PEPPERY STEAMED MUSSELS AND FATHER'S DAY MEMORIES

Ciao'd with an Arnold Palmer and a splash of pineapple juice.

The yellow dots spike the darkness behind my eyelids. Like white-hot meteors, they come crashing through my brain. This is my migraine. I'm ten years old.  

The hand gently patting my back, one-two-three, one-two-three, keeps rhythm with the words that seep through the pounding ether. “This will pass.” “You’ll be fine.” “That’s my girl.” One-two-three, one-two-three. 

When I float back to childhood, this memory rises to greet me. A migraine, pulsing darkness, light, distress, and fear allayed with comfort, assurance, and calm.  

It was my dad’s hand that patted my back. It was my dad who accompanied me to the eye doctor and when the doctor admonished, “She could have been hit by a truck,” he replied, "Not a car?”

In fifth grade, I was on my way to the corner to meet my friend, Laura, for our walk to school. Halfway there, taunts crackled from behind a cluster of dogwood trees, “Donut! There goes sugar donut, cinnamon donut, chocolate donut.” It’s a weird skill kids possess, the ability to siphon a sassy name from a given one. Donata = donut.

I wish I could say I slayed the beast, threw a rock or yelled back at least, but instead, I ran home. My dad was in the driveway about to depart for his office. I blubbered about donuts and having a stupid name. My dad put his hands on my shoulders and asked, “Do you know the meaning of the word individual? It means that you have unique characteristics that set you a part from others in a good and special way. You’re not Sue, Jane or Linda; you're Donata." And then he said, "Own it, girl." LOL, not. So, losers behind the dogwood trees, put that in your bologna sandwich and bite it.

The migraine memory is true, and it's a metaphor, too. The migraine is a child's pain in all its manifestations. The back-pat is a parent’s salve.

My dad lived in a house with five females, my mom, and four daughters. I ask you, people, especially those long-suffering souls who know the havoc that daughters can wreak, how did he do it? How did he remain sane and in fact, sanguine about the whole thing? My dad was the nurturer. He kept us safe and dried our tears. He lifted us when we were blue and took the wind out of our sails when we bragged. He listened to God knows how many laments about mean girls and inattentive boyfriends and, if that weren’t enough, he listened while Carly Simon (“You’re So Vain”) or the Bee Gees (“How Deep Is Your Love”) sang in the background. And so it went throughout our lives.  Dad nurtured, we thrived.

I’m not a nurturer, at least not to the degree that my father was. I feel sad that I can’t return his depth of comfort, assurance, and calm as he slips along the shoals of Alzheimer’s. He won’t know it’s Father’s Day. His mind has been left to languish in twilight.  Still, I like to believe a scrap of my memories or some like them embrace his heart. After all, isn’t the heart where memories reside?

Happy Father’s Day, dad. I love you.

RECIPE

PEPPERY STEAMED MUSSELS
Pepata di Cozze

The Pugliese (denizens of the Puglia region of Italy) are greatly fond of mussels so it makes sense that my dad holds them in high esteem, too. In this rendition, an abundance of black pepper (the pepata) lifts the briny creaminess of the mussels. Serve the mussels as a first or a main course, accompanied with toasted country bread that has been rubbed with garlic and drizzled with olive oil. 

Serves 4 to 6

2 to 3 pounds mussels, scrubbed
2 tablespoons freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup white wine or water
Finely chopped parsley (optional)
Lemon wedges (optional)

Place the mussels in a large heavy pot or Dutch oven over high heat. Grind over them the black pepper, add the wine or water, and cover with a lid. Let the mussels steam, shaking the pot from time to time. Cook until all the mussels have opened,
6 to 8 minutes. Discard those that have not opened. 

Serve from the pot or transfer with the broth to individual bowls. Sprinkle the mussels with the chopped parsley, if using. If you wish, serve the mussels with lemon wedges, though this is not necessary. 

MARCELLA MONDAY: PENNE WITH CAULIFLOWER, GARLIC, AND OIL

Ciao'd as Rafael Nadal won his 10th French Open. Allé CHAMP10N!

Aglio e olio, garlic and oil, is an Italian mother sauce that forms the foundation for a host of other sauces, many of which include vegetables. Marcella Hazan's rendition highlights the vegetable of the moment, cauliflower. Paired with anchovies that imbue the sauce with depth of flavor, fruity green olive oil and parsley for herbaceous freshness, and a lilting dash of red pepper, this sauce proves that simple ingredients can sing. 

Serve 4 to 6

One 1 1/2-pound head cauliflower
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 large garlic cloves, peeled and chopped fine
6 flat anchovy fillets, chopped or 1 tablespoon anchovy paste
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt
1-pound package penne or other macaroni
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

Strip the cauliflower of all its leaves except for a few of the very tender inner ones. Rinse it in cold water, and cut it in two.

Bring 4 to 5 quarts water to a boil, then put in the cauliflower. Cook until tender, but compact - about 25 to 30 minutes. Test it with a fork to know when it is done. Drain and set aside.  

 Put the oil, garlic, and chopped anchovies or anchovy paste into a medium-size sauté pan. Turn on the heat to medium, and sauté until the garlic becomes colored a golden brown. Stir from time to time with a wooden spoon, mashing the anchovies with it. 

Put in the boiled cauliflower, and break it up quickly with a fork, crumbling it into pieces no bigger than a peanut. Turn it thoroughly in the oil, mashing part of it to a pulp.

Add the red pepper and a liberal amount of salt. Turn up the heat, and cook for a few minutes more, stirring frequently. Then turn off the heat.

Bring 4 to 5 quarts water to a boil, add a liberal amount of salt, and as soon as the water returns to a boil, put in the pasta. When cooked al dente, tender but firm to the bite, drain it well and transfer it to a warm serving bowl. 

Ver briefly reheat the cauliflower, and pour all the contents of the pan over the pasta. Toss thoroughly. Add the chopped parsley. Toss again, and serve at once. Recipe from More Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan, Knopf, 1978.

NOTE: This type of sauce is meant to be served without grated cheese, and that is how Marcella preferred it. But as Marcella said, "One may do as one pleases, and choose to have either pecorino or Parmesan cheese, depending upon whether one wants the sauce more or less sharp."

ZUCCHINI GRATINATO

Ciao'd after a day at the races.

Gratinato is the Italian word for gratin, a French dish baked in a shallow pan and topped with something that browns to gratifying crunchiness, such as breadcrumbs or cheese. In this recipe, I used both. Classically, potatoes cook to creamy lusciousness under the topping, but truth be told, any vegetable or pasta (think macaroni and cheese) can play the starring role. In this rendition, I topped zucchini with panko (Japanese breadcrumbs) for an extra dose of crispy and tossed them with fresh (semi-soft) Asiago cheese and a kiss of Parmesan. The gratinato makes a fresh yet earthy side dish for grilled or roasted meats and poultry. I eat it on its own for lunch, too.

Serves 4 to 6

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 to 2 1/2 pounds medium zucchini (4 to 5), sliced 1/4-inch thick
1 cup thinly sliced green onions (about 5), white and green parts
2 garlic cloves, minced
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/2 cup hot whole milk
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint
1 cup panko
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
3/4 cup grated fresh Asiago cheese

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Grease a 2-quart shallow baking dish with 1 tablespoon of the butter.

In a large skillet over medium heat, warm the olive oil. Add the onions and garlic and sauté until the onions are just translucent, about 2 minutes. Add the zucchini, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until almost tender, 4 to 6 minutes. 

Reduce the heat to medium-low. Stir in the flour. Add the hot milk, basil, and mint and cook until the liquid thickens, 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in 2 tablespoons of the Parmesan. Pour the mixture into the prepared baking dish.

Combine the panko, Asiago, and the remaining Parmesan. Sprinkle on top of the zucchini mixture Dot with the remaining 2 tablespoons butter, cut into bits, and bake until bubbly and browned, 15 to 20 minutes. If the topping browns too quickly, cover the baking dish with aluminum foil. Remove the a minute or two before taking the dish out of the oven.

GREEK-STYLE MESS 'O GREENS LAMB BURGER

Ciao'd while watching the National Spelling Bee. It's all the buzz. 

It's the grilling season. For many, this momentous shift in the calendar means that the man of the house will submit himself to the task that we women carry all year. Carry is the operative word here. We carry the task in the kitchen, he carries the torch at the grill. Fire allusions aside, this hand-off means that said man can drop his winter coat and adorn himself with the mantle of caveman, instead. Whatever.           I'm pretty sure cavewomen were manning the fire, too. And I know for sure that globally, women (wo)man the grills. But we're 'mercans and in the blessed US of A, women cook and men grill. So, why not humor him so we can out-source the main course? 

I do not belong to the church of women in the kitchen while men be beer drinkin' but I do believe that imprinting plays a part in the man-at-the-grill thing. Everything harks back to our childhoods, doesn't it? Who did the grilling at your house, I ask? 

The primal appeal of fire and tools (fork, spatula, tongs) attracts men (with beers). Think about it. Have you ever attended a social gathering, grill or not, where men actually interact with women? As women, we're perfectly happy to nibble on brie and sip chardonnay in the kitchen while talking about our latest diets ("But I'm treating myself tonight") and bragging (passively. not.) about our kids ("He's the top lacrosse scorer/math maven/artist"), but the guys? They need entertainment. When it's not big-screen TV football, it's the grill. 

A few years ago, Kingsford Charcoal ran a commercial during which a husband comes upon his wife pouring charcoal into the barbecue. "What do you think you're doing? What would happen if I walked into the kitchen and started making a salad?" he asks. "Yeah, that would be weird," she answers.

So, let 'em have at it. The men can man the grill but we mandate (I know, all these "mans") the food that adorns it. How about something like these Greek-Style Mess 'O Greens Lamb Burgers. The burgers are infused with mint and garlic and then topped with a riff on the classic Greek salad. The salad, a party of arugula, cucumber, sun-dried tomatoes, black olives, red onion, and gorgonzola, brings zing and crunch to the burgers. Serve the burgers on crusty rolls. Then stand back and let the caveman take the bow. Cuz, yeah, we're humble.  

RECIPE

GREEK-STYLE MESS 'O GREENS LAMB BURGERS

I love this Mediterranean take on the customary beef burger. Lamb takes center stage with a lively complement of herbs - mint, oregano, parsley - and a healthy dash of garlic. Top it off with a riff on the classic Greek salad - arugula, cukes, sun-dried tomatoes, black olives, and here comes the Italian component - Gorgonzola! - and yeah, perfection. 

Serves 4

1 1/2 pounds ground lamb
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint
2 tablespoons chopped chives
2 tablespoons chopped fresh oregano
2 teaspoons granulated garlic
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for brushing burgers and buns
4 hamburger or ciabatta buns, split
1 1/2 cups arugula leaves
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
1/3 cup sun-dried tomatoes in oil, thinly sliced
1/3 cup pitted Kalamata olives, halved
1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
1/4 Persian cucumber, cut lengthwise and thinly sliced
1/2 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup crumbled Gorgonzola cheese

In a medium bowl, gently mix the lamb, mint, chives, oregano, garlic, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Shape into four 1/2-inch thick patties. Using your thumb, make an indentation in the center of each patty (this will help the burgers stay flat while cooking rather than swelling into a ball shape). Brush with olive oil.

Heat a large cast iron skillet over medium-high heat. When the skillet begins to smoke, grill the burgers, turning once, until cooked through, about 3 minutes per side for medium-rare. Alternatively, prepare a charcoal grill or gas grill for direct grilling over high heat and grill the burgers.

Meanwhile, preheat a broiler. Brush the insides of the buns with olive oil and broil, cut side up, until golden, about 2 minutes. Place a burger on the bottom of each roll. In a medium bowl, toss the arugula, parsley, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, onion, cucumber, and vinegar with the 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Gently stir in the cheese. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Arrange the salad on top of each burger. Cover with the bun tops and serve.

MEMORIAL DAY IN FLANDERS FIELDS

Ciao'd in a summery yet somber state of mind. 

Yay! Memorial Day! The official first day of summer. Road trips, lolling on the beach, trash novels. Sun-kissed or sun-burnt, we're high-fiving each other for our triumphant traverse through cold snowy mornings and blowy spring afternoons. Now here we are, hosting or attending the requisite holiday barbecue (aka cookout in the back East parts from which I hail).  Cheers!

Today, I was thinking about Memorial Day but not in a barbecue (aka cookout) kind of way.  Truth be told, my recollection of the last Monday in May fuses billowing flags and red, white and blue parades. Sure, they enthusiastically commemorate our awe-inspiring armed forces, but this year for me, the meaning of Memorial Day plumbs more deeply. "Traditional" military protection for the US in far-flung countries - tanks prowling Mideast streets, hand-to-hand combat in the desert- now melds with counter-terrorism surveillance that monitors chatter, analyzes risk, and signals the imminence of an attack. I'm sure the vigil is mostly successful. But sometimes it's not. People die and, in the midst of the cataclysm(s), people become heroes. They claim Memorial Day acclaim, too. For God's sake, haven't we seen enough of this?  

No doubt, people uttered the same question during World War 1 and World War 2 and so many conflicts since. War, like politics, is personal.

So about those red poppies you see in the image above. They symbolize a poem written by Major John McCrae to commemorate his friend, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who was killed on May 2nd 1915 in the Battle of Ypres during World War 1. The poem moves me for its beauty and emotion but also because it's as relevant today as it was 102 years ago. Isn't it sad that the more global conflict changes, the more it stays the same? Please forgive me for not posting a recipe for your Memorial Day barbecue. There are plenty of them out there. Check out Epicurious, New York Times Cooking, or Food 52.

Instead, I am posting this hauntingly lovely poem in honor of our soldiers and those that have traveled too early to the Elysian fields.  Chances are, if you weren't an English major, you haven't encountered the poem. No worries. It's not esoterically poemy. You'll get it.                           

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If you break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

                      - John McCrae 1915

MARCELLA MONDAY: ITALIAN SALSA VERDE

Ciao'd with a white sangria.

RECIPE

In Italy, this tart green sauce is always served with boiled meats and often with fish. It pairs wonderfully with grilled foods, too. If making the sauce for fish, use lemon juice. If you plan to serve it with meat, add red wine vinegar instead. 

For 4 servings

2 1/2 tablespoons finely chopped Italian (flat-leaf) parsley
2 tablespoons finely chopped capers
6 flat anchovy fillets, mashed in a mortar or a bowl, or 1 tablespoon anchovy paste
1/2 teaspoon very finely chopped garlic
1/2 teaspoon strong mustard, Dijon or German
1/2 teaspoon red wine vinegar (for meat) or 1 tablespoon strained lemon juice (for fish)
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt, to taste

Put the parsley, capers, mashed anchovy fillets, garlic, and mustard in a bowl and stir, mixing thoroughly. Add the vinegar or lemon juice and stir again. Add the olive oil, beating it vigorously into the other ingredients. Taste for salt and for piquancy. (Add vinegar or lemon juice if you want it tarter, but add very small amounts at a time.) Recipe by Marcella Hazan, The Classic Italian Cookbook, Ballantine Books, 1973.

Note: This sauce can be refrigerated for up to a week. Stir it well again before serving.