My Tomatoes, Mea Culpa

In a recent article for the New York Times, Melissa Clark offered a belly-full of ideas for making the best of the late-summer tomato bounty. I've tried to link the article, but it is now available only to those willing to shell out $4.95. Her recipes might just be worth the asking price, especially for anyone laboring under a pound or two of quickly softening tomatoes. Ms. Clark's recipes are simple, but sparkle with more imagination than I can muster myself these days come 6:30 when I wander into my hot kitchen, rummage through the vegetables spilling out of the refrigerator crisper drawer, and set to making yet another grilled veggie pasta salad. This article might just be worth the asking price, especially for anyone laboring under a pound or two of quickly softening tomatoes.

A tomato bounty is the last thing a tomato lover would complain about. And, my caprese-salad eating lips are not complaining. But, I have found myself thumbing cookbooks and trolling websites in search of tomato recipes to make me feel like I celebrated -- rather than simply managed to consume -- this season's crop. Ms. Clark's recipe for tomato confit, a more summery moniker for oven-roasted tomatoes, roused me from my tomato routine. Her suggestions for how to serve them -- over warm polenta, or ricotta-smeared crostini -- had me raiding my own plants, my CSA farm box, and eventually produce section of Giant Eagle. I think I've roasted 8 pounds of cherry tomatoes over the last two weeks. Is this late-summer sacrilege? Isn't this the season for hymning the simple perfection of a raw tomato?

Well, I'm shaking off my scruples. Heaven may taste like a ruby-ripe tomato plucked from the vine, but it's no sin to cook summer tomatoes. In fact, I'm starting to think heaven tastes like a small pizza, its crust so thin it shatters when bitten, topped with a scattering of charred cherry tomatoes. There are more ways than one to honor the tomato season and keep it holy.

My bounty of oven roasted tomatoes gave me the initiative to shake up the margherita pizza cycle I'd been happily perpetuating all summer. I switched out the mozzarella for ricotta, the basil for mint, and tossed on a few pine nuts.

And for the crust ... There was a time when I made my own pizza dough. Then, during a heatwave, I discovered the convenience of store-bought pizza dough and have rarely looked back. Guided by a recent edition of Lynn Rossetto Kasper's Splendid Table newsletter, I found a stash of thin crusts in my refrigerator packaged under the label,"flour tortillas." Cook your summer tomatoes. Borrow your pizza crusts from burrito parts. This might be gastronomic sacrilege, but I made it, I tasted it, and it was good.


Oven Roasted Tomatoes
Makes more than enough for four pizzas. Any extra tomatoes (I somehow never have any) can be refrigerated for a few days. Adapted from Melissa Clark's article in the New York Times.

For roasted tomatoes:
3 cups ripe cherry or grape tomatoes
5 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
generous pinch crushed red pepper flakes
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Spread tomatoes and garlic out on baking sheet. Drizzle with 1/4 cup oil, add crushed red pepper, a large pinch of salt and several grinds of pepper. Bake until tomatoes are wrinkled, fragrant, and a bit blackened, about 35 minutes, shaking pan once or twice. Transfer tomato pan to a rack to cool. Discard garlic.

Roasted Cherry Tomato Tortilla Pizzas
Makes 4 8-inch pizzas. Recipe inspired by Jacques Pepin via Lynn Rossetto Kasper's weekly newsletter from The Splendid Table.


For pizzas:
4 8-inch flour tortillas
extra virgin olive oil
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
1 container good quality ricotta cheese
1/4 cup mint leaves, finely torn
fine zest of 1 lemon
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts

Preheat the oven to 500°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper. Drizzle some olive oil on parchment paper, and press tortillas in the oil to coat them well on one side, and then turn them over, so they are oiled on the other side.

In a small bowl, mix ricotta with a few drizzles of olive oil, coarse salt and pepper. Divide ricotta among the 4 tortillas and spread it thinly with a spatula.

Bake for 6-8 minutes, or until puffed and crisp. Divide roasted tomatoes among tortillas and continue to bake for a few minutes until tomatoes are heated through. Let the pizzas rest out of the oven for a couple of minutes, and then sprinkle with 1/4 cup mint. Scatter some pine nuts and lemon zest over each pizza. Cut into quarters and serve.

Encountering the Monster in the Cake

Strange creatures are popping up everywhere. Late October might be the season when half-human forms with abnormally shaped body parts enjoy their haunting hour, but monsters tend to flock around me throughout the year. No matter what I happen to be reading, writing, or studying, they come in ungainly flocks and droves. And I don't mean the students, or even the professors, but bona fide monsters.

This semester, I've set aside the medieval monsters that populate my dissertation for their better known ancestors of Classical Mythology: There's the Minotaur devouring Athenian youths, the Sphinx riddling Oedipus, and the Cyclops, blind and hurling stones at Odysseus as he sails away. Briareus, Scylla, Charybdis, the Centaurs and Satyrs, Medusa ... it's a wonder I can sleep at night.

The monster has been defined variously in antiquity and more recently as an affront to ontological categories, an aberration of the natural order, a portent, and a marvel. Decked out with extra limbs, double faces, and hybrid silhouettes, monsters exasperate and intimidate, but they also attract.

In other words, encountering the monstrous is no cake-walk, but the monstrous just might be encountered through a cake. Or, so I began to think when I recently found myself elbow-deep in lemon curd, crafting my own edible boundary violation -- a cake whose parts I cobbled together from multiple recipes, hoping that the sum of its fragments would be more marvel than aberration of nature.

The shortbread crust and egg-white mousse I borrowed from epicurious.com. I chose the lemon curd formula from a long list of curd recipes on Martha Stewart's site. The glaze I pillaged from a blood-orange cheesecake recipe in Ms. Stewart's Desserts. I switched the juice flavor from orange to cranberry and doubled the quantity.

Not only was this cake a monstrous jumble of parts, it was a monster to make. As it emerged from pools of egg yolks, lemon juice, and cream, it left a trail of dirty bowls in its wake. Its birth was indeed exasperating, but -- as befits a monster -- strangely attractive.


This cake's cobbled-together parts were, in the end, a marvel: buttery shortbread feet; fluffy lemon mousse belly; mirror-slick cranberry head; nasturtium hair.

Monsters are, according to the Latin, "things that show" (monstra). They're able to show, I think, because they attract our gaze. When we look at their strange shapes, we sometimes see reflections of ourselves. This, at least, I learned as I peered into the shiny surface of this monster cake.


Lemon Mousse Cake with Cranberry Glaze
Makes 10-12 servings.


For Curd (makes about 3 cups):
12 large egg yolks
1 1/2 cup sugar
1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (about 6 lemons)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into pieces

For Crust:
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
2 cups shortbread cookie crumbs (about 7 1/2 ounces)
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted

For Mousse:
5 tablespoons water
4 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
6 large egg whites
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups chilled heavy whipping cream

For Cranberry Glaze:
12 tablespoons cranberry juice
2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
4 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon corn starch

1. Make curd: In a heavy saucepan, combine yolks, lemon zest, lemon juice, and sugar. Whisk to combine. Set over medium heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or heat-safe rubber spatula. Make sure to stir all the sides and edges of the saucepan to keep curd from sticking. Cook until mixture is thick enough to coat a wooden spoon, about 20 minutes. Remove saucepan from heat and add the butter, a few pieces at a time, stirring into the smooth mixture. Transfer curd to a medium bowl. Lay plastic wrap directly onto surface of curd to prevent a skin from forming. Chill until firm, at least 1 hour.

2. Make crust: Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray bottom of an 8-inch-diameter springform pan with nonstick spray. Stir together cookie crumbs and butter is a small bowl. Press onto bottom of pan. Bake until golden, about 12 minutes. Set aside to cool.

3. Make mousse. Pour 5 tablespoons water into a small saucepan. Sprinkle gelatin evenly over, and let stand until it softens, about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, place 2 cups of lemon curd in a large bowl. Stir remaining 1 cup curd in another small saucepan over medium-low heat until very warm.

Stir gelatin mixture over medium-low heat until dissolved and liquid is clear (do not boil). Whisk warm gelatin mixture into 1 cup warm curd. Gradually whisk gelatin-curd mixture into the 2 cups curd in large bowl.

Using an electric mixer, beat egg whites in a medium bowl until soft peaks form. Gradually add sugar, beating until whites are think and glossy, about 5 minutes. Fold whites into curd mixture in 3 additions. Rinse medium bowl and beaters. Beat cream in rinsed bowl until peaks form. Fold into egg white-curd mixture in 3 additions. Pour mousse over cooled crust to fill pan almost completely. Cover and chill mousse-cake overnight.

4. Make cranberry glaze: Place 4 tablespoons cranberry juice in bowl. Sprinkle gelatin over top. Let stand until soft, about 10 minutes.

Combine the sugar and 6 tablespoons cranberry juice in a small saucepan, and bring to a boil. Combine the remaining 2 tablespoons cranberry juice and cornstarch in small bowl. Stir until dissolved, and then whisk into boiling cranberry juice. Remove from heat. Stir in softened gelatin-mixture. Cool glaze until lukewarm. Then, pour glaze over top of chilled mousse cake, tipping cake pan to cover completely. Chill until glaze has set, about 1 hour. Note: if the top of mousse-cake is not level, prop up the "low" side with a folded piece of paper as the glaze sets in the fridge.

Solitary Salad

Whew! The last month has been a doozy ... Food and Paper hosted and recently posted the results of the monthly food photography contest, Does My Blog Look Good in This?. If you haven't taken a taste of the entries, pop over to the gallery. And, for dessert, linger over the outstanding winners.

There have been visitors and vacations, backyard and beach dining. On one July night, I found myself, together with 30 of my closest family members, tearing at the flesh of a suckling pig. Happy birthday, Granny.

In other news, we've welcomed into our household a rambunctious little Wheaten Terrier pup, who (sometimes) comes to calls of "Sadie." She may not be fodder for a food blog, but she has certainly made her home in the kitchen where she chews her stuffed woodchuck, digs in her water dish, and pees on the floor. When she does the latter, I threaten to cook her up in the crock pot, but it's all bluster... she'd be a monster to skin. These dogs are furry.

It's also been hotter than a habanero in Pittsburgh...too hot to hover over a stove, too hot to set the table, too hot to carry on a civilized conversation.

Whew!, I say.

When that's about all I can say, the time is right for solitary salad.

Solitary salad is my dinner choice when I have only my own belly to nourish and my own taste buds to please. It's a simple thing, ready in a jiffy, and capable of endless variation. What follows, then, is less a recipe than a record of what I ate on a steamy evening in early August, a book on Greek Archeology my only table guest.

It all starts with fresh greens, romaine when I have it, as I did in this case, scored from my CSA farm box. Avocado is an absolute. If the opportunity for a solitary salad presents itself, I'll make a run to the grocery, filling my shopping basket with nothing more than a single avocado. To this crunchy and creamy combo, I add something sweet (strawberries) or crisp (radishes). This particular incarnation features cherry tomatoes, the first few specimens from my garden, and the first tomatoes I've ever grown. Thanks, Mom, for wiggling your green thumb in my direction! Sliced gorgonzola, a cheese deemed by my daily dinner companion too stinky to be food, lends an whiff of indulgence to the salad bowl.

Stinky cheese often graces my table when it's set for one.

So do smoked sardines, layered on a bed of sticky rice and nori.

And, so does butter, lots of it, melted into a pile of egg noodles sprinkled with nutmeg.

M.F.K. Fisher opens An Alphabet for Gourmets with "A is for dining Alone," wherein she describes her own solitary suppers:

"I always ate slowly, from a big tray set with a mixture of Woolworth and Spode; and I soothed my spirits beforehand with a glass of sherry or vermouth, subscribing to the ancient truth that only a relaxed throat can make a swallow. More often than not I drank a glass or two of light wine with the hot food: a big bowl of soup, with a fine pear and some Teleme jack cheese; or two very round eggs, from a misnamed "poacher," on sourdough toast with browned butter poured over and a celery heart alongside for something crisp; or a can of bean sprouts, tossed with sweet butter and some soy and lemon juice, and a big glass of milk. Things tasted good..."

Ms. Fisher, as usual, tells the story of sensual pleasures in a matter-of-fact voice. Dining alone does taste good, at least when seen as gastronomic opportunity rather than social disappointment.

What, dear readers, do you make for yourself when dining alone? Do you have a particular hankering you indulge when you don't have other palates to please?

Solitary Salad
Makes a huge salad for one hungry person without dinner companions; otherwise, serves 2.


For dressing:
2 tablespoons shallot, finely diced
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

For salad:
1 large head romaine lettuce, shredded
10 cherry tomatoes, cut in half
1 avocado, diced into large chunks
a good hunk of gorgonzola cheese, sliced into manageable hunks

1. Make dressing: Combine shallot and lemon juice in the bottom of a large, non-reactive bowl. Allow shallot to sit in lemon juice for a few minutes to mellow out. You can prepare the salad ingredients while this happens. Then, pouring in a steady stream, add olive oil to lemon and shallot mixture, whisking continuously until well blended. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

2. Assemble salad: Combine lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, and gorgonzola in the bowl holding the dressing. Toss thoroughly. Eat directly from bowl; or, if sharing, divide between two more reasonably sized bowls, and serve.

DMBLGiT results...

A big thank you to all who sent in entries for July's round of Does My Blog Look Good in This. With squinty eyes and growling stomachs, your judges have scored all 88 photos, and I am pleased to announce the following winners:

Overall 1st Place:

La Tartine Gourmande

Saint Maure, Eggplant, Thyme, and Honey Tartlets
Canon 30D

Overall 2nd Place:

Rasa Malaysia
Bacon Wrapped Cherry Tomatoes
Canon EOS Digital Rebel XT


Overall 3rd Place:

Burnt Mouth
Dal with Crispy Fried Herbs
Olympus FE-170, 6.0



Winner in Aesthetics:

Bonappegeek
Be One with Peas



Winner in Edibility:

Cafe Fernando
Cherry Tomato and Feta Cheese Tart with Fresh Thyme
Kodak P880

Winners in Originality:

In this category, there was an unlikely four-way tie. In no particular order:

Ms. Adventures in Italy
Watermelon Sorbetto Granita

Cherrapeno
Raspberry Truffles
Canon PowerShot A640

Cook Almost Anything
Hazelnut Heart Doughnuts with Chocolate Sauce
Nikon D50

Tasty Palettes
Vegetarian Dumplings with Dipping Sauce
Canon Proshot Pro1 with color splash

Congratulations to the winners! You have earned the Good Looking Blog badge for your sites. You may choose from the following colors...thanks to Bea of La Tartine Gourmande and Suganya from Tasty Palettes for helping me figure out how to offer these badges.


Best of luck to next month's entries!