11: Zip (Lemons)
Justifying keepsakes and the jarred beans I keep buying.
I’ve taken to tucking hand-written notes and other paper-esque ephemera into random books lately, just so that I come across them at another point in life. Maybe it’s because I’m terrible at keeping a journal these days, or perhaps for a future rush of nostalgia, a zip if you will. It’s a way of remembering in fragments, in moments, and in some ways to justify my penchant for keeping things.
One of my flaws is ascribing a little too much meaning to objects, marking them with memories or locations or people. Meals, too, fall into this category—it’s a rush to revisit something I’ve eaten at a pivotal moment, good or bad. My brain traps them in a vice grip, unwilling to relinquish the ones I’d prefer to forget. The gift is that I’ll always carry with me the chilled eggplant soup at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, a dish that unlocked what food could be to a teenager from southern Indiana. The first time I ate anchovies in L’Escala, Spain on our honeymoon. Soupy, salty-sweet porridge on a cool summer morning in the Scottish highlands.
But it also means I can’t leave behind getting dumped after Yonah Schimmel knishes the day before NYE, the party stocked with Eastern District cheese that was supposed to cheer me up during a job-induced nervous breakdown, and the smell of rotting cantaloupe at the end of melon season that has haunted me since childhood.
I’ll tell you something more, though: It’s even more precious to come back to the inconsequential. Arby’s roast beef sandwiches after soccer practice, belly laugh-inducing Valentine’s Day flops (undercooked bad scallops, overcooked steak with an inedible crust), or an ice-cold slice of watermelon in the middle of July at Lucali.
They all hold onto each other, like fingers in lovers’ tightly-clasped hands, tethered together in an act of acknowledgment: This happened. Life happened. And none of it exists without all of it.
Recipe I’ve Made Too Many Times in Four Weeks (and Didn’t Photograph)
Speaking of revisiting, I’m squeezing every last ounce of juice out of peak citrus season. I’ve cooked more with more oroblanco grapefruits, blood oranges, mandarins, and cara cara oranges this year than any prior. But I always come back to the lemon. I love it sliced whole and braised with broccoli rabe for an hour in olive oil, stuffed in Melissa Clark’s splayed roast chicken (my go-to), and in Atlantic Beach Pie, which I make every year for Alex’s birthday.
As we shuffle back and forth toward spring, I’ve cooked Deb Perelman’s Parmesan oven risotto more than once, kicking it up with two lemons worth of zest (I don’t even add the extra butter knob at the end; just more water to make pourable). The result is an exquisitely lifted vegetarian main dish, on which you can pile braised fennel, sauteed kale, or any number of other green goodies finding their way out of the ground after hibernation.
Bonus: Just this weekend I took cues from a dish at our new neighborhood wine bar, Liar Liar, and roasted broccolini at 425F for 20 or so minutes, showered them in pecorino, and then griddled Meyer lemon halves in a hot pan until caramelized to squeeze on top. Next time, I’ll add some cheese to the florets while they cook for a little extra crisp.
An Ideal Wine Bar Glass
Late last week we stopped into With Others, Shanna Nasiri’s year-old wine bar in Williamsburg. Popping up in the kitchen was Hera, chef Jay Rodriguez’s concept that really does a number on vegetables. Aside from his nourishing food, the industrial-tinged interiors from Studio Ahead (and a herd of Fritz Hansen stools), and the welcoming hospitality, Nasiri just gets wine the way I like it. Unfussy, a glass list I’d order anything from, and I particularly loved the Glasvin Bistro glasses, which toe the line between elegant stems and bodega glasses I can’t stick my nose in.
P.S. Shanna and I are planning to teach a joint wine class in April—stay tuned for more details.
Always Stocked
The easiest side dish: warm these beans in a pan with olive oil and salt. Pour into a pretty bowl. Garnish with lemon zest and more olive oil.
One Last Thought
I attended a pasta potluck in late January with the owners of Porta, my favorite home goods store on Atlantic Avenue, and a gaggle of other ladies from the food and media world. The brief was to bring a homemade sauce that would pair with pasta made by Jupiter’s Molly Morgan and Jess Shadbolt. It was so festive and comforting, and I shared my roasted tomato and garlic sauce with them over on their site.