she craves

A Roast Chicken for Summer

I love it when my friends let me feed them. Case in point, a photo shoot with my photographer friend Adam and a few other willing folks. The goal of the evening was to practice food styling and photography and, of course, eating together. Being the carnivore that he is, Adam requested to shoot meat. "We've never shot anything with bones before," he implored.

So I obliged. Simple chicken. I don't remember where I got the recipe. It seemed I'd made it so many times before it was more of an intuition than a recipe. Thighs and drumsticks, sauteed, and roasted with rosemary, a bit of wine, and showered with fresh ripe tomatoes. It is summer after all. The photo above is the real deal. No fake coloring touch ups, no fake meat, or falsely cooked. It was still sizzling from the oven and perfuming the studio when Adam was shooting frame after frame. Not too long, though, for the dish was still succulent and warm when we all dug in.

Roast Chicken for Summer

I like dark meat, so I prefer to use thighs and drumsticks. If you buy the whole leg, cut through the joint with a knife to yield to pieces. Of course, you can use a whole chicken you've so deftly cut into serving pieces yourself. Excellent warm, it's also stunning cold as leftovers.

4 whole legs, cut into thighs and drumsticks, seasoned with salt and pepper * olive oil * butter * 1 shallot, diced * fresh rosemary sprigs * white wine * salt and pepper * fresh cherry tomatoes, diced OR fresh tomatoes, diced

Heat a large sautepan over high heat. Reduce to medium, add a glug of olive oil and a pat of butter. Add the chicken pieces (making sure they're patted dry) and saute until golden brown (about 5 minutes). Turn pieces and cook until golden, as well. Remove pieces from pan and set aside.

With the sautepan over medium heat, add the shallot and saute until translucent, adding more oil or butter if necessary. Using the spine of a chef's knife, bruise the woody stem of the fresh rosemary sprig. Add this to the pan and stir  for a minute. Add a glassful (or two) of white wine and deglaze the pan scraping up the browned bits.

Return chicken pieces to the pan in a single layer (or transfer to a casserole as pictured above) and place in a preheated 400 degree oven. Cook for another 30 to 35 minutes. During the last 15 minutes of cooking, add your tomatoes. Or you can them fresh, depending on how good the tomatoes are. Serves 6.

Farro & Roasted Veg Salad

Deliciously captured by AJF Photography

Granted, I was a willing participant in the jaunt to a vegan restaurant. Despite the good company and a few delicious items, God help me, I still don't understand vegan cuisine. The idea of processing soy into something that could be fashioned into "chicken" and then labeled on a menu as "Tender Tiger" is beyond me. I admire the politics and ideology behind it. Far from me to politicize what's on my plate (soapbox at the ready). But I suppose what's always kept from joining the vegan tempeh-loving bandwagon is the reliance, in many restaurant and freezer cases anyway, on the faux. Oh, and bacon. I could never give up bacon.

Eating a meal of faux/imitation protein from a karmically-safe vegetable product is akin to having sex with a blow up doll. Why bother? Especially when there's a universe of dishes out that rely on food for what it is. A rose is a rose. A carrot is a carrot. A grain of farro is a grain of farro. And how delicious the farro is when it's combined with some diced roasted vegetables. A recipe to so rustic and intuitive to generations of grandmothers, cooks, and hungry folk, it's scarely a recipe. 

And so much more satisfying than a tempeh quesadilla.

Farro & Roasted Veg Salad  

Nowadays you can find farro just about anywhere. Specialty shops and even the bulk bin. What we had in the fridge during a photo shoot was what became our lunch. But any vegetable (summer corn!) roasted is welcome here. It's wonderful warm but also a saving grace to have around in the fridge, there's little time and you're absolutely starving.

1 fennel bulb, diced * 1 red bell pepper, diced * 1 orange bell pepper, diced * 1 zucchini, diced * 5 stalks of asapragus, chopped into similar-sized pieces * extra-virgin olive oil * 1 crushed garlic clove * salt and pepper * 1 1/2 cups farro * 1/2 cup lemon juice or sherry vinegar * Fresh herbs like mint, basil, or parsley

Combine your diced veg on a baking sheet and drizzle generously with olive oil. Add the garlic, salt and pepper and bake in a 425-degree oven until nicely roasted with bits of caramelization going on around the edges (about 20 minutes). Let cool slightly.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add enough salt to the water to make it taste like the sea. Add your washed farro and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain and place in a large mixing bowl. Add the roast vegetables (with all the oil from the pan), the lemon juice or sherry vinegar, and fresh herbs you have on hand. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve warm, at room temperature, or cool.

Honeydew, Scallop & Bacon Salad

The craving: A quick meal. Spare moments are as rare a good apricot around here. Has to be something cool and light. The air is heavy enough with heat, I don't need a lead weight in my belly to feel satisfied. But something substantial enough that I'm not starving in the heat an hour later.

The solution: Greens, ubiquitous as they are, need a bit of fun. Dill fronds for some flavor and an edible rose petal or two because I've just thumbed through Claudia Roden's rose petal preserve recipe. Not enough petals for jam but plenty for salad in a frivolous (and optional) way. Thick-cut smoky bacon (as much as you'd like) still sizzling from the pan add substance. As do a few sea scallops sauteed in the bacon drippings. The shellfish is just as sweet and tender as the cubes of honeydew, heady and sweet with summer ripeness. No salt. No acid. Just a built-in vinaigrette from the warm bacon fat and cool, sweet honeydew juice.

Apricot Granita

Cherries and I get along perfectly well. Figs, fresh and straight from the cooler, are my best friend. Peaches, well, we go back a long way. And watermelon and I are practically family. Apricots, however, are a different matter. Simply put, we don't get a long. Maybe I haven't found the right one. Oh I've looked. Farmers' markets at home, San Francisco, New York City. Straight from a neighbor's tree. But I've yet to bite into one that didn't bite back with a mealy astringency or serenade me with flavors I've only read about in Alice Waters' and Deborah Madison's titles.

I've come to feel that a perfectly ripe apricot is like Prince Charming—they only exist in fairy tales. So why the hell did I have two pounds worth hanging out in my fridge? Well, call me a romantic fool. I want to believe in that magical apricot. And these flirted with me on the farmers' table and like a fool, I believed their soft caresses and their promises of intense times. Once home, I grabbed one straight from the bag, a little warm from the sun, and took a bite. The prince was still a frog. What's a girl to do with less-than-awesome apricots? Compromise, of course.