Russian Kale Pesto

And what the hell is this? Kale. Russian. Russian Kale.
When I was living back in Italy, this thing here, with curly leaves and purple stems, sweet taste and non-cabbagy smell, well... I had never seen that thing there. But let's be clear, if by chance any of you knows that it does exist over there, and perhaps has also an aunt who grows it every year in the garden in the back of the house, well, what are you waiting for? Step up and save me from embarrassment.
I actually discovered it only after a decade since I moved here in the U.S., but then, I've always known to be a leader. It seems that Russian kale was introduced in America in the nineteenth century by Russian traders, from which it takes its name. If the same traders had forgotten one plant along the Adriatic coast as well, we do not know.
As for me, when few days ago I decided to use it for the first time, it was love at first sight. Russian Kale, now and forever. It is my new obsession, along with pomelo, sweet lemons and iPad2 Medjool dates. I promise that from now on I will never let it go.


Russian Kale Pesto
for one small jar

Russian kale about 100-130 gr. (about 3 cups)
garlic 2 cloves
cashews about 40 gr. (1/4 cup)
lemon juice 3 teaspoons
grated zest of 1/2 a lemon
extra virgin olive oil about 250 ml. (a little over 1/3 cup)
grated parmigiano cheese about 30 gr. (1/3 cup)
salt, pepper to taste

Toast the cashews in the oven for about ten minutes. Peel the garlic cloves and cut them in half. Wash the kale leaves, remove the hard ends and cut it in pieces. Gather all ingredients in the mortar mixer and blend like crazy.

Fava Bean Pesto

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

[I hate and I love. Why do I do it, perchance you might ask?
I don't know, but I feel it happening to me and I'm burning up.]
(C.V. Catullus, Carmen LXXXV)

Dedicated to the fava bean.

Dear fava, I love you because:
1) You're transient and ephemeral. Available only few weeks a year, you're a treasured fruit, a true delicacy. When you come, it's a feast;
2) Protected even by two precious pods, you're intriguing and mysterious. With reason, you're hiding from the outside world, giving yourself only to those who take you really seriously;
3) You're of such a nice pastel green that it instantly makes one happy;
4) You're a spontaneous and wholesome lady, with all the taste of the old world;
5) You're really good.

Dear fava, I hate you because:
1) You're confusing and erratic. One never knows when you're about to arrive, and one can't even look for a recipe that you've already disappeared;
2) Protected even by two hairy skins, you're arrogant and deceitful. You're snobbish with no reason, giving me - from two miserable bags - only one pathetic jar of pesto;
3) You're of such a greenish color that it's a little scary;
4) You're just a poor fava, and you make me do all this work?
5) Reluctantly, I have to admit you're always right: you're really good.

I could have never imagined I'd dedicate the wonderful poem above to a green creature. This is called a foodblogger's delirium. Don't pay attention to it, it'll go away soon, just like the very brief fava season.

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
(C.V. Catullus, Carmen LXXXV)


Fava Bean Pesto

fava beans, net about 150 gr.
garlic 1 small clove
grated pecorino cheese 2-3 tablespoons
lemon juice 1 tablespoon
olive oil 3 tablespoons
fresh mint 6-8 leaves
salt, pepper to taste

NOTE: To get 150 gr net of shelled fava beans, I think I started from approximately one and a half kilo of fresh ones (now you understand my delirium?).

Shell fava beans, blanch them briefly in boiling water, then rinse them under cool water and remove their inner skin. At this point, if you love fava beans, take all the ingredients and crush them with love in a mortar. If, instead, you're more on the hate side, take all the ingredients and throw them in a blender for two minutes, just like I did.
Spread the pesto on top of toasted bread slices, or use it for pasta.

Dear fava, I'll see you again next year. Me, I've already done enough.

Citrus Powder

In the last hours of winter, I too have fallen in the trap of this colorful powder. It's become so popular that it's almost boring.
Oh yeah, I've put that thing in it, that orange powder, you know?
And yet the scent is so incredibly good that you'd add it everywhere, on vegetables cooked and raw, in soups and in salads, on fish and meat, in cookies and pastry creams. As for me, right now I'm keeping it as a little treasure, and every once in a while I give a little sniff just to brighten up the day. An orange pick-me-up, pocket size.

Meanwhile, I take the opportunity to say goodbye and take few days off. Armed with this magic potion, I ask for vacation to my own blog. Side effects of the modern world.

Oh, I almost forgot, the so-called recipe: take few organic oranges (or lemons), wash and dry them well, and then peel them, paying attention to leave out the white part - or at least to leave it out as much as possible. Place the citrus peel on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, and let it dry in the oven at the minimum temperature. It will take about one, one and a half hour. When peels are crunchy, process them in a food processor until very fine. And voila', your little powder is ready to use.

Bouillon

Let's be honest, that bouillon made out of those cubes isn't very good, well, even pebbles know that. But - really - is there anyone out there who's got the time to make it from scratch every time you want to make risotto? Let him who is without sin cast the first stone. Somebody else will remind me that there is also the freezer option...it's just that for me it's really inconceivable. Mine is so tiny that pebbles, him, he would make them laugh.

The solution to this tragedy came to me few days ago. When I read this post, I didn't think twice. Finally the door to the foodbloggers' realm opened up to me - the realm of the serious ones, I mean, those who know how to make cream puffs, who have sharp knives, own a lemon zester and who always have a stock of homemade bouillon ready to use. Never again without it.

Note to myself: the recipe comes from this little book, which will be published next summer. To be reserved, absolutely.


Homemade Bouillon Concentrate
for two small jars

fennel bulb 100 gr.
carrots 100 gr.
celery 50 gr.
zucchini 50 gr.
sun dried tomatoes 15 gr.
leeks 75 gr.
shallots 50 gr.
garlic 1-2 cloves
parsley 40 gr.
cilantro (or other herbs, as you'd like) 20 gr.
salt 125 gr.

I cut Heidi's the recipe in half, and I've substituted celery root with zucchini, and cilantro with more parsley, basil and bay leaves.
Wash all the vegetables and cut them in large pieces. Put everything in a food processor and process until you get a thick and moist paste. Divide the paste in two glass jars and keep them refrigerated. When you need to use it, dissolve about two tablespoons in each liter of boiling water.

Walnut Red Pepper Pestos

Or, a slight change on the subject. I have to admit that in this resurgence of winter (at least in Italy, N/A), a red pepper pesto might seem a little heretical, but we're in California, remember?


Walnut Red Pepper Pesto

red bell pepper about 300 gr, net
walnut about 100 gr
garlic 1-2 cloves
apple cider vinegar 1 tablespoon
lemon juice 1 tablespoon
honey 1 teaspoon
salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, cumin to taste

Roast bell pepper on the stove, peel them, discard the seeds and the white filaments and cut them in big pieces. Lightly toast the walnuts and grind them in the mixer along with peeled garlic cloves until they are creamy, but not yet oily. Add bell pepper pieces to the walnuts and puree them adding vinegar, lemon juice, a pinch of cumin, honey, salt, pepper and cayenne pepper.
Use it to dress an unusual pasta or simply spread it on toasted bread slices.

Pomegranate Syrup

Few days ago, I promised I'd palm you off with a post on this syrup. This way, I can further expand the category of Recipes-Non-Recipes, the ones requiring zero effort. Since pomegranate is already out, I didn't even have to squeeze the fruit by myself, and all I had to do was getting a bottle of pure 100% juice, which one can find pretty easily at the supermarket. Why then fresh juice is available even when the fruit it comes from is totally out of season, is a mystery, and it may be better not to investigate. For now.


Pomegranate Syrup

pomegranate juice 1 450ml-bottle
sugar 50 gr.
lemon juice 1/2 teaspoon

In a small pan mix all ingredients. Heat it up slowly and let simmer for about 30-40 minutes, until you reach the desired consistency. The syrup gets thicker when cooling down, so it's better not to trust its appearance and to boil it for not too much time, otherwise instead of syrup you'll end up with a much thicker molasses. Let it cool completely and then refrigerate it.

Green Olive Tapenade

I have a feeling that I'm kind of late, since pomegranate has already had its share of fame, here, here and here.
Probably you've already lost your patience by now and you can't stand any longer the task of taking tons of red seeds out of the shell, leaving irreparable stains all over the kitchen walls and the nicely ironed shirts. But what can I do if pomegranate is highly inflated at this latitude, and I still haven't dedicated one single post to this wonderful fruit?
Better late than never. So said the friend who on New Year Day ate the whole bowl pictured above.


Green Olive Tapenade
with Walnuts & Pomegranate

green olives, pitted 140 gr. (1 cup)
walnut 70 gr. (2/3 cup)
pomegranate 1/2
garlic 1 clove
olive oil, salt, lemon juice, cilantro to taste

Toast walnuts in the oven. Chop them coarsely along with the olives and put them in a bowl with the pomegranate seeds, minced garlic, two tablespoons of olive oil, a pinch of salt, lemon juice and fresh minced cilantro.
Serve as appetizer on slices of toasted bread.

Balsamic Vinegar

Once upon a time there were Louis Vuitton, Chanel and Prada. And then came the fake bags. Which, in some cases, are so well made that they could deceive Coco herself.
Once upon a time there was the traditional balsamic vinegar from Modena. The one obtained from cooked grape must, the one that's left fermenting and aging for a very very long time in small wooden barrels. The one that you need only a drop to feel in Paradise. And then came the 3 dollars bottles. Which could never deceive anyone.

That said, it's obvious that if I could afford it, I'd buy tons of bottles of real balsamic vinegar, and I'd store them inside leather trunks made by Louis Vuitton. But as of now this doesn't seem like a realistic option, and it's better if I keep buying 3 dollar bottles, hoping in some good luck.
In the meantime, thanks to Sabrina from Les Madeleines di Proust, I discovered this way to give poor man's vinegar new life and I have to say I really like it. Well, it's not like the traditional one from Modena (...but what do I know? I've tried it by accident only once. Let's close the parenthesis here...), but it's better than the big bottles you get at the supermarket and most of all it's home made.
If Santa Claus not even this year will throw me a Chanel or few liters of real vinegar from Modena, please let him know that I'm willing to accept some of this. Thanks for your cooperation.


Balsamic-Like Vinegar

fake balsamic vinegar 1/2 liter
honey 3 full tablespoons

Pour the vinegar and the honey in a stainless steel pot and mix well. Let it simmer for about half hour, until it's reduced by half. To check if it's ready, pour a couple of drops onto a plate: they should thicken as they cool down.
Pour the vinegar in a glass bottle, let it cool completely, then cover with a cork.

Shades of Red

My mom used to say that red looked good on me and when I was a kid I was drowning under cherry-color clothes: socks, jumpers and even hair pins.
Maybe this is why even today I instantly fall in love with anything that has even the slightest hint of pink or red. Strawberries, raspberries, cherries. But also cranberries, the Red Velvet Cake, poinsettias and that old FIAT 500 that drives around San Francisco with a California plate. Up to the LV Neverfull bag with roses and the HP mini notebook designed by Vivienne Tam (these last two luxuries are a recent discovery that a temptress friend pointed out to me. I still have to convince myself that one can live without them... : )

You'll find raspberry vinegar quite often here, used as a condiment for salads. To be honest I like it thousands times better than any other kind of creamy dressing of ambiguous colors. Its gorgeous color and sweetish taste go very well both with a simple mixed greens-arugula salad and with fancier creations like the watermelon-feta mix or those yummy salads with caramelized nuts and goat cheese.
When I realized this vinegar is very easy to make on your own, I didn't think twice. I'm a sucker for these recipes-non-recipes. And you know what, now that I think of it I'll even create a new category for them. Recipe-non-recipe: minimum labour, maximum satisfaction : )
And then, don't you go crazy for this color as well?


Raspberry Vinegar
for approximately 1 liter

white wine vinegar 1 liter
raspberries 2 packages
pink or black peppercorns to taste

Choose ripe but firm raspberries, wash them carefully and pat them really dry. Mix them with the vinegar and few peppercorns if you wish. Put in a container and let rest for one month in a cool place. Stir every 3 or 4 days, to mix the fruit better.
When it's ready, strain, discard the raspberries and pour in a bottle.