Early Fall Lasagna

The last of the season's tomatoes and zucchini found their way into this Greek-ish take on lasagna, a layered, cheesed and baked dish that means many things to many people.

I grew up with Catholic lasagna -- the no-nonsense ilk comprised of ground beef, pasta, ricotta, red sauce and mozzarella. Ruddy-faced moms served it with iceberg salad and garlic-powder bread in our brightly lit church basement. In these endeavors to raise funds for church construction or athletic equipment, the lasagna was fine, but it certainly wasn't the point.

As a kid I also associated this type of casserole with hospital visits and funerals...a dish that earnest volunteers delivered to the family at home to provide comfort. So, despite all these nice intentions, I didn't exactly crave the stuff.

That all changed in the fall of 6th grade, when I visited my friend Tonya Rulli's Greek Orthodox church festival. She and I made our way that night through a crowded kitchen to ask her mom for money, and I'll never forget the smells: fresh dill, lamb, olive oil, garlic, cinnamon, and a heavy dose of Liz Claiborne perfume.

These Greek moms were clearly different -- more glamorous -- and I studied their long nails, gold jewelry, meticulous make-up, and colored and coiffed hair. Then Tonya and I ate pastitsio, which she described as the Greek Orthodox version of Catholic lasagna. It was creamier, far more flavorful, and it made me want to convert.

My Greek-ish lasagna is not exactly pastitsio, which uses tubular penne-like noodles, and typically has just three distinct layers -- one of seasoned meat, one of pasta, and one of baked custard or bechamel sauce. But I'm inspired by its flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg and cream.

Not following a recipe, I listened strictly to pregnancy cravings. First a pound of ground beef, browned with diced white onion and cinnamon to taste. In another pan, some fresh garlic, zucchini and tomatoes, sauteed in olive oil; to these I added a fairly simple but good quality bottled pasta sauce, then minced fresh dill, then crumbled feta cheese until the sauce looked creamy. Next came the bechamel sauce, a standard recipe to which I added cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg to taste.

I brushed a square pan with olive oil and layered: Seasoned meat, then vegetables with pasta sauce, then no-boil lasagna noodles. All this again, and again, and then a thick layer of bechamel sauce. I covered it with shredded mozzarella and baked it at 375 F. until bubbly, about 45 minutes. It then sat under the broiler for a few minutes to brown on top.

Great Zeus, it was tasty.

Pappardelle with Seared Scallops & Summer Corn Sauce

My dear friend Marna and I recently got together to cook. We sat on her swank new deck, talking about the latest issue of Bon Appetit and how it's just not as good as Gourmet was. We fussed with one of its recipes, making it our own. Then we devoured August in a bowl. So, now it's nearly gone. See you again next year, August.

FRESH PAPPARDELLE WITH SEARED SCALLOPS & SUMMER CORN SAUCE

Serves 2

3 ears fresh local corn, shucked

1 clove garlic, sliced

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt + more for scallops

2 pinches black pepper

2 tablespoons + 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese, divided

2 tablespoons + 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

2 tablespoons butter

6 ounces fresh, refrigerated Pappardelle pasta

10 large fresh scallops, pressed very dry with paper towels

Juice of 1/4 large lemon

1/3 cup chopped fresh basil

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and add shucked corn. Boil for 5 minutes or so, until it turns more yellow. Use tongs to remove it from the water and let it cool. Slice the kernels from the cob.

Place half the corn kernels in a food processor. Add garlic, 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, pepper, 2 tablespoons Parmesan and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Process until smooth and saucy. Stir in remaining corn kernels. Place sauce in a small pan on low heat to keep it warm, stirring occasionally, while you make the pasta and scallops.

Cook and drain pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, heat remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and butter in a large skillet on high heat. Add scallops in a single layer and cook 3-4 minutes until the first side is brown; use tongs to turn and cook until the other side is brown, then a bit longer to ensure each scallop is slightly translucent inside, but not too raw. (I just test one with a knife.) Squeeze scallops with lemon juice to deglaze the pan and give them some bright flavor.

Toss pasta with most of the fresh basil and corn sauce. Divide among pasta bowls. Divide scallops among pasta bowls, placing them on top. Sprinkle with remaining basil and Parmesan, and serve on a swank deck with a green salad and some crisp white wine if you're not pregnant.

Caramelized Peach Custard Tartlets

We must have patience for the best Washington peaches. Not until this week were they finally, REALLY here. For these tarts, I cobbled together a couple favorite recipes -- a normal, flaky pie crust and a rich custard. The peaches were blanched and sliced, but no sugar was necessary...just a bit sprinkled on top to get the caramelized effect.

CARAMELIZED PEACH CUSTARD TARTLETS

Makes 6 tartlets

5 large peaches

6 baked tartlet shells, made from Flaky Pie Crust (see recipe below)

1 recipe Rich Vanilla Custard (see recipe below)

Sugar for sprinkling

Special equipment: Kitchen-appropriate blow torch (optional)

Bring a large pot of water to boil, and use tongs to carefully place peaches one at a time in the boiling water. Boil peaches for about 10 minutes, or until skins appear loose. Use tongs to remove peaches from boiling water and place them in a large bowl. Let cool, and then use clean fingers to slide off skins. If the peaches are juicy and awesome, you won't need a paring knife. If they're not quite that awesome, you might need to work at some of them with a paring knife to get all the skin off. Slice peaches as shown and discard pits.

Fill each baked tartlet shell nearly to the top with chilled creme brulee custard. Arrange sliced peaches on top, and sprinkle liberally with sugar. Use blow torch to caramelize. If you don't have a blow torch, you can place the tartlets under the broiler for a few minutes; place the peaches about 2 inches below the flame, and watch carefully so they don't burn. Serve.

Flaky Pie Crust:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled

Ice water

1 egg + few drops of water

Special equipment: pastry cutter, scalloped 6-inch tartlet pans with removable bottoms, pie weights or dry beans

Stir together flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Cut chilled butter into small pieces and cut it into the flour mixture, using a pastry cutter, until the chunks of butter are the size of baby peas. Drizzle 1/3 cup ice water over mixture and gently stir, incorporating the water throughout. Use clean hands to press the dough together into a ball. If it's still not coming together, add 1-2 more tablespoons of water and try again.

Cut the ball into 2 pieces and wrap each one in plastic; press each piece into a flat disk. You should see some little lumps and swirls of butter in each disk. Chill the dough for at least 30 minutes, or up to a day.

Remove a disk from plastic and sprinkle it on both sides with flour. (If it's really cold and stiff, let it sit for a few minutes until you can work with it.) Roll it flat, working quickly to keep it cold and making sure it's of even thickness, about 1/4 inch. Cut the rolled dough into 3 large circles, and press each circle into a tartlet pan, using your fingers to remove any excess dough from the edges of the tartlet pan. Repeat with the other disk of dough. Whisk together the egg and water and brush the surface of each shell with this egg wash. Wrap all the tartlets in plastic and chill for 20-30 minutes to let the flour's gluten rest just a bit. This will keep the tartlet sides from sinking in the oven. Preheat oven to 400F.

Remove the tartlet pans from the refrigerator and unwrap them. Place them all on a baking sheet, and fill each shell to the top with ceramic pie weights or dry beans (this also helps the sides not to sink). Bake the shells for 7 to 10 minutes, until they're golden. Let cool and remove pie weights. Now the tartlet shells are ready to be filled and served.

Rich Vanilla Custard:

2 cups heavy cream, room temperature

3 large eggs, room temperature

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 teaspoon vanilla

Heat 2 inches of water in a saucepan that can serve as the bottom of a double boiler. Whisk together cream, eggs and sugar in a large metal bowl that can serve as the top of the double boiler. (In other words, the bowl should be just a bit wider than the rim of the saucepan. You don't want the bowl to float it the water; you want it to sit on the rim, so the steam helps cook your custard.)

Place the bowl on top of the saucepan, making sure the bowl doesn't touch the simmering water. (If it does, you might end up with scrambled eggs.) Whisk cream mixture constantly for 20 minutes or so, allowing it to thicken. Strain it through a fine strainer into a storage container, and stir in vanilla. Cover and refrigerate until cold and thick. Now the custard is ready to fill the tartlet shells.

August Dinner Party

No time for fancy writing, but here's the quick rundown on a recent dinner party we hosted:

Pimms Cup cocktails & assorted beer

Dara's homemade salsa (two kinds) with tortilla chips

Grilled steelhead with lemon, butter, parsley and cilantro

Spicy pulled pork sandwiches

Potato salad (with red potatoes, egg, shaved fresh corn, sugar snap peas, red onion dill, mayo, mustard, olive oil, white wine vinegar)

Jicama slaw (with carrots, red cabbage, cilantro, lime juice and olive oil)

Blackberry ice cream and gingersnaps

Berry-Best Pound Cake

If you look to the far right and read this blog's mission, you'll see that juicy, local strawberries from the Northwest are called out specifically. Part of my goal in moving from the Midwest to Seattle was to educate my husband Dara about "real" strawberries, which he had never eaten.

Mind you, I'm not opposed to the Driscoll version of a strawberry at the supermarket; large and pretty and protected in plastic, it has its place throughout the year. And strawberries from the Midwest farmers markets -- well, they're fine, I suppose. But Oregon and Washington strawberries are completely different. They're small, red throughout, and can barely contain all their juice and flavor. They're also delicate -- you have to pick them and eat them in just a couple of days. And for the best varieties, the season is brief.

When I was growing up, my family honored the fleeting Northwest strawberry season by devouring a June dinner of strawberry shortcake and nothing else. It was one of my sister's and my favorite days of the year.

This summer I pictured myself making all kinds of local strawberry treats to the delight of Dara and friends. How about a shortcake in which the sweet biscuits contain crisp bits of bacon, and the cream is sweetened with maple syrup? How about freezer jam with a hint of lavender or lemon verbena? A fresh, open-faced strawberry pie is a must, with a shortbread crust and a creamy, honey-scented custard to secure the upside-down strawberries. There's ice cream, of course -- just pure cream with eggs, sugar and muddled berries. And juice, finely strained to flavor and color a fresh, sparkly cocktail garnished with a lime wedge.

Well, we ended up having a big old strawberry snafu this year. The Strawberry Snafu of 2010. It was worth it, though. Let me explain.

On Friday, June 18, my parents from southwest Washington called to alert us that this year's Hood strawberries were in. Hood is one of the very best varieties. We knew that since we live about three hours north of my parents, the Hoods would be ready in our neck of the woods in a week or two. Nice!

Knowing how excited we were about the season, my parents generously offered to bring us some of their Hoods the next day. We arranged a Saturday morning parking lot pick-up in Olympia, about 60 miles south of Seattle. It would be like a drug deal, except with strawberries and free brunch.

The afternoon before the deal went down, I shook myself out of my third nap of the week. What was wrong with me? I couldn't stop sleeping these days.

I went to the computer, looking up the restaurant menu for the Kingfish Cafe. I had been excited all week for a Southern dinner with our friends Haley and Liam, but now, fried chicken and gumbo sounded like the least appealing foods in the world.

I sat down in front of the open toilet for a few minutes.

Hmm. No, I thought. It couldn't be. No way. That would be crazy. Ha, that would be really crazy.

Taking the story back a few months: Dara and I had tried to have a baby for four years. We had gone to Chicago's best fertility clinic and done all we could, including two in-vitro procedures. I had taken so many drugs to regulate all the things that were wrong with me...to ensure I ovulated, to thicken my uterine lining, to produce more eggs. Our doctor had ultimately said, "I think we're looking at an egg quality issue." Disheartened, we decided to take a break from trying so hard. We figured we'd pursue another in-vitro procedure sometime, and maybe adoption. These seemed like more tasks for my to-do list. I felt old, dried up, and honestly so, so sad.

Soon after, the opportunity to move to Seattle arose, and it seemed like a perfect time to relax and not think about it...to just have fun for now.

But there I was on the bathroom floor, counting back days and shaking my head, tears in my eyes and a smirk on my face. No way.

I took two pregnancy tests. Positive, and positive. Less than two months in Seattle, and here I was, staring at the digital word I had begun to doubt I would ever see. Is this a magic city or something? I called Dara and told him. Then I made a doctor's appointment. They said I was likely already seven weeks pregnant. We felt foggy, like we were scared to be too excited yet.

Fast forward to the Saturday morning strawberry drug deal. We wrapped one of the tests like a present and gave it to my dad for Father's Day. Seeing my parents' reaction -- the confusion, then the dawn of understanding, then the pure joy -- were moments I'll never forget.

Back home in Seattle, we spread the berries out on the kitchen counter. Dara said, "OK, what should we do now?"

"I don't know. I'm exhausted and I have to go barf."

I slept the rest of the afternoon. Dara bought some pectin and we made some half-ass jam that was too sweet, then some half-ass ice cream that wasn't creamy enough. On Sunday we washed and hulled the rest of the berries and tossed them in the freezer mere seconds before they molded. I wanted to barf the whole time.

Two weeks later, we tried again -- and again, the berries sat on the counter for too long. This time they actually did start to mold, and I wanted no involvement with them.

Fortunately, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries and marionberries have treated me much better this year. And I know that strawberries and I will get along better next year. But anyway. Now it's time for an awesome recipe to reward you for reading the story of why my baby will be named Strawberry. Just kidding.

One of our favorite ways to eat any kind of berry is with pound cake. This recipe is adapted from a 1988 issue of my mom's beloved and now defunct Americana magazine. It's truly the best, with a beautiful cracking crust, a smooth, golden crumb and a rich flavor of butter with lemon and vanilla and mace.

BUTTERMILK POUND CAKE

Makes one 10-inch cake

1 cup butter

2 1/2 cups sugar

4 large eggs

3 cups flour

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup buttermilk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/2 teaspoon mace

Preheat oven to 325 F. Grease and lightly flour a 10-inch tube pan. Cream the butter and gradually add sugar, beating until well-blended. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition. Combine the flour and salt. Dissolve the soda in the buttermilk; add it to the batter alternately with the flour mixture, beginning and ending with the flour. Stir in vanilla, lemon zest and mace. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 60-70 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn it out and cool it completely on a wire rack. Serve with fresh somewhat muddled berries, sweetened if necessary.

Menu Inspired by Pau, France

Tonight Dara and I dined on pan-roasted trout with Béarnaise sauce, accompanied by freshly shelled peas, steamed and garnished with a few fried morels. And just for fun, some baby potatoes roasted in duck fat. The finale was a lemon-scented, Basque-style custard tart topped with huge, juicy local raspberries.

You know, because it’s Monday. Kidding; actually, this was thanks to Barbara Harris from Winos & Foodies, who organized a virtual food tour of the Tour de France route and allowed me to participate by developing, preparing and chowing down on a menu inspired by Stage 16.

As the cyclists progress from region to region, various bloggers are taking turns to write about each area’s cuisine. Click here for the full story, along with links to all the participating blogs and their recipes.

I was assigned to write about the food of Pau, a city in southwest France where the cyclists are currently resting before they ascend the Pyrenees. Pau is known for its wonderful fishing rivers and the influence of its nearby mountains and Basque population. As I looked online through its restaurants’ menus, I saw a lot of salmon, trout, duck, foie gras and lamb, with several mentions of marinated peppers special to the region, sheeps milk cheeses, fresh peas, mountain berries and wild greens.

A soup called Garbure appears popular, though out of season at the moment, with cabbage, beans, potatoes and bits of bacon or goose. Pipérade is also common – a dish based on tomatoes and sweet green peppers cooked in olive oil, with potential additions such as ham, bacon, garlic, onions, other vegetables and lightly beaten egg.

Pau's first famous foodie was Henri IV, who was born there in the sixteenth century when it was part of a region called the Béarn. Contrary to what one might assume, Béarnaise sauce did not originate here; in fact, it was developed by a chef outside of Paris in 1836 in honor of the former king and his homeland.

But Henri did popularize Poule au Pot – chicken stuffed and simmered in a pot with vegetables – by saying he did not want anyone in his realm to be so poor they could not afford Poule au Pot once a week. (And here I thought U.S. President Herbert Hoover was the first to come up with that sentiment in the 1930s.)

Tonight's menu reflects the seasonal ingredients of Pau as well as Seattle and rounds out the range of recipes many other bloggers have already contributed. The Béarnaise sauce recipe is Julia Child's. The Basque-style tart recipe (minus the impromptu addition of berries) is adapted from that of a tourism board Web site, and as I was making it I didn't think it was going to work -- the dough was so sticky that it didn't roll out very well. By the time it reached the cake pan, it was full of holes and tears. I patched it up, tossed it in the oven, and lo and behold, it turned out golden brown and beautiful, with a layer of yummy vanilla custard baked inside.

As we lingered over our meal, our big Great Pyrenees dog, Chloe, hovered nearby with her glossy chocolate eyes full of hope. Though I don’t indulge any suggestion of begging, I thought for a moment of her breed’s origins as sheep-guarders in the mountains to which we were paying tribute, and how I'm happy now to know just a bit more about her roots.

PAN-ROASTED TROUT WITH BEARNAISE SAUCE

Serves 2 (and only 2 -- no begging Great Pyrenees)

1/4 cup white wine vinegar

1/4 cup dry white wine

1 tablespoon + 2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon, divided

1 tablespoon minced shallot

Pinch black pepper

Pinch salt

3 egg yolks

2 tablespoon cold unsalted butter + 1/2 cup melted unsalted butter + 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided

1 (1 to 1 1/4 pound) gutted rainbow trout, head and tail intact

Boil vinegar, wine, shallots, tarragon, salt and pepper over moderate heat until the liquid has reduced to 2 tablespoons. Let it cool. Whisk the egg yolks until thick. Strain in the vinegar mixture and whisk. Add 1 tablespoon of cold butter and thicken the egg yolks over low heat in a double-boiler, whisking and being sure the water doesn't boil, it just simmers, and it doesn't touch the bottom of the double-boiler insert. Whisk in the other tablespoon of cold butter, then whisk in the melted butter gradually. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed, and then stir in the last 2 tablespoons chopped tarragon. Set sauce aside, keeping it in the double-boiler insert over warm water and whisking occasionally.

Cut off trout's head and tail. Heat the last 2 tablespoons butter in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add trout and cover for 2-3 minutes. Remove lid and flip trout. The skin should be coming off; that's OK, just scrape it away so that the fish can brown in the butter. Cook 3-4 minutes more, or just until trout is browned outside and opague inside.

Remove fish from pan and place on a cutting board in order to remove the bones and slice the fish into 4 vertical quarters. Scrape away all skin and fins. Use a boning knife to slice the fish vertically, alongside the spine, and lift away a filet of fish from the bones, keeping this quarter of the fish intact. (If the fish will not slide easily away from the bone, it is likely not cooked sufficiently, so return it to the stove and then try again.) Turn fish and repeat 3 more times, so that you are left with 4 long quarters of fish and a skeleton. Lightly salt and pepper the fish and discard the skeleton.

Place 2 filets of fish on each plate and top with warm Béarnaise sauce and the last of the minced tarragon. Serve with steamed peas or green beans and Duck Fat Potatoes.

DUCK FAT POTATOES

Serves 2

12 bite-sized Yukon Gold potatoes

3 ounces rendered duck fat

Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350 F. Peel potatoes and place in a single layer in a small roasting pan. Dot each potato with duck fat. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and cover with foil. Roast 45 minutes, and then remove foil and increase heat to 375 F. Roast 30-40 more minutes, until potatoes are well-browned and some are crispy. Remove from roasting pan with a slotted spoon and serve.

BASQUE-STYLE CUSTARD TART WITH BERRIES

Serves 10-12

Zest of 1 lemon

1 egg and 1 egg yolk

1 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

10 tablespoons cold unsalted butter

2 cups flour

1 recipe Custard (see recipe below)

Egg wash (1 beaten egg + 1/2 teaspoon water)

1 pint fresh berries of your choice (optional)

Use a standing mixer to mix lemon zest, egg and yolk, sugar and salt. Add butter and mix just so that it's coated; add flour and mix until the dough is coming together but still bumpy with butter. Remove it from the bowl and use hands to press it into a ball. Refrigerate for 1 hour; meanwhile, make custard and butter a 10-inch springform pan. Preheat oven to 380 F. (Yes, that's 380 F.)

Remove dough from refrigerator and reserve 1/3 of it. Roll out the 2/3 portion and place it in the bottom of the springform pan, patching as necessary. Pour in the cooled custard, and then roll out the remaining 1/3 dough. Place it on top of the tart, patching as necessary, and running a knife around the rim to neaten the edges. At this point, the tart will look untidy, but don't worry -- the patches won't show once it bakes. Brush the top with egg wash and bake for 45 minutes, or until golden brown. Cool on a rack, then remove from pan and transfer to a serving plate. Top with berries if desired.

Custard:

Bring 1 cup milk and 1 teaspoon brandy or whiskey to a simmer in a small saucepan. Meanwhile, beat together 1/4 cup sugar and 3 egg yolks. Very gradually whisk milk mixture into egg mixture. Place this custard all back into the saucepan and bring to a simmer, just to thicken the eggs, whisking constantly. When it simmers, remove the custard from the heat and whisk in 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract and 1 tablespoon unsalted butter. Let cool.

Asparagus & Radishes with Ricotta Salata & Pistachio Brown Butter

I often want to talk about seasonal vegetables, and then end up talking about butter. Darn.

But do you know the virtues of brown butter, aka beurre noisette, and how easily it elevates this composed vegetable dish? I tasted it at the Vertitable Quandry down in Portland -- a sentimental favorite whose menu seems to get better and better -- and have found it easy to recreate at home as a summer-licious sidekick to grilled fish and chicken.

Start with warm, plump, steamed asparagus and cold, shaved radish. Add thin pieces of firm, salty ricotta salata, and drizzle the dish with toasted pistachios tossed in beurre noisette and a few drops of white balsamic vinegar. Eat right away!

ASPARAGUS & RADISHES WITH RICOTTA SALATA & PISTACHIO BROWN BUTTER

Serves 2 as a side dish

3 tablespoons chopped pistachios

1/4 cup good-quality unsalted butter

1/2 teaspoon white balsamic vinegar (white wine vinegar is also fine)

1 pinch kosher salt

10 spears plump, local asparagus

3 local radishes, trimmed, sliced thinly and chilled

2 ounces ricotta salata, sliced thinly

Freshly ground black pepper (optional)

Place a medium-sized skillet on medium-high heat. Add pistachios and toast them, tossing occasionally, until fragrant. Add butter and cook, covering the pan if necessary, until it turns light brown with little brown specks. Remove pan from heat and let cool slightly; add vinegar and salt.

Bring a 4-quart pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, use a paring knife or vegetable peeler to trim the base of each asparagus spear, making sure nothing too firm or branchy remains. Boil the asparagus until tender, about 7 minutes. While you're doing that, place the pistachio-brown butter sauce back on low heat and make sure the chilled radishes and ricotta are ready.

Drain asparagus and toss it with a bit of sauce. Plate the asparagus. Top it with radish and ricotta. Drizzle with remaining sauce, and sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper if desired.