the arugula files

Peaches and Cheese Sandwich, Plus What if there Were Farmer's Markets in Office Lobbies?

This past Sunday I had to go into the office.  It was a beautiful day and my only reprieve was a stop at the farmer's market on my way in.  I picked up peaches, creamy feta cheese, arugula, and bread, and, when I got to work, I had myself a little picnic at my desk.  Not an ideal way to spend a Sunday, but, no doubt, better than dining on Subway sandwiches.  As I sat at my desk eating my peaches and cheese sandwich, I thought: when I'm President, there will be farmer's markets in every office lobby.   Yes, we can.

p.s., I'm on vacation this week.  Stay tuned for some photos and scrumptious treats from Boston, including a new dish from Uncle Sonny.

Jerry Sandwiches or Why Twitter Really is a Valuable Tool Beyond Starting Revolutions

Admittedly, I used to think that Twitter was silly. I joined the site to take it for a test ride; to see how handled.  Would it feel like I was was driving around in a clown car, looking absurd, not fitting in, adults feeling annoyed by my childish antics?  Or would it feel like I was behind the wheel of an ice cream truck, with people running to greet me, handing me money, and, generally, going crazy when they heard my tweet, er, bell.  Turns out, it feels like neither.  Twitter is akin to driving a scooter: people may think you are a poseur (with your absurd goggles, scarf tied around your neck, and cat in the front basket), but you don't really care because tweeting around town feels great, and, much like a scooter, it can be practical.  Like you could start a revolution.  

Peach, Arugula, and Bleu Pizza

Peaches on pizza?  Trust me.  A perfectly ripe peach can go from sweet to savory with the right company.  All you need is pizza dough, some sauteed onion, garlic, thyme, and cheese.  Cheddar would work.  So would parmesan.  I used bleu cheese because that's what I had on hand. 

Cava Mezze's Harissa

Mediocre restaurants used to litter the streets of Capitol Hill.  They still do, in fact.  What has changed during the past decade is the addition of neighborhood eateries that offer memorable dishes, served in pleasant surroundings.  Cava Mezze, a Greek tapas restaurant that started in Rockville, is among the newest spots on 8th Street, an area, I might note, that was once a good food desert, but now has more tasty high-end restaurants than fast food joints.

I ate at Cava Mezza a couple months ago, splitting a few small plates (saganaki, hummus, baked shrimp, and calamari) with a friend.  The dish that keeps coming back to me is one that we did not order.  Before the meal, our waiter dropped off a small plate of harissa and pita.  Zoinks!  The plate was an outstanding stand-in for typical bread and butter basket, and this particular harissa was like none I had tried before.  Cava's harissa, made from tomatoes and peppers, is mild, with a spicy bite layered with olive oil. I'm now a junkie, a harrissahead, desperately in need of treatment, who spends a lot of time thinking about how to get my next fix.  It's that good.

Blueberry and Crème Fraîche Ice Cream

I have to admit, I had never heard of crème fraîche until a few years ago when I saw a cheftestant using it on Top Chef.  Crème what?  I immediately looked it up online, using my number-one, trustworthy, foolproof, no-way-this-can-be-wrong source, wikipedia, and found it described as sour cream, but less sour, and thicker, with 28 percent milk fat.  Yes, please.

Sun-dried Tomatoes with Arugula and Ravioli

Here's a quick week night meal that's healthy, tasty, and made, mostly, with ingredients that I always have on hand.  Sun-dried tomatoes are a kitchen staple in my house.  I also like to keep pine nuts around.  What go-to ingredient do you keep in your pantry? 

These Buns Are Off the Hook

Like most people interested in food, I read the highly influential perfect burger article in the nytimes a few weeks ago.  I took the tips seriously, incorporating them into a 4th of July cookout at my friend Bridget and Joe's house.  Among other things, the article noted the importance of fat content in the meat patty and baking a worthy bun.  Even though ground hamburger with high fat content scares the heck out of me, I bought meat that was 27/73. Yes, you heard that right, 27 percent fat.  And this was no grass-fed meat (Big Food: score 1,843,98,94) because let me tell you, grass-fed isn't available in these fat ratios at your typical supermarket. 

I also suggested that my friend Joe, a terrific cook and host, make the buns featured in the article.  He did, and, oh man, were they were delicious.  The bun definitely made a difference in the overall hamburger experience, and the fatty beef, with a sprinkle of kosher salt and pepper, purposely under handled, and carefully formed into a loose patty, made a difference in taste too. Add some blue cheese and you have a hamburger that is off the hook.  Observe, there's no final photo.  What can I say, I was so enthralled with eating this masterpiece that taking the time to take a photo was the last thing on my mind.

Blueberry Margaritas

I'm not one for mixed drinks.  Hand me a glass of Pinot Grigio and I'm happy.  But with a freezer full of  blueberries, you have to be creative. And what better way to use blueberries than in a margarita?  

Honest Blueberry Jam

Recently I've heard a few people use the word "honest" to describe food.  My first reaction was, what an absurd adjective to describe food!  Those copywriters have lost their blueberries.  As if food can lie to you.  The more I thought about it, though, the more it made sense.  Undoubtedly, there is a lot of food out there, all produced by that evil monolith known by some as “Big Food,” that is lying straight to my face.  As Food Inc. notes, meat producers proudly brand their pork products with idyllic photos of the family farm, when the pork product really comes from places that would most certainly curb your craving for bacon and eggs.

Back to the blueberries: if there is such a thing as honest food, it's this here jam.  I picked the blueberries myself, then made the jam on my own stove.  Take that, Big Food.

Hello Garlic, Nice to Get to Roast You.

Unfortunately for Marcus, my friends, immediate family, and strangers who sit too close to me on the Metro, I heart garlic.  Most dishes that come out of my kitchen include generous applications.  I would like to say that I eat garlic because of the health benefits, but I don't.  I eat it because I like the taste.  I know: garlic stinks.  It gives you dragon breath and the tang oozes out of your pores, leaving you smelling like Pepe la Pew.  People complain.  They move away from you. 

This may sound wicked, but instead of reducing the amount of garlic I eat, I think we should all sign a compact to eat more garlic.  If everyone is eating garlic in equal proportions, then we all reek of it.  Marcus doesn't agree with my compact idea.  Apparently, neither does Monica Belluci.  I don't want to end up a stinky pariah, so I avoid garlic when it appears prudent. 

Recently, though, my friend Jen brought me a bulb of garlic straight from her garden.  She planted, cultivated, and harvested this beauty with her own hands, and I wanted to celebrate it by making it a headliner.