I posted a version of these photographs over on Instagram (look me up!) with the caption "trying to get my mojo back."

And it's true—while I could tell tall tales of action-packed holidays and busy work schedules and many too many meals out, the simple fact is that some time in November my wonderful sister and brother-in-law gave me a session with a house cleaner for my birthday, which led me to put my photo lights in the closet and ... well, that's pretty much all it takes to leave me thoroughly distracted.

So how have I fed myself the past couple of months? Mostly with spoonfuls of cottage cheese straight from the container for breakfast, brick-sized turkey sandwiches grabbed out of deli cases for lunch, and convenience foods for dinner. I dabbled in the kitchen here and there, but my efforts felt for the most part clumsy and disappointing and unsatisfying. 

And you know what? It started to really get me down. Granted, I know about the extent to which our heads are in the game when it comes to food more than most, but I realized I was feeling listless and off track. Putting mystery meat, other assorted blech, and much of the world's supply of potatoes into my body day after day was affecting my waistline and my psyche.

I knew that if I wanted to regain my footing, I was going to need an absolute bolt out of the blue.

And here she be:


Beautiful. Fresh. Colorful. "Taste the rainbow" doesn't have to mean Skittles, friends. These are all healthy, unadulterated ingredients, but they're also delicious and indulgent.

For this little jump start, I went to the fancy market and bought all organic ingredients. That's truly not necessary—I find I can't afford to eat that way all the time, in funds or in time—but it went a long way toward making this meal feel like a treat I was giving myself. In all, I spent about $35 on everything you see here (with potatoes and tomatoes and eggs and olives and onion and greens left over), and got four good-size portions out of the deal. That's better bang for your buck than I generally get from eating out.

In the end, this is a salad. Some people just can't get all that excited about a salad, and I totally understand that. Sometimes I am some people, too. But the beauty of this salad is that there are so many components that each bite can taste a little bit different than the last, which makes your taste buds ever so happy. Especially if you save the olives for last.

There are a few tips to making this work as a quick meal, as opposed to feeling like you're making seven different dishes:

1. Cook the potatoes first. Blanch the green beans during the last few minutes of the potato cooking time.

2. Slice the onion, halve the tomatoes, trim the beans, and make the dressing while the potatoes cook. Also set your eggs out on the counter to come to room temperature.

3. Once the green beans and potatoes come out of the boiling water, add the eggs—fewer pots to wash!

4. Grill the tuna first, and slice the cooked potatoes in half; then add the potatoes, cut-side down, to the grill to pick up a little of that charred flavor (OK and maybe also so they'll look pretty.)

5. Set aside some dressing, and toss the warm potatoes in it the minute they come off the grill. FYI this does nothing to make the process easier or more efficient, it's just delicious.

6. Remember to have some ice on hand if at all possible for shocking the eggs. This makes the water cold-cold, so that egg whites gasp in horror and shrink from the shells, which makes peeling ever so much easier. I did not have ice, and ... well, you'll see there are three eggs here instead of four. (RIP fourth egg.)

Enjoy!


Tuna Salad Niçoise

8 fingerling potatoes
10 ounces haricots vert or fresh green beans
½ 10-ounce package mixed baby lettuces
8 ounces grape tomatoes, halved
¼ large red onion, thinly sliced
16 pitted kalamata or niçoise olives
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
4 tablespoons red wine vinegar
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced and divided
1 (8-ounce) tuna steak
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4 large eggs, at room temperature

1. Cook potatoes in boiling water to cover 15 minutes or until just tender. Add haricots vert to boiling water during last 3 minutes of cooking time. Remove haricots vert and potatoes from boiling water with tongs; place haricots vert in a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking process. Slice potatoes in half lengthwise. Set aside.

2. Whisk together mustard, vinegar, 2 tablespoons oil, and 1 garlic clove in a medium bowl. Set aside.

3. Season tuna on both sides with salt and pepper. Heat grill pan over medium-high heat, and brush lightly with olive oil. Cook tuna 3 minutes on one side; turn, and cook 1 to 2 minutes (for rare) or until desired degree of doneness. Set aside.

4. Place potatoes, cut sides down, on grill pan; cook 3 to 5 minutes or until potatoes are well marked. Remove to a bowl, and toss with about 2 tablespoons reserved dressing. Set aside.

5. Add eggs to boiling water; cook exactly 6 minutes, and remove to a bowl of ice water.

6. Heat remaining 1 garlic clove in remaining 1 tablespoon oil in a small skillet over medium heat about 1 minute or until fragrant. Add haricots vert, and toss until lightly heated through. Sprinkle with salt to taste. Cut tuna into thin slices. Carefully peel eggs, and gently cut in half crosswise.

7. Line a platter with baby lettuces; top with tomatoes, onion, olives, haricots vert, tuna, eggs, and potatoes. Serve with remaining dressing. Makes 4 servings.

 

This is sheer comfort food, my people.

But first, I feel compelled to do a little proppy shout-out: My sister got me that bangin' orange spoon (part of a colorful set I adore); the seersucker fabric and the Anthropologie canister (bringing my total canister count to nine, because I am insane) were loot from Coastal Living prop sales; and as a last-minute thought because my "living herbs" thyme was attached to a healthy-but-ugly root ball, I shoved it into a beautiful gold mortar from my friend Jenny. The board was a hand-me-down from my dad, and the bowl is of course (of course) a treasured gift from my gramma.

And that little commercial break was courtesy of the fact that every piece reminds me of a person I love or a fond memory, even if that fond memory was just buying something pricey for a sweet sweet deal.

Now, back to the comfort food!

I wasn't in any particular need for comfort last night, for which I am grateful, but it was officially October, and I wanted something that said, fall is here even if the temperatures outside still hover in the late-summer region.

This also was originally intended to be vegetarian, but something about the super-lean beef just called out to me. It's simple enough to just omit and have a lovely meat-free option if that's your druthers. And speaking of super-lean, this beef was just 7 percent fat, so I had to add a little oil to the pan before sautéing my veggies. If your beef is chunkier, you can just drain all but a tablespoon or so of the fat away, and then use that for even meatier flavor.

You can simmer the lentils and vegetables in water if you like, but I used beef broth in this case. If you follow my lead, go really easy on the salt until everything has had a chance to cook completely. It can be tough to judge the saltiness of the broth you're using before then. After that, you can just salt to taste!

I pureed about half the soup with my immersion blender before I stirred the beef in. I liked the thickening effect, but still having some bite to the lentils. It's a completely optional step, though—this will taste lovely either way.

The potato puffs (hat tip to my friend Julie, who gave me the alternative to calling them "balls") were cheesy, herby little clouds that melted into the stew. You just want to put them into the pan over a gentle heat and let them develop a nice golden brownness on one or two sides—they're delicate, so they can fall apart in a heap if you try to move them around too much. And keep an eye on them: When they are just warmed through and kissed with butter, they're perfect.

It occurred to me after I inhaled a bowl of this in less than a minute or so that it's really almost a deconstructed shepherd's pie—there's the hearty meatiness and the stick-to-your-ribs veggieness and the earthy herbiness and, well, potatoes. If you're on the go, you can serve the stew with whatever quick potatoes you like. Just make sure they're kissed with butter, obvs.

Just before I plated this up (and I absolutely love it when this happens), I decided there was something about the symmetry of the potatoes that was bugging me, so I plopped a big old dollop of sour cream in the middle out of nowhere. When it was time to eat, I realized that it's absolutely essential to the flavor here—tangy and bright and cooling and perfect with the potatoes. So if you do decide to replicate this for dinner this week, don't omit the sour cream! It's just that extra oomph that's totally worthwhile.

I had a little sour cream in my fridge at home, which is how that impromptu decision came to be made, but other than a few cloves of garlic I bought everything else at the store, and came out with at least six servings for less than $20. Healthy, delicious, and smart: jackpot!

Enjoy!


Beef-and-Lentil Stew with Romano Potato Puffs

1 pound extra-lean ground beef (93% lean)
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 cup diced yellow onion
½ cup diced carrot
½ cup diced celery
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup dried lentils
1 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
6 fresh thyme sprigs
1 bay leaf
4 cups low-sodium, fat-free beef broth
Romano Potato Puffs (recipe below)
Garnishes: sour cream, fresh thyme leaves

1. Place beef in a stockpot over medium-high heat; sprinkle with kosher salt and black pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes or until browned and cooked through. Transfer beef to a bowl, and set aside.

2. Return pot to stove over medium heat; add canola oil, onion, and carrot. Cook 3 minutes or until onions are softened. Add celery and garlic, and cook 2 more minutes. Stir in lentils and next 3 ingredients, and stir until combined. Stir in beef broth, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 45 minutes or until lentils are tender.

3. Remove thyme stems and bay leaves from lentil mixture. Puree about half the lentil mixture using an immersion blender (or transfer a few cups to a traditional blender, and puree until smooth). Stir in reserved beef until heated through. Serve stew with Romano Potato Puffs, and garnish, if desired. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Romano Potato Puffs

2 medium russet potatoes, chopped
¼ cup shredded Romano cheese
Salt, to taste
Black pepper, to taste
Fresh thyme leaves (optional)
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon butter

1. Place potatoes in cold water to cover in a medium pot; bring water to a boil and cook about 12 minutes or until potatoes are fork-tender. Drain potatoes well and return to pot.

2. Mash potatoes with cheese and salt and pepper to taste. Stir in thyme, if desired. Shape mixture into 1-inch balls. (Mixture will be dry.)

3. Heat butter and oil in a small skillet over medium-low heat until butter is melted. Cook puffs in butter mixture 1 to 2 minutes or just until heated through and golden brown on 1 or 2 sides. (Handle very carefully when turning puffs in the pan.) Serve immediately. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

 

I'm jumping forward a little bit and posting this ahead of some others I have in the wings because I just couldn't resist—look at that sunny yellow nugget! How can you resist?

So, I know they're called "Yukon golds," but is that not the yellowest potato you've ever seen? 

That hasn't the slightest to do with any pats of butter in there, nuh uh no sir.

I'm trying to get on a schedule of posting at night, so I know this comes dangerously close to spammy blogging. Ergo, I shall keep this one short. Or as short as a chronically verbose person can be.

It's becoming something of a reigning philosophy 'round the Woodside that when in doubt, meat and potatoes.

This recipe is not for the faint of heart—really, it might kill you. There is an inordinate amount of butter in there. I'm not usually one to go for gravy with mashed potatoes; as a personal preference I fall firmly in the "cheesy" camp when it comes to my spuds.

This, though, seemed awfully rather dreamy and ingenious—by broiling the potatoes in the gravy, you get a crispy, brown top and a rich, bubbling sauce that keeps the mash super moist and tasty. I thought the potatoes could have been a touch creamier, but that might be my fat-loving American palate getting in the way. I suspect it all depends on the starchiness of your particular taters.

The secret to this-here gravy, what elevates it above the usual gloppy beigeness, is in the full two teaspoons of black pepper. I prefer the already ground stuff in this incarnation; it keeps things smooth and eliminates the chance of chomping into a big piece of peppercorn (which I think tastes like taking a bite out of a charred cast-iron pan). The original concept calls for something listed as "beef gravy or drippings, or beef cubed," which I wasn't sure about, so I omitted it. Instead, I subbed beef broth for the chicken broth because that's what I had on hand, and hoped it would do the work of both ingredients. I don't think the end product suffered, though it's hard to remember because it disappeared so fast.

All credit for this recipe goes to the amazing Seasaltwithfood, a blog I'm guilty of stalking mercilessly.

Alongside I served simply sautéed salt-and-pepper chicken cutlets. On a whim, I just added olive oil to the gravy pan after I'd poured out the gravy, but without cleaning the pan first. That way the chicken browned while picking up leftover gravy bitlets.

Yes, it's a word.

The other revelation? Ina Garten's Brussels sprouts. I first discovered them about a year ago, and they are transformative.

(I also love Savour Fare's bacon-braised Brussels sprouts with cream, but with the gravy bubbling away on the stove, I made a game-time decision not to send myself into full cardiac arrest.)

How good are these Brussels sprouts? A 40-year-old man and a 16-month-old child almost came to blows over them, that's how good. How easy are these Brussels sprouts? Almost shamefully easy. The only tricks are to remember to salt them liberally, and to not take them out of the oven when you think they're burning. They're not; they're just taking on insane amounts of roasted, blistering flavor. When you cut the bottoms off the sprouts, you'll probably end up with a board full of leftover leaves—sprinkle those around the pan, as well. (They become unbelievable crispy sprout chips.)

There's not a lot to this plate—everything sort of takes care of cooking itself, and aside from the potato peeling there isn't a lot of agonizing prep work—but it is about as homey and satisfying as they come.



Mashed Potatoes Baked in Gravy with Salt-and-Pepper Chicken
2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and chopped
6 tablespoons cream or milk
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
11 tablespoons butter, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced (optional)
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon onion powder
3 cups reduced-fat, low-sodium beef broth
2 teaspoons ground black pepper
4 chicken cutlets
2 tablespoons olive oil

1. Boil potatoes until fork-tender; drain. Mash potatoes with cream, salt, and 4 tablespoons butter. Set aside.

2. In a large, deep skillet, melt 6 tablespoons butter over medium heat. Add garlic, if desired, and sprinkle with flour; cook, whisking constantly, 1 to 2 minutes or until flour is golden. Whisk in beef broth and pepper, and cook until gravy thickens. Pour gravy into baking dish, and return pan to stovetop. (Do not clean pan.)

3. Sprinkle chicken cutlets with salt and pepper. Heat olive oil in pan, and sauté chicken 5 to 6 minutes on each side or until golden brown and cooked through. Remove pan from heat, and cover with foil to keep warm.

4. Top gravy in baking dish with reserved mashed potatoes; top with dots of remaining 1 tablespoon butter. Broil 6 to 8 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown and gravy is bubbling. Serve with chicken cutlets. Makes 4 servings.

Ina Garten's Roasted Brussels Sprouts
1 pound Brussels sprouts, washed and trimmed
2 tablespoons olive oil
Kosher salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Toss Brussels sprouts on a baking sheet with olive oil, salt, and pepper; roast 35 to 40 minutes or until sprouts are crisp on the outside and tender inside. (They will be very deeply brown.) Sprinkle with more kosher salt, and serve immediately. Makes 4 servings.

There are several things in the kitchen that frighten me—grilling, roasting whole birds, serving fruit with meat—but few are as daunting as frying. There's just something about roiling oil that doesn't seem particularly friendly to my unique brand of clumsiness.

As a rule, though, not having deep-frying skillz as part of my repertoire hasn't been too limiting; because I love my bread with butter and my grits with cheese, my body isn't protesting that I lack fat-giving prowess in that one area. I happen to be fussy about my fried foods, anyway—though French fries are among my most favorite guilty pleasures, I don't have that Southern affection for fried okra, country-fried steak, or big, bone-filled pieces of fried chicken.

I do, however, in the not-so-secret recesses of my brain, carry an unrelenting torch for boneless fried chicken—thin, cutlet-size pieces of breast with super crunchy, super spicy outsides. I don't have much use for it if it isn't assaulted with cayenne pepper; I'm never going to be someone who orders the chicken fingers off restaurant menus, but I will walk over hot coals listening to Ann Coulter's voice for a Wendy's spicy chicken sandwich.

(SHAME. I feel shame.)

I love this recipe, which I adapted from Food.People.Want, because it's sort of infinitely forgiving. I managed to have the wrong size pot, not enough oil, and a propensity for knocking the candy thermometer into the floor with every ungainly movement. (Truly. I stopped counting after it skittered across the kitchen for the 11th time as I scrambled out of the way in my best attempts to avoid a 325-degree projectile.) But with the right guidance, and a little patience, I came away with four delicate, subversively spicy, sinfully crispy pieces of chicken.

I won't give the recipe for the haricots verts you see here, because it amounted to shallots + garlic + beans = undercooked blahness. I will, however, reveal my secret to luscious, creamy, stick-your-whole-face-in-the-pot mashed potatoes:

PEEL POTATOES.
CHOP POTATOES.
BOIL POTATOES.
MASH POTATOES.
SALT POTATOES.
BUTTERMILK.
BUTTER.
DIE.

I didn't marinate the chicken overnight, and while I think it would be even more spicy and tenderized if I had, it was still delicious without the extra soaking time. I topped the chicken with a little chopped tomato and a spritz of lemon juice to balance the richness, plus a drizzle of ranch dressing to temper the heat and ... add more richness.

Oops.

I will be making this again, and often. Please don't tell my mother. Or my mirror.



Spicy Fried Chicken Cutlets
1 cup buttermilk
2 teaspoons cayenne pepper
4 boneless skinless chicken cutlets
1 tablespoon paprika
1½ teaspoon kosher salt
1½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon dried oregano
½ teaspoon dried thyme
2 eggs
2 teaspoons hot sauce
1 cup self-rising flour
1 teaspoon black pepper
Vegetable oil
Lemon wedges
Garnishes: chopped tomatoes, ranch dressing

1. Whisk together buttermilk and 2 teaspoons cayenne pepper; add chicken, and marinate at least 1 hour or overnight.

2. Combine paprika and next 7 ingredients. In a shallow dish, lightly beat eggs with hot sauce. In a separate shallow dish, combine flour with 1 teaspoon black pepper. Remove chicken from marinade, and sprinkle both sides of each cutlet liberally with paprika mixture. Dip chicken in egg mixture, and dredge in flour mixture, shaking off excess flour.

3. Heat oil over medium-high heat until temperature reaches 325 degrees on a candy thermometer. Fry chicken, in batches, 4 minutes or until golden brown. Keep warm in a 200-degree oven until ready to serve. Sprinkle with lemon juice, and garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

Last night, as I curled up on the couch with a full belly and a sleepy, satiated grin, I ruminated on this cooking business I've been getting into over the past three or four years—I never had any interest in cooking as a child, and my college culinary expertise consisted mainly of cooking a bag of frozen lima beans, pouring them into a bowl, and melting a pasteurized cheese slice on top in the microwave. (Don't knock it till you try it.) But then I got my very own kitchen, doll-sized though it was, and my very own paycheck, doll-sized though it was, and my very own license to stroll the grocery store and pick up whatever my little heart desired.

I'd never really listened to my little heart before that.

And today the whole exploit just makes me happy. I love to create something, either by walking in someone else's footsteps or charging wildly down my own path, and I don't know much that's better than having it turn out just as you'd secretly hoped—with every finger crossed and more fervently than you'd ever admit. (I'm a tremendously poor sport when it doesn't. That's the nature of high hopes; their counterpart is nauseating disappointment. Or maybe that's the nature of perfectionism. Ahem.)

I knew last night's dinner needed to be something more wholesome than a gooey mess of cheese and creamy, chickeny goodness. (Praise be to creamy goodness, amen.) There were collard greens in the refrigerator, so that's where this meal began, but the rest just fell together unusually organically. It was one of those rare moments when I knew just what flavors I wanted to taste together. In a way I blame the collards—that greens taste isn't for everyone, and there are a lot of people who swear by cooking them for days to get rid of the bitterness, but me? I know a thing or two about being bitter, and sometimes it just needs a little balance (garlic, spicy red pepper, vinegar, and sweet shallots) and the right partners.

In this case, that meant crispy roasted potatoes and meaty salmon burgers, a throwback to a childhood spent watching the toaster oven, counting down the seconds until my mother's salmon patties were ready. She made them with canned salmon and, because I was a spectacularly odd child, I loved the bones. She always told us that they were full of calcium and other healthy goodness. That way I could convince myself I wasn't just a kid who liked to eat fish bones.

No really, I was very, very weird.

But last night, as I whirred and mixed and assembled, I did marvel at how easy the whole endeavor is becoming with practice. Yes, there are also stunning failures, and I'm not reinventing haute cuisine, and I can't bake my way out of a cardboard box, but it's become something of a healthy addiction. I wondered, after I'd plated my dinner and set up my shots and devoured my plate, how people with lives do it.

Sure, I have my job and my pooper and my family and friends, but workdays end and dogs are kept occupied with backyards and food bowls. Particularly when they are easily distracted. It can't be easy when there are babies and lovers and in-laws in the mix.

So this is my hat tip to you, busy, life-having people. Guess what? You can make this one on a weeknight without breaking a sweat. I promise.

The salmon burger recipe is adapted from a Mark Bittman one, the potatoes are an old Cook's Illustrated masterpiece, and the collard greens are from the back of my brain in a place so dusty I don't remember their origin. But they are delicious. The only improvement I might have made? A dollop of sour cream on the salmon sounds about perfect to me. I just didn't think of it until J wanted to go to the bathroom at 1:43 this morning.



Salmon Burgers
1½ pounds salmon fillets, skinned and cut into large pieces, divided
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 shallots, peeled and chopped
1 tablespoon drained capers
½ cup breadcrumbs
Hot sauce, to taste
Kosher salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons butter
Lemon wedges

1. Process about ⅓ pound salmon with mustard in a food processor until it becomes a paste. Add shallots, capers, and remaining salmon, and pulse until mixture is combined with paste and chopped into small pieces (roughly ¼ inch).

2. In a medium bowl, stir together salmon mixture, breadcrumbs, hot sauce, salt, and pepper. Form mixture into 4 large patties.

3. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook patties 3 minutes on each side, or until cooked through. Squeeze lemon wedges over patties just before serving. Makes 4 servings.

Crispy Roasted Potatoes
2½ pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, sliced (about ½ inch thick)
4 teaspoons kosher salt, divided
5 tablespoons olive oil

1. Place a rimmed baking sheet on oven rack in the lowest position, and preheat oven to 450.

2. Place potatoes and 1 tablespoon kosher salt in stockpot with cold water to cover by 1 inch; bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 5 minutes or until edges are soft but centers are still undercooked. Drain.

3. Transfer potatoes to a large bowl, and add 2 tablespoons oil and ½ teaspoon kosher salt. Mix well with a rubber spatula. Add 2 more tablespoons oil and remaining ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and toss until potatoes are coated with a starchy paste.

4. Remove the heated baking sheet from the oven, and drizzle with remaining 1 tablespoon oil. Place potato slices on baking sheet in a single layer, and bake 10 minutes. Rotate pan, and bake 15 more minutes.

5. Remove baking sheet from oven, and, using tongs or a metal spatula, flip each potato slice. Bake 20 minutes, rotating pan halfway through cooking time. Makes 4 servings.

Easy, Don't-Take-All-Day Collard Greens
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
2 to 3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper, or more to taste
1 bunch fresh collard greens, stems removed
Kosher salt, to taste
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar

1. Heat oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat; add shallot, and sauté until soft. Add garlic and crushed red pepper, and cook 1 minute or until fragrant. Add collard greens, sprinkle with kosher salt, and pour over ¼ cup water. Cover and cook 15 minutes, or until leaves are wilted but still green. Stir in red wine vinegar, and serve. Makes 2 to 4 servings.



On a personal note? I'm grateful for many things this Groundhog Day. I hope you all know who you are. Today, I didn't see the shadow.