Comfort Foods and Indulgences

The first time I tasted roasted chickpeas was at a friend’s house. She was so excited about them and quite frankly so was I….until I took a bite. The chickpea was all mealy and soft in the center. It was a total let down and I can’t think of any word to describe it except for….bleh.

I tried not to make a face, but when I didn’t eat anymore of them, well I guess that sent its own message. Is that not the worst when someone is really excited about something they made and it’s just bad?

Here’s the thing, with every recipe there’s a trick. When it comes to roasting chickpeas, it’s all about making sure they are hard like a nut before removing them from the oven. Sure a couple of them won’t be perfect but most of them should. This will require turning the pan and/or moving the chickpeas around on the baking sheet. You’ll also want to taste them before you pull them out just to make sure.

The final texture will be crunchy like a peanut. You’ll know when you bite into the right one. And they are such a great alternative for people who have nut allergies.

I love putting these in trail mix for my boys (I have one with a nut allergy) and even serving them at a cocktail party as a little munchie. Everyone loves them.

It was a two-line email—the kind that makes you sit up and think—because it addressed an issue faced daily by millions of grill masters around Planet Barbecue:

“Sometimes we buy cheap beef because we are on a budget,” wrote Diane Q. “These steaks are often tough. We have tried salt, meat tenderizer, and marinades. Could you please tell me the best way to tenderize the steaks?”

I immediately thought of my last trip to Southeast Asia, and in particular, to steaks I ate hot off the grill in Siem Reap, Cambodia, and Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Both were explosively flavorful thanks to complex marinades and polymorphic condiment spreads. And both were tough as proverbial shoe leather.

We North Americans and Europeans are spoiled when it comes to steak. Our notion of a “fork-tender” filet mignon or a “silver butter knife” sirloin (the signature steak at Murray’s in Minneapolis—so named because it’s so tender, the steak knife glides through the meat as though it were butter) are the stuff of dreams on much of Planet Barbecue.

Recently I had a tryst with an old flame. No, ‘old flame’ is not quite right. You see, I’ve mindlessly used him many times over the years--even recently--meeting him most often in dark movie houses. On rare, more daring occasions we met in my bedroom, on nights when I admit I much more anticipated my latest Netflix delivery or guilty-pleasure TV show. He was always a second thought; an accompaniment; a reliable, cheap snack I held back from enjoying fully, lest I spoil the more respectable dinner waiting for me at home.

But this night was different. I was alone. . .insatiable, yet I longed for something more substantial, more fulfilling. . .more memorable. Suddenly, and for the first time, I saw him in a new light. The idea seemed so silly given our past dealings, that I needed some kind of sanity check before making the call. I did what one does when faced with such a crisis. I grabbed my phone, and desperately tweeted:

No one did (talk me out of it), but when shortly thereafter I received an inquisitive tweet from none other than the brilliant Amy Ephron (“What does homemade mean?”, “Did you grow and dry the corn, or do you just mean ‘not microwaved’?”, “Recipe, please?”), I knew I was on to something, and that there was no turning back.

I love Fettuccine Alfredo, but during the summer months it's a little heavy. It doesn't mean I still don't crave it. 

I have made "Lighter" Fettuccine Alfredo and a quick "weeknight" version of Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo. Both are fabulous but I still wanted something lighter, something more summery with a kiss of sunshine. After racking my brain, I decided charred corn, basil an eensy bit of cream (1/4 cup) and some lemon juice would make a perfect summer alfredo sauce. Okay, honestly I didn't even know if it was going to work.

But it did! It's not heavy and almost seems "sauceless" but at the same time it's creamy. I know that's hard to imagine but you'll get it once you taste it. Let's just call it an anomaly. 

I am currently into shrimp, mostly in tacos, but they seem to be appearing in my other dishes too. I couldn't resist topping this very summery pasta with some blackened shrimp.

Let me set the stage, a bite of the shrimp, with its cajun flavors, the sweet corn and bright lemon taste in the pasta...it's heaven and summa' all in one bite. You will make this again and again.