On Living Alone With Strawberries

I live by myself. I don't think we've talked about this yet, but it's a fact that makes itself apparent all the time these days. For example, I am reminded that I live alone when I find myself singing country music at unreasonable volumes, watching Sense and Sensibility two times in a row, flinging my clothes off in the middle of the room before a shower, and eating ice cream straight from the carton (ahem. Not that I do that.) I daresay most of these activities are unsuitable when there are roommates to consider (though, I confess, I often ate ice cream straight from the carton while living with Kath in Boston. She was the best kind of roommate, in that the violation of ice cream cartons didn't seem to bother her. Thanks, Kath.) At any rate, these days I find myself in the position of being able to engage in all of these anti-roommate activities, and I must say that I quite enjoy it. I mean, who wouldn't want to watch back-to-back showings of Sense and Sensibility?

There is one problem, though. Though I can take my clothes off without abandon and listen to whatever music I want at whatever volume I prefer, I cannot by myself eat two full cartons of fresh strawberries from the Union Square Green Market before they go bad. I have tried, and it just can't be done.


Enter: Emily and Casey. And JBursk. Em and Case are my two younger sisters, and they were here visiting over the weekend. JBursk, as you may remember from my faux-halibut post, is my favorite neighbor. She's also the person with whom I spent roughly 7 hours on Thursday, watching good (read: bad) television and eating a tub of strawberries. Now, before you yell at me for spending 7 hours on a weekday watching television and eating berries, I'd just like to remind you that I am a student, and thus do not have to go to an office and "work" during the week. Which I think is pretty great, for now. (Actually, I'm not technically a student yet, but will officially take on student status this afternoon. More on that later.)



At any rate, many strawberries were consumed on Thursday, and that was only the beginning. After JBursk and I spent Thursday popping strawberries straight from the carton, there was still a sizeable mound of the red berries left on my counter. Emily, Casey and I decided to take care of that problem with something called strawberry rhubarb crumble. Thank goodness. I mean, I was thisclose to having to throw out a carton of moldy strawberries! ...Whew. Living alone is nice, but that was a close call. Thank goodness for weekend sister visits, and thank goodness for strawberry rhubarb crumble.


Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble


Crumble. The name alone is rustic and sweet. It says "I'm unfussy yet delicious. I'm sweet from my strawberries and tangy from my rhubarb. I'm warm and comforting yet light enough for summer nights, and I'm phenominally easy to make." Speaking of, this weekend is apparently the last weekend for strawberries and rhubarb at the Union Square Green Market, so you only have a few days left to solve your own excess strawberry crisis with a delicious crumble. Godspeed.

Ingredients:

• 1.5 cups fresh strawberries, washed and halved (or quartered, if they're big guys)
• 1.5 cups fresh rhubarb, washed and cut into 1-inch pieces
• Sugar, to taste (the amount of sugar depends on the sweetness of the strawberries. If they're super sweet, use less sugar. If they're a bit tart, use more. I used 2 tablespoons for fairly sweet strawberries)
• 2 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 1 cup flour
• 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
• pinch of salt
• 8 Tablespoons (1 stick) butter, separated

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix the strawberries, rhubarb and sugar in a medium baking dish (roughly 8 x 12). Squeeze lemon juice over fruit, and mix to combine.

In a medium bowl, mix together the flour, sugar and salt. Use two forks or a pastry cutter to mix in 6 tablespoons of butter, until the clumps of butter are as small as peas in the batter. Pour the crumble mixture over the fruit in the baking dish, and use your fingers to crumble the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter over the entire dish. Bake for about 40 minutes, until the fruit is warm and bubbly and the crumble is golden brown.

Serve immediately, preferably with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Serves 6-8.

A Salad of Pita Chips and Chic Peas

As most of you know, this past weekend was Memorial Day Weekend. You probably know this because, instead of going to work on Monday, you spent the day paying homage to our American heroes and celebrating the beginning of summer by eating juicy burgers, drinking cold beer, and slurping ice cream at various picnics and backyard barbecues. A pretty wonderful holiday, in my opinion. This year, my family decided to take a trip to Charleston, South Carolina, for the long weekend, where we skipped the traditional Memorial Day fare of burgers and dogs and focused mainly on pulled pork. And coleslaw. And lemon icebox pie.




We ate all this at Jim and Nick's, and if you're ever in Charleston, I highly recommend a trip. You could also take tours of the old Plantations and the famous Fort Sumter (the site of the start of the Civil War), if you're so inclined. We did most of that, but when push comes to shove, my family is less historically inclined and more gastronomically inclined (really, can you blame us? Just look at that pie, for goodness sake). Basically, our trip to Charleston consisted of a few horse-drawn carriage tours and way too much food.

As it happens, we were sampling some (more) local cuisine one day at lunch, and I noticed that one of the salads on the menu boasted "chic peas" as an ingredient. This intrigued me greatly. I have never heard of chic peas, but they certainly sound like a very elegant and stylish pea, don't you think? Anyway, I was pleased to hear my mother order the salad featuring chic peas, and was itching with anticipation to learn the identity of such a fashionably named legume. Lo and behold, my mother's salad was brought to the table, and I finally learned that a chic pea is... actually just a misspelling of the word "chick pea." Garbanzo bean. What a letdown.

At any rate, my sister and I shared a good laugh over the orthographical error of the chic pea, and when I got back to New York yesterday and found scant little in my pantry, I decided to open a can of my very own chic peas as inspiration for a quick, thrown-together-from-the-pantry dinner. Not quite as good as Charleston barbecue, but chic enough for me.


Mediterranean Bread Salad with Chick Peas


This is a take on traditional bread salad, or panzanella, which usually incorporates day-old bread scraps, tomatoes and olive oil. I use crumbled pita chips instead of stale bread, and I pair it with a mix of bright Mediterranean flavors, including tomatoes, olives, chick (chic) peas, cucumbers, and lemon juice. For a thrown-together, no-cooking involved dinner, it's pretty darn satisfying. I ate the salad as a stand-alone meal, but it would be delicious served alongside some grilled chicken or fish for a more robust lunch or dinner. Keep in mind, this is more recipe guide than actual recipe - I guessed on most of the measurements, and the ingredients themselves are merely suggestions. Feel free to add or subtract certain veggies, or, for extra chic-ness, throw in a handful of feta cheese... you little salad stylista, you.


Ingredients:

• 1 cup canned chick peas, rinsed and drained
• 1/2 cup cherry or grape tomatoes
• 1/2 large cucumber, chopped
• 1/4 cup mixed olives, chopped (I used a Greek mix)
• 1/2 cup pita chips, lightly crumbled into bite-size pieces
• 2 Tablespoons olive oil
• 1 Tablespoons lemon juice
• 1 Tablespoon balsamic vinegar
• salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:

Mix together the chick peas, tomatoes, cucumber, olives, and pita chips in a bowl. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle with olive oil, lemon juice, and balsamic. Mix until incorporated, and serve immediately if you want the pita to stay crunchy.

Serves 1 for lunch or dinner, 2 if eaten as a side dish.

I'd Seriously Consider Bathing In It

Ina Garten's peanut sauce, I mean. Ina actually calls it satay dip, but it's so stunningly delicious I wouldn't care if she told me its name was Dick Cheney. Not that she would tell me that. She's famous, so we don't get the opportunity to chat much. Or ever. But she's kind of my hero. I kind of think she can do no wrong. She lives in the Hamptons, for gosh sake. Year round! With her adorable husband and her all-white china and her sprawling herb garden.

Ina's recipes are flawless - simple, elegant, consistently delicious. Her chicken piccata is light and fresh and makes you think that all chickens should be piccata'ed. Her lemon yogurt cake, her chicken with goat cheese and basil, her beef bourguignon, her coconut cupcakes, her kitchen clambake... they're just all perfect. And her peanut sauce. For the love of god, the peanut sauce. ...Satay dip. Whatever.

Former buxom blonde bombshell, Brigitte Bardot (how's that for alliteration?) once said that "peanut butter is paté for children." I think that's sort of perfect. And, if true, it stands to reason that Ina Garten's peanut sauce is paté for Mollys, and maybe even for you, too. I'm not saying you should attempt to bathe in it, but I think you should at least try it. Smeared on a chicken sandwich, saucing up shrimp or steak for lunch or dinner, or maybe served as a dipping sauce for chicken and shrimp skewers at your next party. And if you do want to bathe in it?  This is me not judging you.

Roast Shrimp and Veggies with Ina Garten's Satay Dip

I originally made this peanut sauce/satay dip for a girls night in featuring appetizers and a showing of the latest episode of Gossip Girl. I won't go into the details of the lame, flashback-y show, but the peanut sauce is worth discussing. At length. It was meant to be served as a twist on the traditional cocktail sauce for shrimp cocktail, but we ended up dipping everything we could find in it - shrimp, raw veggies, pita chips, fingers.  In short, the peanut sauce was a major hit (albeit a slightly obscene one).

I'm not sure how, but I ended up with some leftover, which I immediately turned into one of the best dinners I've had in awhile: roast shrimp and veggies with peanut sauce.  Roasting gives shrimp such wonderful, juicy flavor, and it really couldn't be easier.  And with the leftover peanut sauce?  Perfection.  Don't be alarmed by the long list of ingredients in the satay dip - after a bit of chopping and measuring, the stuff comes together before you can say "thank you, Ina Garten."

Ingredients:

For shrimp:

• 1 pound peeled, deveined shrimp
• 2 bell peppers, chopped
• handful or two of snowpeas
• 1 cup canned chickpeas, rinsed
  
• 1-2 tablespoons olive oil
• salt & pepper, to taste
  

For Satay Dip:

• 1 tablespoon good olive oil
• 1 tablespoon dark sesame oil
• 2/3 cup small-diced red onion (1 small onion)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons minced garlic (2 cloves)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons minced fresh ginger root
• 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 2 tablespoons good red wine vinegar
• 1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1/2 cup smooth peanut butter
• 1/4 cup ketchup
• 2 tablespoons white wine or dry sherry
  
• 1 1/2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lime juice

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees Farenheit. Arrange shrimp, veggies and chickpeas on a large sheetpan. Drizzle olive oil over shrimp and veggies, turning to coat, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place sheetpan in the oven and cook for about 10 minutes, until the shrimp are pink and juicy. Meanwhile, make the satay dip.

Cook the olive oil, sesame oil, red onion, garlic, ginger root, and red pepper flakes in a small, heavy-bottomed pot on medium heat until the onion is transparent, 10 to 15 minutes. Whisk in the vinegar, brown sugar, soy sauce, peanut butter, ketchup, sherry or wine, and lime juice; cook for 1 more minute. Spoon over the shrimp and veggies and mix to coat. If desired, cool and use as a dip for shrimp cocktail, grilled chicken or steak.

Makes 1 1/2 cups peanut sauce and enough roast shrimp and veggies for 2 people.

Cookie For Your Thoughts

I think about cookies often. Mostly crisp-edged, buttery, chocolate-chippy cookies, but sometimes I think about soft, chewy, sugary cookies, too. Not much beats a warm cookie (or two) washed down with a glass of cold milk. Or even a room-temperature cookie eaten slowly over the kitchen sink while you think about what to make for dinner. (Ahem. Who made the rule that says that dessert goes after dinner, anyway?) I guess you could say I think cookies, chocolate-chipped and otherwise, are the bees knees. That's why when my sister, Emily, told me she wanted to bake something involving peanut butter and white chocolate, I thought it best to try making peanut butter and white chocolate chip cookies. So, we gathered the ingredients and made peanut butter and white chocolate chip cookies, and it was definitively best.

I've been on a cookie bender ever since I heard about Drop In & Decorate, a cookie donation program in which I recently became involved. It's simple, really - get some friends together, decorate cookies, and then donate them to a local shelter, soup kitchen, or other community agency serving people in need. I did some decorating with my new friend and fellow food blogger, Maris, who introduced me to Drop In & Decorate. Here are a few of our creations (note: what we lacked in artistic ability, we made up for in enthusiasm):


Not bad, huh? I mean, they're probably not the prettiest cookies you've ever seen, but they taste delicious. (I know because I had to try one to make sure they were safe to bring to the Ronald McDonald house. They are.) Hopefully these cookies will brighten someone's day.

Cookies for charity are wonderful, but so are cookies for me, so I'll get back to the peanut butter white chocolate chips. I'll just get straight to the recipe, because I know you have cookies on the brain. At least, I do.

PS: the nails in the pictures below belong to Emily. I'm not sure I could pull off blue nail polish, but, like everything else, it works on her. N'est pas?






Peanut Butter and White Chocolate Chip Cookies

To make these little pretties, Emily and I experimented with a simple chocolate chip cookie recipe, adding white chocolate and peanut butter chips instead of the regular chocolate. We thought about adding peanut butter swirls or a dash of cinnamon, but in the end decided that, when it comes to chippy cookies, simple is best. Just butter, flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and powder, eggs and vanilla. And chips, of course. In this case, peanut butter and white chocolate. These come out slightly crunchy, with a deep, buttery sweet, almost caramel-like flavor that makes you want to take a full stack of these guys and act slightly indecently. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Ingredients:

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
• 3/4 cup vanilla sugar*
• 3/4 cup dark brown sugar
• 1/2 Tablespoon vanilla extract
• 1 large egg
• 2/3 cup peanut butter chips
• 2/3 cup white chocolate chips

* We only used vanilla sugar because my mother got it as a gift and it was sitting in the pantry, waiting to be turned into a cookie. Feel free to use regular granulated sugar instead.

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a few baking sheets with parchment paper.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a medium bowl and set aside.

Put the butter, granulated sugar, and light brown sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer and cream the ingredients on high speed. Don't forget to scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula to fully incorporate. Add the vanilla and egg and mix on medium speed. Add the flour mixture and mix on low speed just until batter is stiff and dough-like. Turn off the mixer and, using a large spoon or plastic spatula, fold in the chocolate and peanut butter chips.

Using a melon baller or small spoon, scoop heaping spoonfuls of the dough onto the baking sheet. Repeat with remaining dough, keeping about 2 inches between scoops. (You should get about 9 cookies on each sheet.) Bake until fragrant and golden brown, about 15-20 minutes.

Let the cookies cool before devouring them indecently.

Makes about 30 cookies.

The Big Apple

Well, it’s official. I live in New York City. I live in New York City! Gah. After a week of all that comes with moving – battling with bubble wrap, struggling to carry boxes down the stairs and load them into a moving truck, gripping the wheel of said moving truck as it clumsily hums down I-95, bruising body parts while unloading piles of junk from the truck and, finally, unpacking piles of junk into some semblance of a place where someone might live – I'm not sure I can still write in cohesive sentences. I guess we'll find out.

So, New York. New York City. The Big Apple. The Center of the Universe. The City That Never Sleeps. And all that jazz. Actually, the New York City I've come to know these past few days involves a six block radius from Whole Foods to Bed, Bath & Beyond (or Bed and Bath, as my mother likes to call it. It doesn't matter, because at this point, I've been there so many times that I could navigate the place blind. Need a curtain rod? Downstairs by the throw pillows. Bounce sheets? Don't bother, they don't sell them. Is my life in the big city thrilling you yet? I haven't even gotten to the part where my dad and I put together an entire floor-to-ceiling shelving unit. ...For the record, it was awesome.)

I know you probably want to hear more about the shelving, but I'd like to jump straight to the halibut. You know... just for the halibut. (Heyoo! ...Sorry.) I had a wonderful group of girls over on Sunday night to help break in my new kitchen, and I'm happy to say that Jane Bursky's halibut with tomatoes and spinach was my very first home-cooked meal in The Big Apple. At least, it would have been if the supermarket wasn't out of halibut. We used Chilean sea bass instead, and we ate it while drinking wine from water glasses (apparently wine glasses were the one thing I forgot to buy at "Bed and Bath"), sitting in mismatched chairs around the tiny table in my brand new studio apartment, and I must say it was the best first New York meal I could hope for.

JBursk, master of spinach arts.

Chilean Sea Bass with Tomatoes and Spinach
Slightly adapted from the lovely Jane Bursky's Halibut recipe

Though Chilean sea bass isn't as conducive to clever puns as halibut (just for the... chilean sea bass?), it works beautifully in this dish, surrounded by a thick broth of onions, tomatoes, spinach and white wine. And friends like KGB, KGro, JBursk and Coface. If my first homemade meal is any indication, I think I'm going to like New York.

Ingredients:

• 4 Chilean sea bass fillets
• 2 Tablespoons olive oil
  5 cloves garlic, crushed
• 2 bags baby spinach
• 15 plum tomatoes (or tomatoes on the vine, whichever look best in the market), chopped*
  5 tablespoons capers
• 1 cup white wine
• 1 large onion, chopped
• Salt
• Pepper
  
• Parmesan cheese, for sprinkling
  

*I know this sounds like a lot of tomatoes. It is. But trust me, in this dish, when it comes to tomatoes, the more the merrier.

Directions:

Heat the olive oil in large skillet over medium heat. Add onions and cook until lightly browned, then add the minced garlic and cook about 30 seconds more until garlic begins to turn golden.

Add all but a cup of the tomatoes, capers and white wine, simmering until the liquid is reduced almost in half. Add the rest of the tomatoes and the spinach in bunches, turning with tongs to incorporate into the sauce. If the sauce seems dry, add a bit more olive oil. Reduce heat (almost until the burner is off - you just want to keep the sauce hot).

Next, brush the fish on both sides with olive oil, and season with salt and pepper.

In another pan (I used a grill pan), saute the sea bass for about 4-5 minutes per side, or until the fish turns opaque.

Spoon sauce into the bottom of a bowl or deep plate, and top with the fish. Serve immediately, letting guests sprinkle parmesan on top to taste.

Serves 4, with extra sauce (which would also be fabulous on pasta or chicken).

Bittersweet

It's true, you know. All good things must come to an end. I know because my Boston life, which is good, is coming to an end. If you've been reading this nook of the internets since the beginning, you may know that, this summer, I'm packing up all my worldly possessions (including my Kitchen Aid stand mixer, my autographed Chase Utley bobblehead doll and a healthy dose of nervous excitement) to start classes at The French Culinary Institute in New York City.

A week from Friday marks the big day (of moving, that is. Culinary classes don't start until June. Let's not rush things. I have a feeling it's going to take me just as long to master the art of living in New York City as it will to master the art of french cooking. We'll see.) At any rate, with just over a week left to call myself a Boston resident, I can't help but feel a thick veil of finality settling in around me.

This past weekend I sang my last song and took my last bow and said my goodbyes to the wonderful cast of Gypsy. I'm glad to have my weekends back, but I already miss the cast comraderie and the nervous pride of putting on a show. Today is my last day of work, and while I'm thrilled to finally rid myself of cubicles and expense reports and overused consulting phrases (don't even get me started on "low-hanging fruit"), I'm going to miss the office banter with Dan and long lunches (including LOST recaps and people watching) with Maral. Oh, and the steady paycheck. That I'm definitely going to miss. I've cleaned out my desk and bought boxes for packing and cancelled my gym membership, and as my daily routine crumbles, everything is really starting to feel over.

For now, I can only focus on the endings, but I know that soon I'll be surrounded by beginnings, fresh and scary and fun. There will be a new apartment to paint and new friends to make, a new city to learn and new knives to sharpen, and for all of that I cannot wait. Still, goodbyes are always bittersweet, and I think this one, especially, calls for brownies.

Bittersweet Brownies

These brownies are sort of a signature of mine; I make them whenever I need an easy yet impressive dessert (or else just a straight shot of gooey chocolate), and though brownies may seem like a pedestrian, ho-hum sort of choice, these never fail to impress (or to trigger a magnificent chocolate-induced coma).

Laced with two forms of coffee and a dash of Bailey's Irish Cream, these brownies are a grownup version of your favorite afterschool treat. They're moist, dense and sinfully chocolatey, and if you decide to make them for someone (an office full of your colleagues on your last day of work, say), they won't soon forget you.

Ingredients:

2 sticks plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
½ cup brewed coffee
12 ounces bittersweet chocolate
4 large eggs
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1.5 tablespoons ground coffee
1 cup all purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoons vanilla extract
3 tablespoons Bailey’s Irish Cream Liquor
8 ounces milk chocolate chips

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9x13x2 inch metal baking dish and line the bottom with parchment paper. Butter the parchment, too.

Heat the butter in a medium pot over low heat until melted. Add the chocolate and stir until melted, removing from the heat. Stir in the brewed coffee.

In a small bowl, mix together the flour and salt.

In a medium bowl, mix the eggs and sugars with the ground coffee, vanilla and Bailey’s until combined. Once the butter/chocolate mixture has cooled a bit, add the egg/sugar mixture and stir to combine. Add the flour mixture, stirring until just blended. Lightly coat the chocolate chips with flour and fold into the batter. Pour batter into prepared pan.

Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until the top cracks slightly and a skewer inserted into the center comes out with moist pieces clinging to it. Do not overcook the brownies (remember that they will continue to cook slightly after being removed from the oven).

Allow brownies to cool completely before cutting into 2-inch square bars. Serve with a glass of milk or a dollop of whipped cream (or both. I don't judge.)

Makes about 24 brownies.

April Showers Bring Spring Green Risotto

It seems April is upon us. Boston has been enjoying some delightful rainstorms as of late - we've had a few gentle minuets of small watery droplets, some playful showers that seem to pit-pat the pavement with a rhythmic, do-wop beat, and some full-on orchestral thunderstorms. As for me, I've taken to curling up with a book by the window to listen to the watery symphony, or else I stomp around in my green rainboots and black umbrella with the duck handle when I'm forced to go outside for some silly reason or another, like to buy milk or pick up drycleaning or, you know, go to work.

The rain has brought with it not just the opportunity for tall rubber boots, but also the delicious smell of spring, of thawed fingers and sweet grass and rich, wet earth. I even saw pair of red breasted Robins and a bunch of pretty purple blossoms pushing through the stubborn ground on my way home today, so I'm declaring Spring officially here. (I know it's technically been here for a few weeks now - at least, the calendar says it has been - but to me it's not officially Spring until it smells like Spring. Which it now does. Happy Spring.)


All that splashing and puddle jumping can make a girl hungry, so I invited Megan and Maral over for dinner on Tuesday. I made Ina Garten's Spring Green Risotto - a fresh, fragrant jumble of chewy rice, crispy asparagus, tangy spring onions, smooth mascarpone cheese and zesty lemon. We ate it sprinkled with chives and a touch of nutty parmesan and, paired with a crisp glass (or two) of Chardonnay and the best vanilla cupcakes in Boston (thanks, Maral), it made for the most wonderful dinner. It was warm and comforting (we ate it while watching Jeopardy and watching the rain bounce off the window sills), yet it tasted light and fresh, flecked beautifully with the green bounties of Spring. And the best part is you don't even have to wait for a rainstorm to make it. Just make sure it smells like Spring.




Spring Green Risotto
Adapted from Ina Garten

I know some people get nervous about risotto because they think they'll have to spend a lot of time standing over the stove, stirring away lest the rice burn, but fear not: this recipe is pretty much foolproof. You won't burn the rice. There's a bit of stirring involved, yes, but a little stirring never hurt anybody. Have a glass of wine handy and some good music playing. I prefer Nanci Griffith for this particular risotto (I think she goes nicely with rainy days), but you can choose whomever you like. In fact, you don't even have to use spring onions and asparagus in your risotto - use whatever springy jewels catch your fancy. Try artichokes, or yellow beets, or sweet green peas, or all of them at once! It's Spring, people! Catch the fever! And wear your rainboots.

Notes:
1. When I say I used spring onions for this dish, I don't mean scallions. I mean super-scallions. You can find big spring onions in the produce section at most supermarkets and farmer's markets once the winter weather starts to thaw. They look like scallions on steroids, with large, plump white bulbs and long green stalks. Choose onions that have stiff, vibrant green stems and are free of blemishes.

2. Arborio rice is a short-grained, Italian rice. They look like little rice nuggets, and give off the perfect amount of starch for the risotto. Look for it in the rice aisle at the supermarket.

3. Mascarpone cheese is basically the Italian version of cream cheese. Look for it in any market with a sizeable cheese section. I got mine at Whole Foods.

Ingredients:

• 2 Tablespoons olive oil
• 1 Tablespoon butter
• 3 cups (about 3 large) spring onions, chopped (white and light green parts)
• 1 cup chopped fennel (about half a large bulb)
• 1.5 cups Arborio rice
• 2/3 cup dry white wine
• 4 to 6 cups chicken stock
• 1 pound thin asparagus
• 1/2 Tablespoon freshly grated lemon zest
• salt and freshly ground pepper
• 1.5 Tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1/3 cup mascarpone cheese
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese (plus extra for serving)
• 3 tablespoons chopped fresh chives (plus extra for serving)

Directions:

Heat chicken stock in a small saucepan and bring to a simmer. In another medium pot, bring some water to boil (for blanching the asparagus).

Heat the olive oil and butter in a deep pot or dutch oven over medium heat. Add the spring onions and fennel and saute for 5 to 7 minutes, until soft and tender. Add the rice and stir for a minute or two to coat the grains with veggies, oil and butter. Add the white wine and simmer over low heat, stirring until most of the wine has been absorbed. Add the chicken stock, 2 ladles at a time, stirring intermittently and waiting for the stock to be absorbed before adding more. It will probably take about 25 to 30 minutes to add the chicken stock. Don't feel obligated to add all of the stock - if the rice doesn't seem to want to absorb any more liquid, stop adding stock.

Meanwhile, cut the asparagus in roughly 1.5 inch pieces (discarding the tough ends). Throw some salt into the pot of boiling water and drop in the asparagus, blanching them for about 4 to 5 minutes, until al dente. Drain the asparagus and cool immediately in ice water or under a cold running faucet.

When the risotto has been cooking for about 15 minutes, drain the asparagus and add it to the risotto with the lemon zest, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1 teaspoon pepper. Continue cooking and adding stock, stirring until the rice is tender but still firm.

Whisk the lemon juice and mascarpone together in a small bowl. When the risotto is done, turn off the heat and stir in the mascarpone mixture plus the Parmesan cheese and chives. Add more salt and pepper to taste, and serve hot with a sprinkle of chives and extra Parmesan cheese.

Serves about 4.



PS: Don't forget dessert.