"Home Cooking" news and stories

Corn relish. Photo: bookgrl/ Flickr.

As summer kicks into high gear, roadside stands and greenmarkets are bustling with fresh produce.

Fresh herbs, cut just that morning, perfume the air: sultry thyme, sprightly parsley and rosemary for remembrance. Sweet onions tumble out of bushel baskets and into burlap bags. Piles of peppers fight for your attention in red, green, orange, yellow and even black. And who can resist fresh ears of satiny corn?

As you lug all of your fresh produce home, don't worry -- as always, we've got your back. Beyond the jump is an original recipe to use that corn, those peppers and those onions to make a quick, fresh corn relish.

This relish has a Southwestern twang, but it can accompany virtually anything coming off of your grill for Fourth of July barbecues, from juicy burgers and seared steaks to perfectly smoked chicken. And if the summer corn is too irresistible to resist buying a bushel, you can double the recipe and send some home with your guests.

Bluefish with Fava Beans, Corn, Tomatoes and Fresh Herbs. Photo: Rebecca Flint Marx

Let's face it: ever since Hannibal Lecter sung their praises in "The Silence of the Lambs," fava beans haven't enjoyed the greatest associations -- particularly where Chianti and liver are involved.

And that's a shame, because they're some of the most flavorful and versatile treats that summer has to offer. In season for a few precious weeks, favas -- which have been enjoyed throughout the world for about 5,000 years and are packed with so much protein they've been called "the meat of the poor" -- can be used in everything from salads and purées to soups and pasta dishes.

When the flat, wide beans are shelled and blanched, they adopt a vibrant grassy hue and buttery texture that enriches any meal, and their rapid cooking time makes it easy to incorporate them into a quick weeknight dinner -- or into lunch the following day. While stringing and shucking the beans (which, unshelled, are about five inches long) is a bit labor-intensive, it's one of those activities that's all but made for summer, particularly if you have a porch, some time on your hands and a glass of something cold by your side.

Shun's santoku knife on caramelized onion tart. Photo: Alex Van Buren

Knives. Outside of the full-time food dork world, people -- even foodies -- don't tend to talk about them much.

They have a bad association as, um, dull conversational topics: There's the unwelcome knife salesman banging on the door, or that eternal infomercial ("Only $39.95 in three easy installments!"). I owned a sub-par knife for years, until a friend trained at a local culinary institute basically took it away from me.

I've been shopping ever since with an eagle eye for sales. The santoku style caught my attention for its multiuse blade (note the indentations, which purportedly help keep food from sticking) and stylish look. And when I grabbed a Shun in hand at a local shop -- its base has a slight teardrop shape, perfectly suited to that soft nub between thumb and index finger -- I fell in love.

After a day of travel, Scott and I got home to our apartment last night just before 1 am. The changing time zones and the hours spent locked in a fast-moving metal tube had us totally thrown off and we were both ravenous when we walked in the door. Getting to bed was high on my mind, but I knew that we both needed to eat something or sleep would be impossible.

Opening the fridge, I saw that I had done a good job of emptying it out prior to the trip. Thankfully though, I had had the good sense to leave behind half a done eggs and the tail end of a loaf of bread. Pulling out a cereal bowl and a small frying pan, I quickly beat the eggs and poured them out into the pan. I shoved the bread bag in Scott's direction and said, "Toast, please." I stood at the stove, barely conscious, stirring the eggs with a silicone spatula. As I moved the eggs around the pan, I realized that it had been a week since I cooked a thing, a rare occasion in my life.

Soon enough, the toast popped and the eggs were done. We sat at the table for a few moments, eating eggs in companionable silence. It was a meal that took no more than 15 minutes from conception to completion and yet it was still warm, filling and lovely welcome home.

I first heard of Jane Grigson in the pages of Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking. Colwin often references Grigson as the source of some of her most beloved and delicious recipes. Her affectionate description of the food in Good Things made me tuck it away in the section of my brain in which I store things I long to read and explore. I had the opportunity to browse the cookbook section of the main Powell's a couple of weeks ago and there it was, tucked away in the English cuisine section. I added it to my stack, internally crowing a little at my good fortune.

And good fortune it has been, as this is a wonderful book. Written in 1971, Grigson's voice is down to earth and helpful and her recipes are easy to follow. I also adore the way the book is organized. It is broken down into large sections that include Fish, Meat & Game, Vegetables, Fruit and a section simply entitled And...

Within each of those sections, the contents are further broken down into specific ingredients. There are a full ten pages of recipes devoted to carrots. That section begins with these words, "Carrots are sweet. And carrots are a beautiful colour. And they are cheap." How can you not fall in love with a cookbook that speaks that honestly and charmingly about this basic root vegetable? It might help slightly that I am somewhat partial to carrots.

As I looked around to see what other people have said about Good Things and Jane Grigson, I came across this blog entry. Written by a woman from the UK who has been cooking from this volume for years, the affection she feels for Grigson shines through readily. I hope you feel the same way if you happen to get your hands on a copy for yourself.

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