Gigi is a neighbor and friend of mine who has boundless energy and a vision: She has transformed several lots along a funky stretch of Wedgewood Avenue near the fairgrounds into a stunning urban garden oasis.

She’s on a mission, too. Her Wedgewood Urban Gardens , replete with fruit, flower, and vegetable companion plantings, exist not just for beauty, or as a horticultural place of learning. Gigi is passionate about sustainability in a world of rapidly depleting resources and is creating a working, producing urban farm.

We’d been talking about community-minded things and decided that it would cool to host a once-a-month pot luck gathering of folks in our ‘hood—get a cross section of friends and acquaintances to meet, share food, and talk about what they’re growing/cooking/advocating. Nothing formal, mind you. We decided to lightly structure it—holding the pot luck on the third Thursday of each month—beyond that, guests could bring friends and whatever food and beverage of their choice.

For our launch of the “First Third Thursday” about thirty people came bearing splendid covered dishes and casseroles, cakes, salads, sangria! So fun! And, remarkably, there were no overlaps, or cop-outs. No fifteen bowls of potato salad. No limp bags of baby carrots and a tub of onion dip. Our convivial feast was heavy on fresh, local veggies—some harvested from personal gardens—with a tantalizing balance of desserts. (And, only one meat offering in the lot!)

Here are some that I recall: Watermelon gazpacho, roasted golden beet salad, grilled scallions and asparagus, grilled corn with avocado, brown rice-market veggie medley, fusilli with swiss chard, rosemary roasted fingerling potatoes and leeks, southwest bean casserole, squash gratin, mixed berry pie, pignoli-almond torte, chocolate-zucchini cake, and a Pavlova—luxurious, with its meringue shell supporting a cloud of whipped cream, strawberries, and kiwi.

I made two contributions: The first was this orange-fennel salad, using fennel bulbs from Gigi’s own Wedgewood Urban Gardens, layered with onions and lemon basil grown in my guerrilla garden (the easement across the sidewalk in front of our home.)

There’s something curious, almost comical about the look of fennel: wild-haired in the ground, I think of half-buried tribal heads emerging from earth. Once cut and cleaned they’re strange cartoon-like hands, or albino baseball gloves. At any rate, when shaved fresh for a salad, a little of these goes a long way–in a good way.

The distinctive anise flavor meshed with sweet onion, lemon basil, and orange is so refreshing to the palate, especially in this ninety-plus degree weather. Each layer has some curls of parmegiano-reggiano, and is further drenched in an orange vinaigrette, much like the one used in my Earth Day Salad.

The other dish I served was this chicken roasted with plums and peaches. Here, I have to give a shout-out to a fellow foodblogger, Zoe, a fine cook and graphic artist in the Atlanta area. This wasn’t her recipe, but her Apricot Rosemary Glazed Roast Chicken (posted June 15th), with gorgeous photos, was the inspiration.
(First, we eat with our eyes!)

On hand, I had an Au Naturel chicken, market peaches, and plums from my backyard tree. I brined the chicken overnight in an Asian-based solution—hoisin, ginger, brown sugar, red pepper, garlic—
and roasted it with sliced peaches and whole plums. Succulent and fruity.

One good idea often leads to another; whether it’s from our neighborhood feed or our on-line friends in food, sharing what we know rewards in all kinds of ways.

Layered Orange-Fennel Salad
2 Oranges: 1 1/2 to slice for salad, the other 1/2 for juice and zest
4 bulbs fennel, thinly shaved crossways
1 small sweet onion, sliced thin
1 bunch lemon basil, chopped
parmegiano reggiano—a few curls

Dressing:
1 Tablespoon Orange Zest
2 Tablespoons Orange Juice
2 teaspoons Dry Mustard
1/4 cup White Wine Vinegar
1/2 teaspoon Salt
1/2 teaspoon Black Pepper
1 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Mix all the ingredients in a bowl, except for the olive oil. While whisking, slowly drizzle the olive oil in, until it emulsifies.

To Assemble:
Mix the onion and fennel together and lightly dress.
Place a layer of thinly sliced oranges on a platter.
Layer with fennel-onion mix,
Top with chopped lemon basil and curls of parmegianno-reggianno.
Repeat: Orange slice, then fennel-onion, then lemon basil, then parmegianno, until you’ve built a stacked fennel pyramid!
Drizzle with remaining dressing. Garnish with lemon basil and serve.

Asian Roast Chicken with Plums and Peaches
brine:
1 gallon water
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup hoisin sauce
2 Tablespoons chopped fresh Ginger
1 teaspoon Red Pepper Flakes
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 cup sliced peaches/plums
1 cup Rice Wine Vinegar

1 Good Chicken
several plums and peaches

Mix up brine, and place cleaned chicken into a tub of it. Refrigerate overnight.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Remove chicken from brine, drain, and lay into a baking pan. Surround with sliced peaches, whole and halved plums. Sprinkle with paprika. Truss.
Bake uncovered for 60-70 minutes.

Oh, vegetarian readers, take heed!

Rarely do I eat red meat—no pun intended. After six months and thirty-plus blog postings, this is my first red meat entry. There are times, though, when I do want it, almost feel like my body needs it.

Once I get that beefy iron-rich fix, I am sated for another long while.

I choose either a rib-eye or strip steak, from a grass-fed, pasture raised animal whose life, up until the day of slaughter, was a happy, hormone-and-antibiotic free existence. ( In the Nashville area, Walnut Hills Farm, Emerald Glen Farm, and West Wind Farms all follow these practices.)
Yes, it is pricey, but for those rarest of occasions, plus for ethics and flavor, it’s so worth the expense.

It’s also something that I eat alone.

I live with a vegetarian, and a tolerant one at that. He doesn’t have issues with meat being in the house, or in the skillet, just as long as it doesn’t touch anything that he’s going to put in his mouth. So, the potentially off-putting notion of me carving and gnawing away at some juicy piece of sirloin while he munches a Boca Burger is not the reason.

No, this solo carnivorous undertaking evolved into a funny tradition, born of a time when I worked crazy hours and lived by myself. After an intensive run of cooking all kinds of foods and catering all manner of events, when I had become too bleary to discern what I might enjoy or be capable of putting in my mouth, this was the panacea I discovered.

I would liberally season and pan-sear a steak, pour a glass of red wine, and sit down at a set table to slowly dine. And, slowly, I would restore. In the wake of overwork, that pan seared steak–dined on with the civil accoutrements of china and silver, savored in silence–became the centerpiece of this ritual of nurturing myself.

The marinade, or herb infused coating, is easy to make. It follows a manner used by the Tuscans in cooking their prized Chianina beef. Instead of lemon, I use balsamic vinegar (with a little Worcestershire) as the acid element. With the fresh minced garlic and flat leaf parsley, I add fresh thyme and chives. And, of course, a healthy dose of good olive oil, coarse sea salt and cracked black pepper…the flavors will astonish!

If you can, allow the marinade to permeate the meat for a few hours.

I have an enameled cast-iron grill pan, made by Le Creuset, that works really well for searing, charring, grill-marking the meat. But it’s fine to use a heavy-duty fry pan.You could cook your steak on a charcoal grill, too, but you’d miss out on being able to deglaze the skillet and capture all that cooked-on goodness.

Steak Florentine

2 Tablespoons Olive Oil
1 clove fresh Garlic
1 heaping Tablespoon fresh Italian flat leaf Parsley
2 teaspoons fresh Chives
1 teaspoon fresh Thyme
2 teaspoons Balsamic Vinegar
1 teaspoon Worcestershire Sauce
1 teaspoon Coarse Sea Salt
a few grindings of Black Pepper

New York Strip Steak, bone in

Put the olive oil, garlic, fresh herbs, vinegar, remaining seasonings into a food processor fitted with the swivel blade. Pulse the ingredients until the garlic and herbs are chopped throughout the mixture and the olive oil becomes somewhat emulsified with the balsamic and Worcestershire.

Rinse, pat steak dry, then coat both sides with the herbed marinade. Refrigerate and let it soak in the sauce for several hours.

Heat a skillet or grillpan until just under smoking hot. Sear steak for 2 minutes, rotate to get crosshatch marks and cook for another 2 minutes. Flip the steak and repeat.

Remove the steak and let it rest on a plate while you deglaze the pan with water ( or red wine)
Shake the grillpan back and forth, scraping up any cooked on bits, then pour over the steak.
Get your fork and sharp knife and dig in.

Be-bop-a-Roo-bop-a-Rhu-Barb-Pie

That funny little song that Garrison Keillor intones on Prairie Home Companion runs a continuous loop in my mind whenever I cook with, as one of my young student chefs calls it, “that red celery stalk.” That doesn’t happen too often, and it usually manifests in this lively tart dessert.

Adapted from a recipe that I found in the April 2007 issue of Gourmet, it is wonderfully simple and delicious. I have made it for dinner parties with roaring success. We teach this recipe to the kids in our cooking camps, who gleefully bring the cake home to the adulation of their families.

It’s a cross between cake-cobbler-pie-clafoutis; a little gooey, fruit-juicy, and yet cake-crumby, the pudding cake name dubbed by Gourmet is probably its best moniker.

Let me stress its wonderful simplicity. Scan the recipe ingredients: other than the fruits, you’ve got Bakery 101 stuff: flour, sugar, butter, vanilla….one egg! Prep time is an easy 15 minutes. The rhubarb-strawberry pudding cake then bakes for about 30 minutes. So, in under an hour, you’ve got a fresh springtime dessert.

Lovers of rhubarb will be elated. Deniers of rhubarb will be pleasantly surprised. Or not know.

Typically baked in an 8″x8″ square pan, (and later cut into square sized pieces) I chose this time to make it in a 9″ springform pan. I wanted a round shape, with batter and fruit expanded over a slightly larger area, making it not as tall and cakey, but more pie-like. Both ways work well.

You can serve your pudding cake garnished with creme fraiche, or lightly sweetened whipped cream. But it is soooooo good just by itself, enjoyed with a nice cup of coffee.

Rhubarb-Strawberry Pudding Cake adapted from Gourmet, April 2007
¼ cup water
1 ½ teaspoons cornstarch
1/3 and ½ cups sugar
3 cups chopped fruit—I prefer 2 cups chopped rhubarb, 1 cup strawberries, -
any variation you choose
1 cup all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 large egg
½ cup milk
1 stick butter—melted and slightly cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 400 degrees and put oven rack in the middle position. Butter an 8”x8” ceramic or glass baking pan. Stir together the water, cornstarch, and 1/3 cup sugar in a saucepan and heat. Stir in the rhubarb, if you are using it—but not the strawberries. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for about three minutes. Remove from heat and add the strawberries.

Whisk together the dry ingredients: flour, baking powder, salt, and the remaining ½ cup sugar. In a separate bowl, whisk together the wet ingredients: egg, milk, butter, vanilla.

Now add the dry ingredients to the wet, and stir in until well combined. Do not overbeat.

Coat the bottom of the baking pan with ½ of the fruit mixture. Spread the batter over that, then dollop the remaining fruit mixture on the top. Bake for 25-30 minutes. Test for doneness with a toothpick—if it comes out clean, it’s done!

Allow to cool on a rack for at least 5 minutes before serving. This can be served warm or served later at room temperature. Wrap and refrigerate leftovers, if there are any.

Makes 8-10 servings.

The inspiration for this salad comes from the tallest member of the Bill and Nancy Belmont Farmette–Anethum graveolens —Dillweed. A gift from Tally May, this plant was maybe five inches tall when I put it in the ground eight short weeks ago, and now it’s in its glory: almost five feet of aromatic feathery leaves and whorls of pinpoint blooms–a kind of fireworks display in yellow.

The ancient Greeks regarded Dill as the plant of prosperity, its very presence indicated wealth.
So, I feel mightily blessed to have my one-and-only gracing the garden front.

It’s early June, and temperatures are already creeping up into the 90’s. My garden mesclun greens are plentiful, but in danger of turning bitter. With heat and greens and billowy dill, I ‘ve got the makings for a summery salad for dinner, no time to lose!

What other good things to build the salad?
Look to the season’s offerings, I remind myself: they all play well together.
So, we’ve got
Cucumbers, new potatoes, and sugar snap peas……
Plus,
some shrimp coated with dillweed and lemon zest, quickly seared in the pan.

Composing a salad—-laying out all the elements in mandala-like fashion on a plate—is a simple way to make a stunning presentation. It also gives it structure, a place for each ingredient to be.

This salad is delicious served chilled or at room temperature. It doesn’t take long to make and I find that combining chilled things (sugar snaps, greens, cukes) with warm things (shrimp, new potatoes) in the dish enhances flavors. For vegetarians like Bill, I substitute chevre for the shrimp.
Give it all a good drizzle of of the lemony-dijon-dill dressing. Enjoy! These garden lettuces and herbs are fleeting things.

Dilled Shrimp and Sugar Snap Salad
10 pieces Peeled and Deveined Raw Shrimp
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
1 Tablespoon Lemon Zest
Fresh Dillweed–a few stems
1 teaspoon Sea Salt
Sugar Snap Peas—a handful, maybe 12-15 pieces
Cucumber—just a piece (less than half of one)
4-5 roasted Baby New Potatoes
Mixed Salad Greens, washed and dried

Place shrimp in a bowl and toss with olive oil, lemon zest, and sea salt. Wrap each shrimp with a sprig of dill.
Blanche Sugar Snaps in a skillet of boiling water for less than a minute–forty five seconds. Remove and chill.
Slice cucumbers and new potatoes.
Heat a skillet and drop in shrimp to sear for a minute one one side–then flip and sear on the other. Remove from heat and let the shrimp sit in the skillet.
Arrange lettuces on the plate.Add a ring of slice cucumbers and new potatoes, then sugar snaps.
Top with cooked shrimp. Drizzle with lemon-dill aioli and garnish with a few dill sprigs and lemon slice.

serves 2

Lemon-Dill Aioli
1 clove roasted Garlic
3 Tablespoons fresh Lemon Juice
1 teaspoon Dijon Mustard
1 heaping Tablespoon chopped Dillweed
1 teaspoon Sea Salt
6 Tablespoons Olive Oil

In a small bowl, mash the roasted garlic with a fork and mix in the lemon juice, dijon, dillweed, and salt. Mix into a paste. Add in the olive oil, one tablespoon at a time, until the mixture is emulsified. Taste for seasoning and acidity—add more lemon if you like.

Here’s hoping this noble plant will reseed and return next spring!