Shrimp Tacos = Summer Time

I must confess… it’s been a strange start to June. Today I woke up at 6 a.m. to a major thunderstorm, then I literally sunburned my arms while sitting outside during lunch, and then this afternoon a huge gale-force wind storm blew up again. It’s been quite a roller coaster ride into Summer, I must say, and while I adore summer storms, I’m sort of craving the sun these days. And honestly, since Sunday night, I keep thinking about a fantastic meal that Roni and I put together which is truly summer-swoon-worthy.



Before I delve into said meal, I have to preface this by saying that every month, we receive two printed culinary gems: Gourmet and Bon Appetit. Honestly, when each of these come in, I grab a mug of coffee/glass of wine/pint of beer and peruse to my heart’s content, dog-earing certain recipes, post-it noting others, etc.

Yet I hardly get around to ever making any of these recipes, mostly because I’m Lazy and Forgetful and these things do not bode well for meal planning. Yet I changed things with a “Mexican Seafood Saute” recipe in the June issue of Bon Appetit and am now UN-Lazy with a Great Memory. Anyway.

First of all…. For our Shrimp Tacos, I…wait for it… made… wait for it… TORTILLAS. Yes, I know, who does this? It’s like saying “Yo, I’m totally gonna make crackers” or “Man, I should just whip up some mustard right now.” I mean you can, obviously, but there are certain things that I think people take for granted at the grocery store, like tortillas. Tired of not getting my Mexican food craving satisfied, I took matters into my own hands and kneaded and rolled my way towards tortilla heaven. And guess what? Twasn’t hard at all. In fact, it was so flippin’ easy that Roni took one bite, looked at me, then said, “Sammy D, I’m sorry, but we are NEVER going back to store-bought tortillas.” This of course means I’ll be perfecting my technique because I kind of suck at rolling dough out into perfect circles, but oh MAN were they good. Here’s a quick shot, and I’m sorry that my stack of 9 tortillas doesn’t look taller.

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So, if that isn’t enough to get you all hot and bothered for this post, then we are moving on to the filling of said tortilla awesomeness.

Roni was in charge of the Shrimp Saute. First off, this sauce/marinade is so good I want to bathe in it. Which is kind of gross, but you haven’t tried it yet so don’t give me that look. With the shrimp it was incredible: bright, with multi-leveled flavors of fun and summer and there was a fiesta in my mouth.

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Money Shot!

We had some pretty ripe mangoes that I chopped up for the salsa, along with an avocado, jalapeno, shallots, lime juice and mint.

I can’t really describe why this dinner was so good. Maybe it was because the day had finally been sunny, we had gone kayaking in the Potomac in the morning, and were in complete summer-vacation moods with sunburned shoulders and that sweet exhaustion that comes with being outside all day. But, it was that good, and mama don’t lie.

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I also just made a straight-up black bean/corn/pepper salad that I always make when I have tacos or enchiladas because its tradition and I am a traditional kinda gal, you see. Plus its super easy and makes for good lunch-fixins for the next day or so.

Please make these tacos this summer, and set yourself a goal of making tortillas. It’s really not scary, I promise. Also, you’ll be the coolest person you know! It’s a win-win situation if you ask me. Oh, and don't rub your nose or your face after chopping jalapenos...even after you wash your hands twice...because it will burn. And if you actually read all the way through this long post, you get a gold star and I’ll even throw in a tortilla.

Your New Favorite Cookie

Okay. So. This is gonna be a quick and zippy entry because I’m kind of in between two bigger posts. Yet I know I need to get something up here like yesterday, so I thought I would treat you to some cookies.

Because everybody deserves a good cookie sometimes.

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I apologize for giving you such a meh oatmeal cookie recipe last time, but I am now making up for it with these Pecan Drops. I got them from The Wednesday Chef who in turn got them from the L.A. Times who in turn got them from Harris Ranch, which is an inn and restaurant owned by some huge beef feeder/marketer in California. Weird, I know, but what can you do. I’ve made them multiple times, they’re pretty fool-proof, and are SO GOOD. Also, they package and travel well according to Roni who has sent batches home to her family. This is made all the more important by the fact that Roni doesn’t really like baking at all. See? Easy as pie. Pecan Pie, actually, if we’re going to get down to business about what these cookies remind me of.

I love Thanksgiving, which I am sure I will discuss more and more as we get closer to the Big Event this upcoming November. One of my favorite aspects of Turkey Day is the array of pies. I LOVE pie. I do. Especially the crunchy topping on a good pecan pie. Honestly, that's what these cookies should be called- Easy Crunchy Pecan Pie Topping Amazingness Cookies.

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Oh, and guess what? They have no flour, no butter, maybe 5 ingredients, and come together in the flashiest of flashes. They are nutty and chewy and taste maple-y, which must be a magical caramel chemical reaction between the pecans and brown sugar.

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To the genius who invented these cookies: I want to give you a high-five and wear BFF heart necklaces together and then bake these cookies on rainy Sunday afternoons. Love, Samantha

Italians Make Things Hot

Panzanella.

Doesn’t that just sound pretty? What with it being Italian and all, it’s kind of like the Sophia Loren of salads, if you ask me. I mean… you take normal ingredients. Things like stale bread of all things, some tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and a red pepper. Then, true to Italian form, you sex it up with some good dressing and suddenly you have a show-stopper summer salad, something that makes you do a double-take and think “Huh… so… it’s just bread and tomatoes? I don’t get it, but damn, I kind of have a crush.”


During one hot Phoenician summer day, I was bumming around watching Ina Garten on the Food Network and saw her literally throw this dish together in what seemed minutes-- I was sold. Given the heat, I was in need of something fresh that had the essence of summer but not the heat of it. Oh, Ina. You’re a woman after my own heart.

Again, it seems like some of the best dishes were perfected by peasants centuries ago, and panzanella is the same. Different versions call for different ingredients. Some have anchovies, some don’t have cucumber, some grill the red peppers, some use a specific Tuscan salt-less bread. This is a pretty basic version that you can fancify to your liking. Add what you like to this dish-- grill the tomatoes or slow roast them, perhaps. Jamie Oliver uses the tomato juice as part of his dressing. In my very amateur opinion, this recipe is a great balance of flavor, and, more importantly, a solid starting point to jump off in your own direzione.

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Back to the recipe. I’m an impatient person, I think. I just don’t have time to wait for a loaf of bread to be a few days old before I make this. When I want panzanella, I want it now. Instead, I cheat (duh) and use a fresh loaf, torn into chunks and toasted with a bit of olive oil, sea salt, and fresh cracked pepper in a skillet. The croutons alone are enough to entice me over and over again to make this dish as the weather warms up and the tomatoes ripen with the summer.

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A final note on Sophia Loren. You know, I don’t proclaim myself an expert on her by any means, but how can you not love a woman who one time said "Everything you see, I owe to spaghetti" ??? Even if she’s a bit tanorexic these days, she still rocks it. Any girl would be lucky to look so good, and I think this classic Italian salad with fresh veggies is a good place to start. At least... here's hoping.

Cabbage Kid

Growing up, I ate a lot of Indian food. Included in that was a neon-yellow shredded cabbage dish that was fine, but it wasn’t my favorite by any means. Besides the standard coleslaw at picnics and this one horrible experience of me actually trying to make a grilled red cabbage slaw (I still shudder… never take for granted a good olive oil, especially when you accidentally use a RANCID OLIVE OIL and ruin everything, which, btw, still gives me nightmares...ugh) cabbage was just kind of meh you know?

I mean… its cabbage.

This lack of interest probably also stemmed from my Dad banning brussel sprouts and cabbage-like items from the table besides the previously mentioned Indian cabbage, so it was literally not until January, at the tave tiranse night that my friend Kari suggested sliced red cabbage to eat with hummus. Pardon? Yeah, it sounds weird, but you know what? I was an idiot. Red cabbage with good hummus is the shiz, and you should know it. Sweet, crunchy, and kind of perfect, cabbage totally slapped me across the face with its greatness and now I’m a big fan and want to put cabbage in everything and sing about it from the rooftops.

Remember how I said I couldn’t write about braised cabbage because it was so hot outside? Well Nature complied and has made it rain at least 4 of the 7 days of the week, which makes me careful for what I wish for. And yet. This is perfect cabbage weather, especially when it’s braised and served with melty cheese and crusty bread. Oh, baby.

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I got this Savoy Cabbage Gratin recipe from Molly’s blog, Orangette, who in turn got it from Molly Steven's book, All About Braising. I’ve been a big fan of the Orangette blog for a while, and had also wanted to try this recipe for months. (If you haven’t visited her site…please do. And soon.) So while the concept of this dish is simple and the ingredients are few, it just takes time to bake. First you take a Savoy cabbage, chop it up, then saute it for a bit. Then you bake/braise the cabbage in the chicken stock for a nice long time. Then you add cheese and let it get melty and the edges get crispy...

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While you might have to wait almost an hour for this darling of a dish to bake, I promise you… your kitchen smells GOOD, and the cheese…you should just put a lot on because melted cheese on this is a most-awesome delight. I didn’t do the triple-cream cheese Molly had recommended because I’m cheap and wanted to use what I had on hand, which was Parmesan and Havarti, and damn if it didn’t work out swimmingly. I had 2 bowls and wanted more, but I restrained myself to save the rest for lunch and dinner the next day.

The comfort of this dish reminded me of the way I felt about soup over the winter… it just sort of hugs you from the inside out and is kind of perfect in a humble and lovely sort of way.

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Up next? Probably one of two salads I’m obsessed with right now. As a side note, you know how you get a song stuck in your head for three days straight and can’t get it out unless you sing it? All of the time? Like, every five minutes? Welcome to my world. Also, let me introduce you to a song by Josh Radin and Schuyler Fisk that I had originally kind of ignored on The Last Kiss soundtrack from a few years back. I’m hoping by me posting this on the blog it will finally leave my poor brain alone. Thanks Youtube!

Lassi is More

Today was the first day that I looked out my window and the trees were actually budding green leaves… ALL of them, spontaneously. One day, the trees are bare, the next, they’re green. Mother Nature is a funny old lady, I tell you, but at least she’s got a few tricks up her sleeve.

To celebrate the good weather I took to the streets for several hours and while walking home, I realized I was damn hungry but couldn’t get the courage to cook anything, or even, heaven forbid, put forth the effort to chop some veggies and make a salad. I may love eating but sometimes my laziness + a hot day = me not cooking and scrounging for any food stuffs that I can pretend equals a meal.

Then it hit me. The only thing I ever really want when it’s warm and I just need to cool off from the inside out: I wanted lassi.

First things first. Let’s learn how to say this word. You definitely do not pronounce it like that famous dog of bravely epic proportions, “Lassie.” You pronounce it like “Luss-y” for mysterious reasons that I’m unaware of, but thems the facts, folks. Just accept it.

Lassi, that classical Indian yogurt mixture, is literally the drink of my childhood, adolescence, and adult life in Arizona. Since it was almost always hot, my mom or G-ma prepared it often and served it in tall iced-tea glasses with flecks of ice glinting in the sun. I kid you not, this is a magical drink and you will laugh with glee at how easy it is. Here I am sitting an hour and a half after I downed a glass, and I’m STILL cooled off, and my belly is content and things are just pretty copasetic right now.

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You take yogurt (I use low-fat, but go for the whole milk yogurt if you want to as well. I tend to avoid fat-free dairy products…hello! It’s weird!) You dump about a cup and a half of yogurt into a blender, a solid handful of ice, a splash of either milk or water and a few tablespoons of sugar (to your liking). You blend the whole thing up until it’s frothy but with a few crunchie ice pieces still floating around…and then… you pour it and drink it. It’s pretty amazing, you know. When you feel like getting fancy with the flavors, add some mango nectar (or chunks of very ripe peeled mangoes) and blend it up too. I’ve read that other traditional Indian lassis use spices and are salty, but in my family it’s always been the simple yogurt, ice, sugar mixture and truly it’s a drink of beauty. It curbs hunger, satisfies a slight sweet tooth, and cools you off completely. Trust me...us Indians don't mess around when it comes to yogurt.

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(Aw...here is lassi looking out the window to the poor sweaty people below.)

For those of you who are keen on the new “natural frozen yogurt” by the likes of Tangysweet here in D.C., lassi tastes almost exactly like the “Classic” flavor of that yogurt…except in smoothie-riffic form, and is cheaper since you can make it at home. Sometimes, less is more. Or, in this case… lassi is more. Ha! Mother Nature might have a few tricks up her sleeve, but I have my own with lassi and it’s heat-defeating capabilities. I think that’s a pretty good start.

Oh! And I haven't forgotten about getting more vegetables on this site, but I just couldn't bring myself to write about braised cabbage when it was 90 degrees out. I'll work on it, I promise.

Vagabondy Python and the Search for the Holy Cookie Grail

Ah, April.

It’s really the one big glitch in springtime, as I see it. I suppose life is always a delicate balance, and, to even out the lovely weather and flowers and green things, we have rain and allergies, and…taxes.

This year, I’m turning to cookies to see me through…and, hopefully, a healthy refund. Thanks, IRS!

I love cookies. Remember Cookie Monster?


That should give you an idea of how I feel about a good cookie. While I don’t go bat-crazy and stuff them in my face like he did, give me one well-made cookie (or two, if I’m being honest here), and I’m a content girl. I especially love me some oatmeal cookies. Maybe it’s the part of me that pretends that this is a “healthier” dessert choice, but dang it all if oatmeal cookies aren’t near perfection. Chewy, hearty, sweet and a bit salty, nothing whispers comfort like oatmeal cookies on a gusty spring day.

Here in DC, we’re lucky to have a local chain called Teaism, where a few years ago I was introduced to the glories of the Salty Oat Cookie. This year when I moved to DC, I discovered its spunky twin, the Chocolate Salty Oat Cookie. Oh. My. Goodness.

Salt on TOP of a cookie? Oh, yes. For those of you out there, like moi, who have a penchant for salty foods, this cookie is a dream. The first bite is salty, and as soon as that passes, the richness of the oatmeal kicks in and the added sweetness from a raisin or chocolate chip finishes it off nicely. Next thing you know, you’re left wondering where the hell salty oatmeal cookies have been all these years, hand sadly empty, crumbs trailed along the table and your shirt, a testament to the awe-inspiring power of new and exciting food combinations with sugar and salt.

Ever since my encounter with the mythical Salty Oat Cookie, I always put the salt required for oatmeal cookies on top of the dough right before it sets in the oven, and really…it’s pretty clever.

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Speaking of clever, I thought it would be pretty great to throw in some dried cherries and walnuts and chocolate chips into this oatmeal cookie recipe I found online that claimed to be the be-all, end-all of oatmeal cookie recipes. Quite the claim, but I'm a gullible person you know. Actually I prefer the term trusting, but whatever, anyway, this cookie recipe did NOT in fact bowl me over with its awesomeness, nor did my mouth do somersaults when I took a bite, nor was I super proud to share this with people at work. I mean... this cookie recipe is fine. It is, in fact, good. But when you have great expectations, and the result is only pretty good rather than spectacularly amazing, its a bit of a let down. They're crispier than I like (I prefer big, soft, chewy oatmeal cookies) and I thought it was strange the recipe didn't call for any vanilla. I should have known. Anyway, the quest is still on for the best oatmeal cookie recipe ever, which means I just get to eat a lot more cookies, which isn't really a travesty at all. Also, when I brought some in to work today, the whole bag was gone before lunchtime, and were actually pretty good when warmed up in the microwave for twenty seconds.

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By the by-- cookies are a great way to pay off your one friend willing and kind enough to do your taxes. I mean…SOMETHING has to nourish them through this trying time, no? At least, that’s how I see it. They spend an hour and a half on my taxes, I spend an hour and a half on cookies, and look: an in-kind trade that makes both parties happy and good with the government for another year. Thank you, Michigan-Tax-Man-Friend: you’re buena gente. Also, the cookies will be in the mail tomorrow, and, like I said, don't get upset that they're not absolute perfection.

Up next? Probably a re-cap of all the veggies I ate this week in an attempt to be slightly more loving to the vegetable section of the food pyramid. You have Asparagus and Cabbage to look forward to, you lucky tax-burdened beasts, you. In other news, my lovely sister Natalie and our good friend Jared are coming to the District THIS THURSDAY to visit with me for the weekend! Joy.

A Tale of Two Curds

They say that when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.

That’s fine and dandy and all, but lets be honest--that’s a lot of lemons to squeeze. Also, when I get a tall glass of fresh lemonade, it’s usually downed pretty quickly because I love the stuff. But who wants to take their lemons and make something so fleetingly good? I say, when you get a bunch lemons (metaphorically or literally) go for the gold. The lasting kind, or, at least, something that lasts a few more days than fresh lemonade.

Go for Lemon Curd.

Don’t let the name fool you. Everyone knows and generally likes lemons, but curd? It reminds me of those small, light-yellow cheese curds they try to sell you in stores. Or in Wisconsin and Minnesota, where, while visiting a friend, I was once told, “The sign of a good curd is that it squeaks when you bite it.” Squeaking curds?? Um….

It also makes me think of that nursery rhyme:

Little Miss Muffett
Sat on a tuffett
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider
And sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffett away

I don’t know about you, but I’m still not quite sure what a tuffett is, exactly. When I was a kid, I had a dim picture in my mind of some soupy-porridge substance that made me feel terrible for Miss Muffett and her lunch. The only bit I understood was the part about a spider freaking Miss Muffett out so badly that she couldn’t eat her meal and actually ran away screaming, curds and whey left toppled upon the ground rather forlornly.

All in all, I say that curd, in its 2 various forms, gets a strange and mysterious rap. Not too many of us think “Man. I really wish I had some curd right now.” Or “Hey guys! Who’s in the mood for curd tonight?” Unless, maybe, you are from Minnesota and grew up with the squeaking cheese curds. I, on the other hand, Arizona raised, did not have cheese curds. What I did have in our front yard, however, was a variety of citrus trees laden with grapefruit, oranges, limes, and, of course, the humble lemon... which led to my favorite curd: the lemon kind.

Needless to say…it’s been one of those weeks, you know? The kind where work gets even more workish than normal and personal events take interesting and somewhat unexpected turns, all of which throw off your groove and leave you scratching your head and thinking “What the…? Where the…? ...I need to go to bed.”

To celebrate the lemons of life, I actually bought some rather sunny-looking specimens at the grocery and decided, rather smartly, that while it was still too early for lemonade it was perfect timing for some lemon curd. Now, I’ve only made it once before, for an Easter lemon pie I tackled last year, and I will say that while the pie was fine, I fell much more deeply in love with the custard I had created to fill said pie with. And while I love me some pie, in this case, I loved me the lemon curd more.

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The thing about lemon curd is that it is a great little topping to have a jar of. According to my mom and other various gourmet sources, its perfect in tart shells with berries on top, on hot scones or toast, on shortbread cookies, and, now that I think about it, could be pretty delicious on some raspberry sorbet. The possibilities are endless, and dang it all—its high time lemon curd gets the proper respect it deserves.

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(Whoops! How ever did my Dogfish Head 60 Minute I.P.A. get in that picture?? Mmmm.)

The premise is simple: fresh lemon juice (or lime, if you want to get even fancier with your curd), sugar, a pinch of salt, lemon zest, eggs and a healthy heap of butter, when stirred over medium-low heat for about ten to fifteen minutes, turns the sharp tang of lemons into a sweetened creamy spread that’s thick enough to stick to a spoon (which is another way to eat it, as I’ve happily discovered). Even better, its super easy to whip together after a long day, which means it’s great to have on hand for breakfast the next morning (as everyone at work thought when I brought a jar in.)

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(It's like bottled sunshine. But tastier.)

Either way you look at it, having a lemony week actually turns into something much better… a couple jars of tangy-sweet awesomeness that you can share with the people around you. And, might I add, much easier and longer-lasting than a single glass of lemonade. Between you and me, when lemons are concerned, I think I got the better end of the deal.