch of sel de guerande or other crunchy sea salt.
And if you have it, add some Piment d'Espelette to give it a bit of a kick.

Place on a baking sheet, roast at 190c (375f) for 25 to 30 minutes or until desired doneness. (Cooking time will also depend on your oven).


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A little info in English on Piment d'Espelette can be found here

Blek and learn.

It was the simplest thing, and not the first time I'd made it. Some greek yogurt with a touch of garlic, chunks of cucumber, and some fresh dill. I even deseeded the cucumber as I usually do because I find the seeds bitter. And mushy. And ick.
Anyway, I dug in.

And then I said something like: "Blek" and then "hak" while I cursed the neighbour for singing Christina Aguilera at the top of her lungs.

People, I am no stranger to cucumber and yogurt, so this was a complete surprise.

I struggled with a moment of serious self-doubt.

Perhaps I never had liked this salad.
Was the yogurt the wrong choice? Or the garlic ill-conceived?
Am I just not good at this?
And worst of all, oh my god, do these shoes clash with my outfit?

It was far too much debate for such a small snack. And despite the shoes, I did recall that this cucumber concoction had served me well on many occasions.

So I took a deep breath in hopes of finding some clarity. Jesus stayed mum, and I don't know where Buddha was, so I decided to get my Google on.

And wouldn't you know, (hand on hip), it wasn't me at all. Apparently sometimes the flesh of cucumber is just bitter--some people can taste it and some people can't. There doesn't seem to be a complete understanding of what causes some cucumbers to be bitter but it is related to 2 compounds in the cucumber: cucurbitacin B and C.

Snoring yet? Me too. But the point is, trust your tastebuds and you just might learn something that will make you a better cook next time. I mean at least now I know to taste a cucumber before going to all the trouble to make something with it. But I'm wondering how I managed to avoid a bitter cucumber all these years that this is the first time I bleked* over one.
Small mysteries.
Keeps life exciting I guess.
Now, about those shoes..




*bleked:
verb; past tense of blek, as in 'to blek' or 'eliciting a blek response'

On a mission.

Emerald Sesame Kale

It's time that I confess that this girl is on a serious mission. In about 7 weeks time I will be donning a wedding dress and saying 'I do' to that beau-hunk of mine, otherwise known as G. This means that these days I am paying an unusual amount of attention to the size of every pore on my face, the strength and shine of every strand of hair on my head and yes, of course, any extra jiggle in my walk.
Seven weeks and counting.

So now maybe you understand why it is that when I walked into Whole Foods the other day I avoided all those decadent things at the prepared foods counter and opted for a big old serving of their Emerald Sesame Kale.
This stuff was seriously green.
So green, in fact, it made me feel like my skin was going to instantly glow the minute I took that first bite. I even got them to throw in some roasted asparagus and baby bok choy with miso just to show them how serious I was about this whole thing.

I'm aiming for glowing skin here people, and I am going to show no mercy.

It was the most ridiculous looking pile of stuff and even the most forgiving eye would admit that it didn't look all that appetizing in it's plastic container. But like I said, I'm on a mission.
Admittedly, the asparagus and the bok choy were consumed with little fanfare.
But that kale.
Oh my, that green, green kale.
I had no idea kale could be that good. Maybe that's not saying much coming from a girl who doesn't buy it all that often, but I think I may now be officially converted.

Unfortunately, it seems that Whole Foods saves their best recipes for their cookbook. They seem to have a recipe by this name in there but the full recipe is not posted on their website.

However, I did manage to find two recipes with the exact same name and same ingredient list so I think I may be on to something. But if anyone out there has the real deal, you will give me a nudge, won't you?


*************
If you're interested, the 2 recipes I found both contain: kale, sesame oil, sesame seeds, garlic and soy sauce. I haven't tested these recipes yet but the ingredient list does give us a good head start, don't you think?

Emerald Sesame Kale from Open Harvest
Emerald Sesame Kale from Outpost Natural Foods

Braised baby bok choy

I gotta tell you that I think baby bok choy is one of the snazziest looking vegetables around. I mean look at it, how perfect is that colour and that shape? But no matter how much I try to convince G of its visual appeal, he is still not a big fan of its slightly bitter taste. (I'm sure he's not the only one).

So, I do what any baby bok choy lovin' gal would do: buy it and eat the whole damn thing herself. (And it's kind of fun to say "baby bok choy", don't you think? It has the same appeal on the lips as that "baby back, baby back, baby back ribs" thing.)

Believe it or not I recently came home with some UK grown baby bok choy.
UK grown!
I kid you not.
And I usually do the same old thing with it--steam it and top it with a dressing made of soy sauce, sesame oil, a bit of sugar, some water and dried chilies.
But this time I threw caution to the wind and braised it, with a little help from Epicurious.
I mean it's bok choy people, it doesn't need to be complicated, right?

Braised baby bok choy with a shot of sesame oil



The recipe at Epicurious for Braised Baby Bok Choy calls for the bok choy to be braised in a cup of chicken stock and 3 tablespoons of butter for about 5 minutes until tender. (With the lid on the pan! And note that I cut the bok choy in half down its length.) Then you remove the bok choy, reduce the stock to about 1/4 cup, then add 1/2 teaspoon of sesame oil and pour this over the bok choy.

Since G was having none of this, I couldn't justify 3 tablespoons of butter. So, I used only a tablespoon but I still got a good wollop of yummy butteryness- the liquid gets all tucked into the leaves as they wilt. I can only imagine how sinfully good it must taste with 3 tablespoons.
And in the end, just before eating it, I could not resist adding a sprinkle of sesame seeds, because a girl needs her omega 6.
Some of the reviews suggest adding a shot of soy sauce as well which is a suggestion that I wholeheartedly support.

Eating my way to back to health.

Quinoa stuffed acorn squash

After a week of drowning in kleenex and misery a girl re-emerges with a strong desire to get back to her old self. I figured that if I couldn't fight that cold with muscles and moxy then perhaps the only thing I could do to defend myself was to eat healthy.
Ok there was that one night where we polished off a bag of Doritos. But people, we were sick, and we needed comfort of the kind that covers your fingers with orange cheesy powder.
In my defense, I started the following day with a fruit smoothie, which left me feeling fully redeemed for my previous night's indulgence.
A girl has to live.

But the point I'm trying to make here is an important one. And it goes something like this:
Mmm mm! That squash was good.
I felt like I just threw Autumn on a plate and ate it all up.
And Autumn? You sure are one tasty treat.

I'm not sure I even want to tell you that I've had a bag of red quinoa in my cupboard for over a year gathering dust. I even dutifully packed it up when we moved here from Paris. You'd think that what with a new city and a new cupboard that perhaps the quinoa would get noticed. Well it took 8 months, but it finally did.

If there is any thing that might knock this cold on its ass it's got to be this stuffed squash. Even if it hadn't tasted good, which it did, it just looked so darn pretty I started feeling healthy before I even sat down to eat it.

Now that is some kind of moxy.


______________________________
Quinoa Stuffed Acorn Squash

The squash
I cut the acorn squash in half and scooped out the seeds. I brushed lightly with olive oil and sprinkled with salt and pepper, then roasted for about 40 minutes at 200c (that's 392F, but I guess just round up to 400F)

The quinoa
I cooked the red quinoa as per the package directions. In a frying pan I sauteed some onion and finely sliced carrots in olive oil. I added some chopped garlic, a bit of ground allspice and pimenton de la vera, (a spice combo used in the Moro cookbook). Then I added the quinoa to the pan and tossed it all together and topped with fresh coriander and some crumbled feta. Finally, I put this into the roasted squash and served it.
Note:
Goat cheese would also be good instead of the feta.

Purple sprouting broccoli. My new favourite thing.

Purple sprouting broccoli with a chili and sesame dressing

I like regular broccoli but the fact is it kind of bores me.
Then I moved to Britain. I stuck around through winter and it's already well into spring, and a strange looking broccoli is now appearing in the markets.

I ignored it at first, people. No kidding, I completely ignored it.

Then one slow evening while G and I contemplated the mystery of the cobweb that is forever dangling from our ceiling, I decided to see what google had to say about purple sprouting broccoli.
And boy, it had plenty to say.

Suddenly I felt a bit panicked-- here was a vegetable that the Brits have a serious fondness for and tragedy of tragedies, it has a very short growing season. Had I missed my chance?
Thankfully no.
And now, it's my new favourite thing.
But I do tend to obsess sometimes. There was that eggplant binge I went on in 2005.
Perhaps there's some pattern of obsessiveness related to purple foods? And what about that Purple Rain poster I used to have in my bedroom?

....

Purple sprouting broccoli doesn't taste all that much different than regular broccoli--it's mostly a texture thing. The stalks are slimmer and thus more tender and when you steam it the colours just pop. And you know I have a thing for popping colours.



I've eaten it many different ways lately, but I got a little bit of help on the last one.
I steamed the broccoli and tossed it with a dressing of sesame oil, lime juice, fish sauce, soy sauce and dried chilies, and topped it off with a sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds.
It came together in a snap and as simple as it was, it was extremely good.

Click here for Delia's full instructions.
Notes:
-where her recipe listed dessertspoon, I took that to mean tablespoon. Whether that is correct or not, I don't know, but it tasted great.
-I used dried chili flakes instead of a fresh chili because that's what I had on hand.

Romancing an onion..

Am I the last person in the world to have found out that a little ambiance will save me from the agony of onion tears?
In case there is still one of you left, here is the magical trick that has eluded me all my life:
Keep a candle lit near you while you chop an onion.
No. more. tears.

Mom? Dad? I was 24 years old when I finally learned the whole righty-tighty, lefty-loose thing.
But I'm not sure I can forgive you for this one.

Garden of my dreams

I'm not the only one talking about him these days, but the stuff that comes out of Joel Thiébault's garden is worth mentioning over and over again.

A couple of weekends ago a friend and I decided to check out the President Wilson market in the 16th. We got up early that Saturday morning, met at the Alma-Marceau metro, and woke ourselves up over noisettes* at a table on the sidewalk, just down the block from where the market began.
The sky threatened rain, as it has done every day for the last couple of weeks. What can you do but constantly carry an umbrella and get on with your life?

The market was quiet-- it's August and many of the vendors spots stood empty. We wandered through rather nonchalantly until suddenly it was like the clouds parted and the sun shone down on this one booth, like a spotlight. From a short distance away I stood with my arm extended and my finger pointing.
"Look!"
Our feet propelled us forward in a hurry and our conversation turned into a jumbled flurry of "oh my god", "check this out", "what the heck is that" and a great many oohs and ahhs.
You may think I'm exaggerating, but my heart was a thumpin'.

Let me try to paint a visual picture for you.
Tomatoes, in all shades of red, orange, yellow and green.
Big bundles of yellow carrots, the dirt still clinging to them.
Golden beets resting plump and firm beside crisp bundles of swiss chard with stems of red or orange, or yellow.
Herbs piled so high, and smelling so fragrant--many of them I did not even recognize.
Not to mention the peppers, the eggplant, the leafy greens..

All of this, grown in a garden, just outside of Paris.
It doesn't get much better than that.

With our bags full of vegetables, suddenly the rest of the market held little interest. We both went back to our respective apartments, happy as clams, our minds racing with what we would do with our new treasures. I trudged happily through the metro with a big bundle of lemon verbena poking out of my bag, leaving a trail of lemony scent behind me.
I got home, laid my bounty on my counter and gazed at it with wonder and awe.
That week I ate like a queen.
My heart still thumps just thinking about it.
And yes, I will be going back.
Often.




President Wilson market
on President Wilson avenue between Alma-Marceau metro and Iéna metro
Wednesday and Saturday mornings.
Check Clotilde's post for further info on Joel Thiébault.

*noisette --an espresso with a shot of milk in it.

Fava, Green Bean and New Potato Salad

Fresh Fava Beans


All salads are not created equally.
It's simple logic, really.
Some you like.
And some you don't.

I've been eating a lot of salads lately with 3 particular ingredients that seem to keep making repeat appearances.

1. Fresh fava beans
I derive no end of pleasure from perfecting my pod extraction techniques. I am not shy to say that if there were championships in this, I might just bring home a trophy.
2. Green beans
This is due to the fact that I wasn't paying attention at the market when I asked for enough for two people and I was given what seemed like a truckload of beans. Who knew two people could eat a whole kilo of green beans?
3. New potatoes
Because they're new potatoes. Duh.

It all started on a strange sort of day. I had a brainstorm and decided to put all three together.
I know. I'm just that crazy.

As I served up the salad, I felt somewhat satisfied with myself. Only 0.98 kilos of green beans to go.. umm...

But I wasn't terribly daunted, because, well, that bottle of wine was already half empty.. The mass quantities of green beans that sat in my kitchen seemed more like the promise of good times than something to fret over.
What, you've never heard of a green bean party?

I'm happy to say, that sometimes, occassionally, yes--even once in a while, I throw something together and I like it. And no, it wasn't the wine talking..




Fava Bean, Green Bean and New Potato Salad
Make a vinaigrette with lemon juice and a light olive oil, a splash of white wine vinegar, and some sea salt to taste. Add a dash of Dijon mustard if you want a bit of zing.
Boil some new potatoes until tender, but not mushy. Drain and let cool. Cut in half if they are too big.
Blanch some green beans until tender. Drop into cold water to preserve the colour.
Remove the favas from their outer pods and the skin that covers each bean. (see below)
Toss all the vegetables together with the dressing and some chopped fresh dill.
Add some more sea salt to taste if necessary.
----------
I've recently been re-reading my Zuni Café cookbook in which Judy Rodgers suggests the following:
Use salted water when cooking potatoes to season them as they cook.
Remove the skins that surround fresh fava beans by hand, without blanching them. She suggests that blanching them, although it makes the skins come off easier, changes their texture.
It's up to you. Next time, I will try it Judy's way.

-----------
Related
The Zuni Café Cookbook

Master of my artichoke

There are moments when you cook when your mind is focused on nothing but the task in front of you. An hour or two goes by and you finally lift your head up with the urge to say:
"Where am I? Hello? Is anybody here?"
Your brain just gets sucked into some vaccuum of concentration that starts from the moment you start prepping the food to the point where you finally sit back from the table and say:
"Damn. That was good."

You see, I'd never cooked an artichoke before. My recent decision to lose my artichoke virginity was partly inspired by Sam's attempt to dispel the myth of preparing artichokes for those of us who, namely me, have lived a life of artichoke avoidance.

So I took the first step and bought one. Then I found a simple recipe which would give me a cooked artichoke to pull the leaves from and dip. And you know I'm a fan of the dipping.
So I made the recipe without any major incidents. Then I sat down at the table and began to suck the tender yummy bit from one of the leaves.
"What about the rest of the leaf?" I said aloud to G, who was really not interested in the play by play of my artichoke. "They're still kind of tough."
"Just eat the tender bit." he said from the study without looking up from his computer.
"That's alot of work for just a nubbin's worth of goodness." I declared, while madly pulling, dipping and eating the leaves.


Artichoke leaves, with the good stuff sucked out.

Halfway through my feeding frenzy I felt inspired to take a picture. I ran to the kitchen, snapped a couple of my half eaten artichoke and ran back to the table, sat down and started eating again.
G paid me no mind.
I got up from the table and true to my dorky self, I said: "That was fun. I'm going to do that again really soon."
My glee was met with silence.
So I grabbed my phone and dialed my friend Alisa's number. Because I was pretty sure she would want to hear about my fun with the artichoke.
But she wasn't home.
And then like I'd just been pinched, there came that moment, as I tipped the leaves into the garbage I thought: "What the hell just happened?"
I conquered the artichoke. That's what.

Artichokes with Basil Mayonnaise from Epicurious.

Recipe Notes
Try substituting the mayonnaise for greek yogurt as I did. It's lighter and lower in fat if that is of any concern to you. You may not need as much lemon juice though since the yogurt is tangy.
The combination of basil and garlic went superbly with the artichoke.
I think one large artichoke per person is not unreasonable since the yummy bit on each leaf is tiny.
I will definitely make this again.
Even though I thought it was a lot of work at first, now that I've done it I realize it wasn't all that hard, and it was definitely worth it.

On being a dork. And eating a good salad.

Grilled Zucchini Salad with Feta and Mint

Do you ever reflect on your younger years and laugh at yourself for how much of a dork you were? Because I do. Often.
And I'm not even talking about my treasured FAME sweatsuit, or about my excessive baton twirling, or my Holly Hobbie lunchpail. Primary school was low on the dorkiness scale in comparison to high school. Because then, in my teenage years, my true status as a full-fledged dork was formed.

You see, I was the girl who convinced my friends to stand with me on the sidewalk in front of my house and point at the sky so that we could see how many passersby would look up. I was also the girl who got giddy over a contraption you could attach to your shoe to purposely make it squeak. But just the sound of it would make me laugh so hard that everybody knew it was me.
And I was the girl (along with an accomplice) who went into our high school late one evening and put nametags on consecutive lockers with such names as Curly, Moe, and of course Larry.
Ah, the good times.

And then there was food. I thought I was posh for bringing a pumpernickel bagel with ham and cheese to school for my lunch, until I realized that everyone thought I had put ham and cheese on a chocolate donut and suddenly my posh lunch was the source of much teasing.

There was a time when the concept of a salad without lettuce was an inconceivable and frankly ridiculous notion to me. I was such a princess that my first experience with a lettuce-free greek salad elicited the following response:
"That's not a salad, that's just a pile of vegetables."
And perhaps a wee "Pshaw." escaped my lips.
There is no doubt that I was a bit of a pain in the ass.
I won't even tell you the scorn I felt when I was first introduced to Pico de Gallo and it looked nothing like the salsa I was used to from a jar. "Puh-leaze." I think I said.

But, a girl gains a few years, lives a little, tastes a few more things, and with time vegetables aren't the thing your parents force you to eat but a new thing to discover and enjoy on your own terms. And here I am, still a bit of a dork, but alot more wise. And I sure do like my salads. With or without lettuce.




Grilled Zucchini salad with feta and mint

This really isn't a recipe, and I'm sure the combination won't appeal to everyone, but it works for me.
To serve myself I took one good-sized zucchini and sliced it down the middle to form 2 long halves. From each half I trimmed a little bit off the back so that it would lay flat on both sides. I brushed each slice on both sides with olive oil and grilled over high heat, just a few minutes per side so it was to the consistency that I liked it. Soft but not mushy, still holding a slight bite to it.

Then chop the grilled zucchini into bite sized pieces or chunks, however you like it. Toss with some olive oil, lemon juice and a bit of fresh garlic while still hot. Let it cool a bit so your feta doesn't melt all over it.
Top with chopped mint, feta, cracked black pepper and a pinch of sea salt. Add another squeeze of lemon juice if necessary.
Eat.



Tags:
Zucchini Salad
Zucchini Recipes