sardine and peppadew sandwich

i have guilt.

tiny fish guilt.

for years, i fell victim

to the popular digs -

about tiny fish found

in tiny cans. i'm open to

trying almost anything,

but the opportunity never

presented itself and i was

fine with that.

and then

one day, i had a marinated

white anchovy. my eyes were

opened. from there, i had

anchovies on pizza, in pasta

and sauteed with cauliflower. i was

the first one to poke my chopsticks

into the small bowls of even teenier

fish set on the table at a korean

restaurant and i willed myself

to try these bite-size crabs. i loved them.

but, still, until three months ago,

sardines were not really part of my life.

then, i ordered them, fresh and grilled, at a restaurant

when nothing else on the menu seemed

appealing. there were five, all with mini bones

to be removed from the admittedly flavorful flesh,

which i was not crazy about.

a month later, when i took larry

to degustation for his amazing birthday dinner,

one of the 10 courses featured sardines.

on one side of the plate was a

freshly cured curl, the other side was

fried and served with pickled onions. it

was one of my favorite dishes of the night.

although, yes, i know there is a difference

between fresh sardines and canned,

in my life, that seemed like the next

most practical leap -

so i started researching them

and buying them: one layer, two layer,

skinless and boneless, whole, packed in oil,

packed in spring water.

(i still haven't ventured

into the tomato sauce, pepper or mustard

packed cans.)

i realized that i like them all,

but if I was forced to tell you about one,

it would have to be the two layer sardines,

packed in olive oil, which for the effort of

opening the can, rewards you with two layers

of fish, from head to tail. trust me - i'm

the person who vowed to never again buy

canned salmon and attempt salmon cakes

after realizing what it meant to remove

the bones from the can. this is different -

the bones are so tiny and tender, that

i didn't even realize they're there. and,

if you are someone who does not like

seeing the entire fish looking back at you,

don't worry - once mashed,

nothing is recognizable.

they are flavorful, but not insultingly so,

much closer to tuna in harshness,

than ultra briny anchovies.

so, i started adding them to different

things, like pasta and salads.

and i started making sandwiches,

like this one,

with capers and mustard,

and spicy-sweet peppadews,

which i hope you try.

but, i will say this.

i'm fully aware that if the idea of opening a can

and seeing these sardines stare back at you,

finding out there are anchovies in your salad dressing

or dried shrimp in your thai food will upset you,

this sandwich is not for you.

this is not a recipe about conversion

or arm twisting.

it's a recipe about another choice for people

who already are fans - or maybe for those like

me: willing, but in need of a push.

sardine and peppadew sandwich

i've made this with a couple different types of canned sardines, which frankly, have all worked. so, feel free to use whatever you have on hand. but, if you're going out and shopping for them, i'm partial to the two layer in olive oil, which surprisingly boast less fat than the sister can packed in spring water. served on a baguette, it's a hearty sandwich appropriate for a fast or home-alone dinner, but on sliced bread, would be great for lunch. also, i think it's fair to say that this is one of those guideline recipes - adjust to suit your taste.

1 large juicy lemon, halved

1 medium shallot, peeled and finely chopped

3 tins sardines

3 tablespoons dijon mustard

1 heaping tablespoon capers, drained

salt and pepper

6-8 peppadews, sliced

mayonnaise, if you like that kind of thing

1 baguette, ends trimmed or 6-8 slices bread (depending on how packed you like your sandwiches

squeeze lemon juice into small mixing bowl. stir in shallots. let sit 20 minutes.

remove sardines from tins and add to bowl (i would refrain from simply overturning the tins into the bowl - you will end up with a lot of oil). using fork, mash sardines. stir in dijon mustard and capers. add salt and pepper to taste. adjust seasonings.

slice baguette in half or place bread slices on clean surface. spread with a thin layer of mayonnaise, if desired. divide sardine mixture evenly among bread slices or bottom layer of baguette. top with peppadews. cut baguette into four even pieces.

marinara-simmered chickpeas with feta

on june 1,

four years ago,

larry and i moved into

our first place together.

we had been a couple

for almost three years and

this move, while a long

time coming, was a huge

decision for me.

i'm someone who takes every

possible outcome very seriously.

it had taken a little soul searching

to settle on this old two bedroom,

two bathroom, two parking spot

space, two blocks from the

george washington bridge,

instead of the brand new

one bedroom

facing the hudson river,

but as soon as we were in, it

felt like the right move.

the movers came on a friday

and it started pouring the second

they left. i quietly thanked someone

for that stroke of good luck, even

though the cable guy was not so lucky

and brought huge puddles onto our

hardwood floors. we grabbed dinner out

that night, and the next night,

my family came and we ordered pizzas.

by sunday, we were unpacked

enough to live. the kitchen, in fact, was

the only thing perfectly

assembled, and i vowed to cook our

first proper meal in our first proper home.

i'm not sure why, but something

made me dip into my someday

stash of recipes. it was a pile i started

making in college, and continued to build

while living with my mom again between

jobs. even though, in college we cooked,

at my mom's house, i cooked, and while

living in my studio, i cooked, it just felt

like the time that i had unknowingly

been saving these recipes for.

i'm not even sure what the big deal was.

none of them were that hard to make.

and, because it was june and hot,

and let's face it,

we were tired from a weekend of work,

i chose a very simple recipe for

feta and chickpeas

simmered in tomato sauce

and served over orzo.

larry sat with me as i cooked.

we both realized, we both live here, now.

no one's going anywhere.

when it was time to serve the pasta,

i was bummed. i wanted our first meal

to be perfect - a hopeful symbol of the time

to come in this apartment that was ours.

but this one wasn't.

the feta kinda, sorta melted,

creating a granular sauce.

the flavor was ok, i guess.

i promised myself that i would

recreate this very fast dish. make it

into something that was secondhand

and delicious. i would make it my own.

but, things happen. and, sometimes

i forget my promises to myself.

we were too busy learning how

to be a couple who lived together,

who shared responsibilities and each

other's lives.

we were busy working,

and when i unexpectedly,

(in life, not in the moment -

i really never make impetuous choices)

decided to go to culinary school,

we were busy getting me through,

emotionally. we stayed together in the kitchen,

night after night of my first couple

weeks as i peeled potatoes and desperately

tried to cut them into perfect little cubes,

crying most of the time.

and on sundays, after a full weekend of

class, when i couldn't even think of

stepping in the kitchen, larry

would make dinner -

usually a marinara sauce,

which he perfected by the time

i graduated.

we were busy,

both quitting our jobs

- mine of six years -

and starting new ones,

in a very scary two week period.

two years later, i can say it was

a good decision.

and we were busy,

getting engaged one friday

on the floor of our dining room,

too excited to do anything,

but stay on the floor, calling

our family and friends.

a year and a half later, we were

busy, leaving our home as

brooke and larry and coming back

two days later as well, still

brooke and larry, because i could

not decide if i wanted to change

my last name. but we were married.

and one day later, we left for

our honeymoon, coming back after

a week of rainy barbados weather,

to our home.

we were busy,

as i started this blog and a normal

night of making dinner, eating dinner

and watching how i met your mother,

turned into a night of taking a million

pictures as i make dinner, downloading

pictures, editing and uploading pictures,

blogging, and now, tweeting.

and most recently,

we've been busy, making another huge

decision that took us a long time to arrive upon:

to move out of what has very

clearly become our home. we're moving

over an hour away to a house that does

not remember us learning how to live

together, my culinary school trials,

our engagement or the first

year and a half of our marriage.

but, it is much, much closer

to my family, it has enough

rooms to make new memories

without suffering overcrowding

from my large pocketbook collection

or williams-sonoma boxes, like some

places i know. it has a kitchen with

a lot of natural light, which the camera

will love if i actually get home before

sundown to use it.

because, yes, i'm keeping

my job up here. my job,

that sometimes keeps me way later

than i think i'll be staying when i start

my day. and my job, that last week,

on one of these crazy days, for some

reason reminded me of that

pasta dish with chickpeas and feta.

it had come back to me a few months

ago, when a coworker talked about and

ultimately made, one of her favorite dishes,

chickpeas simmered in marinara sauce.

a little bell went off in the back of my head.

but then, last week, when i was running late

and my plan for a potato and eggplant curry

flew out the door two hours before, i remembered

the dish, my promise to make it right,

and knew i could make it fast.

and it was fast.

i got home after 8pm and by 9pm,

dinner was ready. i had made a very

quick sauce, simmered with canned chickpeas,

stirred in beautifully-melting

goat cheese, and tossed the whole thing

with pasta. it was not so pretty. it tasted kind

of gummy. it didn't work.

four years of keeping

a dish lodged firmly in the back of my mind,

for this?

i was going to make it right.

and soon. we're on borrowed time in

fort lee and i am not letting another couple of years

go by. so, i started with dried chickpeas,

which i soaked and cooked with a few cloves

of garlic on sunday.

monday night, i remade the white wine-laced

tomato sauce, stirring in the chickpeas to

simmer for about 25 minutes, while

i made a pot of israeli couscous, halved

a lemon, plucked basil leaves and crumbled feta.

yes, i went back to feta.

because, yes, i loved the idea of the cheese

making the whole sauce a little luxuriously creamy,

but there's something pretty amazing

about crumbles of feta

occasionally finding their way onto your

fork, too. the only difference, was that i splurged

and bought my favorite, very creamy,

sheep and goat feta, which when warmed,

is lovely.

when the sauce was ready,

i squeezed in lemon for brightness

and dropped in torn basil leaves for freshness

and much needed color.

two very worthwhile additions.

after spooning the whole thing

atop couscous - seemingly

much more appropriate than pasta -

i sprinkled on some of that crumbled feta.

and, i felt very good about that decision.

marinara-simmered chickpeas with feta

i've added red pepper flakes in with the onions before sauteing to give the entire dish a little heat and the lemon and basil really add another dimension to this otherwise potentially predictable sauce. all three could be increased or decreased according to your taste. i wish i could tell you how i cooked the couscous, which i ultimately tossed with a bit of lemon juice and grated parm, but something was absolutely lost in translation between my memory of making israeli couscous and the execution. if anyone has a foolproof method for the toasting-absorption method, please let me know.

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large sweet onion, peeled and diced

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

5 large cloves garlic, peeled and finely chopped

1/3 cup white wine

1 can (32 ounces) plum tomatoes

1 1/2 cups dried chickpeas, soaked and cooked* or 2 cans (14 ounces each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed

1 large juicy lemon, halved and seeded

25-30 large basil leaves

cooked couscous or orzo for serving

4 ounces sheep and goat feta, crumbled

grated parm

in large skillet, heat olive oil over medium-high heat; when hot, add onions and red pepper flakes. season with salt and black pepper. cook 2 minutes. reduce heat to medium-low and cook 10 minutes, or until softened. increase heat to medium and cook 5 minutes more, or until just starting to turn golden. add garlic. cook 1 minute more, or until tender, stirring constantly.

add wine; increase heat to high and boil 2 minutes, or until mostly reduced, stirring occasionally. add plum tomatoes, breaking them up with your hands as you add them to the skillet; add juice from can. season with salt and pepper. bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer 15 minutes. add chickpeas; simmer 25-30 minutes, or until the chickpeas are tender and the mixture has thickened. adjust seasoning.

squeeze lemon juice into sauce; stir to combine. working quickly, tear basil leaves into small pieces and add to sauce. cook 30 seconds more, or until basil is wilted. serve over cooked couscous or orzo. sprinkle with feta. serve with plenty of grated parm for sprinkling at the table.

*to cook dried beans: rinse chickpeas. place in large bowl and cover with several inches of cold water. let sit at least 8 hours. drain beans and rinse. place chickpeas in a large saucepot. add three cloves smashed garlic. cover with 8 cups water; bring to a boil. reduce heat; cook at a bare simmer 1 to 1 1/2 hours, or until tender. if not using chickpeas right away, let cool completely in their cooking liquid; store in the liquid, in the fridge, until ready to use.

roasted parsnip fries

i love fries that are

super crisp on the outside

and meltingly tender

inside. i also love

fries that are just

really, really crisp.

these fries?

well, they're

neither.

it's just a fact - parsnips,

like sweet potatoes,

never fully reach

their crunch potential.

but, they do taste delicious.

and, if you opt to call them

something different,

like say,

roasted parsnips,

no one will ever complain

about the texture.

they'll be too busy realizing

they've spent way too long

ignoring parsnips.

at least,

that was what happened with me.

i blame it on carrots.

and turnips.

i've told you before that i'm

not crazy about carrots. and once,

a while ago, i had my first turnip

and instantly knew that i did not

care for it. so parsnips,

which look like white carrots

and are often lumped in with

turnips in everyday conversations,

were quickly swept into the

no, thank you pile.

then, a couple years ago,

i was served a parsnip, roasted,

and i could not believe what

i was tasting: earthy, sweet,

deep-flavored and truly tender

vegetables that were hard to forget.

i've made them many times

since, very simply tossed

with olive oil and roasted.

and to be honest,

this side dish didn't really

seem like one worth

telling you about.

doesn't everyone toss their

veggies with oil

and roast them

these days?

but the last time i went to

make them - feeling funny

because it's spring and i should

be talking about

peas,

artichokes,

rhubarb

and asparagus - larry asked

why i haven't blogged about these

tender veggies.

and he's right.

they're often the right answer to

a very popular question in my house:

what should i serve this with?

once they're peeled and trimmed,

they're very quick to toss together:

just a little vinegar,

a little olive oil,

some cayenne, salt and pepper.

and, when they come out of the oven

sweet and golden,

they're just waiting to be eaten

a little improperly with fingers,

not forks and knives.

so i took some pictures -

some very, very white,

bland pictures that the

magazine i used to work

for would never approve of -

and made myself measure

out ingredients. and when

they were done, they were

yummy.

not crisp, not crunchy,

but yummy.

and if you can rationalize,

as i can, that spring

vegetables are just (just) starting

to show their green selves in

the markets. and today, at least,

it's freezing outside - much more a day

for roasted root veggies that

are admittedly a little bit autumn,

than for grilled fava beans,

which usually belong smack in

the middle of april,

i hope you'll be able to enjoy them

as much as we do.

roasted parsnip fries

here's the deal with parsnips: smaller ones can be cut and quartered. larger ones, which yield a larger quantity of sticks (usually eight), need to be slightly cored. it's your call - here, i used five medium-large parsnips. and, one more thing, using two baking pans will increase your chances of getting even a little bit of crispness out of some of your parsnips. when you force all pieces to share one baking sheet, they're too close together, causing them to steam, not roast.

5 medium-large parsnips, peeled

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

cayenne pepper

salt

pepper

heat oven to 425˚f.

quarter one parsnip; cut cores out of centers. halve each piece lengthwise. you should have 8 parsnip fries. repeat with remaining parsnips.

in bowl, toss together parsnips, vinegar, olive oil, 2-3 pinches cayenne pepper and a few very healthy pinches salt and pepper. arrange parsnips in single on two parchment paper or aluminum foil-lined baking sheets, separating to make sure there is space around each parsnip.

roast 12 minutes; flip parsnips. sprinkle with a little salt and drizzle with olive oil, if desired. roast 12-14 minutes more, or until golden brown and tender. (i usually start looking in the oven after about 10 minutes.