Bob Vivant

A Happy Anniversary and Some Maple Fruit and Nut Crisps

October 27, 2011

tags: dinner with Julie, love, marriage, seven spoons, yummy with cheese

My husband and I hosted a huge Halloween party ten years ago to this very day. And by huge, I mean a big white tent, a pig roast, and a DJ. Our hundred plus guests spared no detail; the costumes were over the top, especially mine–I went as a bride. In fact, I was the bride.

We were given a lot of advice as we planned our wedding, some solicited, some not, some valuable, some comical. But all of our advisers failed to share with us the one nugget that we most needed to hear: Marriage is really f*$%*@# hard. We were six years in when we understood just how hard it was and what the “for worse” part of our vows really meant. It wasn’t “he leaves the seat up” hard. Or “she spends too much time on the road” hard. It was “I’m sorry, it’s over” hard.

The most surprising part of our unraveling was that our love for each other wasn’t enough. It took a village to hold us together and carry the hope that I didn’t have the strength and conviction to carry. But in the end, we were the ones that had ruined it, and we were the ones that slowly pieced it together again. Somehow our marriage survived. It’s different now, like a second act. And it’s a damn good one. We take more care with our marriage and with each other these days. I’ll never be sure why we didn’t do that before.

So here’s the part where I gracefully segue into what these maple crisps have to do with my story. You might expect that we served them at the wedding. Or that I made them for our anniversary dinner. They’re neither. I had no urgent need to even be in the kitchen today; Greg is taking me to dinner tonight to celebrate our hard-earned double digit milestone. Today is simply a reminder that the little stuff matters–a lot. Tomorrow I’ll sneak a few of these into Greg’s lunch along with a note thanking him for a wonderful night, because I’m certain it will be.

It’s hard to choose the perfect partner for these subtly sweet crisps. They’re downright addictive on their own. Everything about them says Fall to me–the tart cranberries and sweet pears, the earthy walnuts, and the way they snap when you bite into one, like dried twigs underfoot. If forced to marry them off, I’d go with a creamy blue like St. Agur. A very ripe Camembert would be lovely too. We could keep dreaming up pairings together, but I don’t want to keep my date waiting.

Maple Fruit and Nut Crisps

Adapted from Tara at Seven Spoons and Julie.

Use your favorite fruit and nut combination in these crisps. I love pistachios with dates. Or substitute figs for the pears and cranberries and add a couple teaspoons of fennel seeds. Cranberries and hazelnuts. Rosemary, almonds, lemon zest, and golden raisins. Endless possibilities!

Ingredients

optional

or all purpose flour

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350°F.
Lightly grease four mini loaf pans with olive oil or butter. (My pans are each 5-3/4 by 3-1/4 by 2-1/4. If your pans are bigger or smaller, simply adjust the baking time accordingly.)
Toast the nuts and seeds until fragrant, about 8 minutes. Separately toast the millet for 5 minutes, until very lightly browned.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt. In a medium bowl, combine the milk, yogurt, and syrup. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ones and stir until blended. Add the nuts, seeds, millet, and dried fruit.
Divide the batter evenly among the prepared pans. Bake until golden brown and firm, 25-30 minutes. Remove the loaves from the pans and cool on a wire rack.
The cooler the loaf, the easier it is to slice. You can finish the crisps a few hours after they cool, the next day, or wrap them tightly and pop them in the freezer. They’re actually easier to slice when frozen. When you’re ready to bake the crisps, set the oven temperature to 300°F. Slice the loaves as thin as you can and place them on an ungreased baking sheet. (I like to bake one and freeze the remaining loaves until the craving strikes again.)
Bake for 15 minutes. Flip the slices over and return them to the over for 10 minutes. Scatter them on a wire rack to cool.

Makes 6-7 dozen crisps.

There is Love and a Walnut Plum Cake

October 19, 2011

tags: love

I walked almost a mile–the distance between our local farmers market and my house–with my face buried in a brown bag. I cradled my treasure between my hands and inhaled deeply with each step, blissfully unaware of the urban chaos that surrounded me.

Fresh plums!

Safely home and out of harms way, I inspected my lot of Stanley plums. Their deep blue skins reminded me of my favorite dark rinse jeans. They were firm enough to remain whole if baked, but soft enough to require careful handling. The prettiest ones were reserved for eating out of hand; the rest went into this cake.

When baking with plums, I prefer tarts by a large margin; crisps, crumbles and the lot can mask the flavor of my favorite fall fruit. But this cake wasn’t about what I liked. I was making it for Greg. He was hosting a business meeting at our home the following morning and feared that the sugar-loving attendees would balk at the site of his favorite yogurt, fruit, and granola spread. I offered to bake a coffee cake. The gesture, though not an entirely selfless one given my love for baking, had little to do with the tastes and preferences of his guests. It was my way of saying, “There has been too much tension between us lately. You’re stressed and dissatisfied with your work. I’m letting my gremlins get the best of me. We’re grating on each other, and it scares me sometimes. But we’ve been down this bumpy road before. We’ll find our way back to each other, because I still love you. And I know that you love me too.” Yes, a cake, even the simplest labor of love, can speak volumes. Or so I hoped.

In the flurry of preparations and emotions, I forgot to snap a picture of the finished cake in its entirety. The friend with the good personality and not the beauty pageant winner, my cake resembled a pound cake with dark patches lurking beneath its golden skin. The plums I’d so carefully arranged on top sank into the cake. Only when it was sliced did the inky fruit give itself away, a layer of rich plum butter interrupting the moist, dense cake. The amber edges were slightly crisp and with the toasted walnuts added a satisfying contrast to the smooth plums. I was smitten with her from the first bite.

Later that evening, Greg and I enjoyed the last two slices of “breakfast” cake served alongside a dollop of crème fraîche. (Calling the sumptuous cake “breakfast” might be a bit of a stretch, unless, like one of Greg’s colleagues, you’re accustomed to starting your day with Cocoa Pebbles.) Greg recounted the highlights–and lowlights–of his meeting. I listened attentively, offering advice only when asked. The tension between us had softened though it remained, like the plums, just below the surface. There was more to say–more than my humble nutty plum cake could say. But there was love.

Walnut Plum Cake

Ingredients

You can substitute all-purpose flour. The cake will be brighter in color, but a bit less tender.

I saved a few for eating out of hand.

Preparation

Preheat oven to 375°F.
Line an 8-inch cake pan or spring form pan with parchment paper.
Whisk together flour, almond meal, salt, baking soda, and baking powder in a large bowl.
In a second bowl, whisk together the oil, yogurt, milk, lemon juice and zest, egg, and sugar.
Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add the wet ones. Stir until just combined.
Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Arrange the plums over the batter in a single layer and sprinkle with the toasted walnuts.
Bake for 40-50 minutes, until the cake is firm to touch and a tooth pick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool on a wire rack. Remove the paper pan liner and serve.

The Double Plum Crostata remains my favorite fruit dessert this fall.

Hiding and Banana Walnut Granola

October 14, 2011

tags: Alex Garcia, Ami Vitale, Chicago Ideas Week, empathy, inspiration, Jim Richardson, photography, rotten bananas, Vince Musi

I hide a lot these days.

I don’t think anyone noticed, myself included until this week.

Guess that means I’m good at hiding or maybe just better than I used to be. Playing hide-and-seek on a summer night as a kid, I was too chicken to stake claim to the best hiding places–they were the darkest spots. I didn’t know what waited for me in the darkness, but I presumed it was a lot worse than being found within thirty seconds of hearing, “ready or not, here I come.”

As an adult, I hide without that anxiety filled sense of urgency, without the fear of being discovered. I hide without trying, or even realizing that I’m hiding, until I’m suddenly and sometimes painfully aware that I am exposed and vulnerable.

And then bam, just like that I’m in a crowded theater (This isn’t a dream. I’m not naked. And I’m not late for my final exam.) with Ami Vitale, a world-renowned photographer for National Geographic Magazine. Ami was a speaker for the Chicago Ideas Week session on photography. She stood no more than twenty feet from me describing through words and, of course, pictures what photography means to her, “My job is to illuminate our similarities, not our differences. I believe it encourages empathy.” Something indescribable stirred in me as Ami’s brilliant work flashed across the large screen behind her.

When the session ended (after other photography rockstars including Jim Richardson, Chicago’s own Alex Garcia, and Vince Musi had shared their testaments to the power of photography), I walked around downtown Chicago observing things I hadn’t noticed before in the fourteen years I’ve called the city my home–the gleaming expanse of grass where East Ninth Street meets Michigan Avenue; the sweetness wafting from the open door of a chocolate shop. Mostly, I noticed the people. With each passerby I considered our similarities. I looked them in the eye if they met my gaze. And I smiled. A wave of shame washed over me; I’d walked these same streets more often with my eyes on the sidewalk than on the people I passed. It’s easy to hide in a crowded city.

Empathy.

When I finally floated home later that evening the smell of rotten bananas smacked me in the face. “I’m not the only one who’s been hiding,” I thought, carefully lifting the limp fruits from behind the kombucha tea pitcher. Those bananas were pitch black–only their shape gave them away. I considered peeling and freezing them–my go-to move when there’s no time to rescue them with a banana bread or scone. Instead, I slipped my apron over my head and turned on the oven. I was alone in my kitchen, but I wasn’t hiding anymore.

Banana Walnut Granola

Ingredients

Preparation

Preheat oven to 300°F.
In a large bowl combine oats, walnuts, flax seeds, coconut, cinnamon, and salt.
Heat the coconut oil, brown sugar, and bananas in a small saucepan, stirring constantly until the sugar is dissolved. Add banana mixture to the dry ingredients. Mix thoroughly.
Spread on a large jelly roll pan or two small pans.
Bake for 60-75 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes, until deep golden brown.
Let cool completely then store in an airtight container.

I know, I know, I’m a bit obsessed with granola. Try these and you will be too: Blueberry Coconut Cardamom Granola and Cranberry Pecan Granola

In Search of The Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookie

October 4, 2011

tags: Jacques Torres, M.A.S.H., Maldon Salt, Neiman Marcus, pure bliss, Silpats, Tollhouse

Is there really such a thing as The Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookie?

Over three years, I’ve tried more than twenty unique recipes and countless variations and tweaks for one sweet little indulgence: a chocolate chip cookie. My goal, beyond satisfying Greg’s sweet tooth, was to determine which cookie reigned supreme. The results though mostly delicious were inconclusive. Somewhere between Jacques Torres’s New York Times recipe and the Neiman Marcus urban legend recipe, it hit me–there is no singular recipe that can satisfy all chocolate chip cookie lovers. Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, “ultimate” deliciousness is on the tongue of the taster. Sometimes, like when I catch a rerun of M.A.S.H., I’m overcome with a craving for an old school Tollhouse chocolate chipper with those thin, crispy edges that smack of caramel. My current favorite has a hint of cinnamon, the chew of oatmeal, a subtle crunch, and lots of good chocolate. (While the amounts and types of chocolate used in the recipes I tested varied, the authors agreed on one point: use the best chocolate you can find.) Yes, even my “ultimate” cookie is a moving target subject to change with the seasons and my state of mind.

With that, I give you my current favorite–my ultimate chocolate chip cookie. It’s packed with chocolate. The wheat flour and flax seeds are used for texture and flavor and not their arguable health benefits. I don’t like a chocolate chip cookie that tastes like something other than, well, a chocolate chip cookie, but cinnamon and espresso powder are subtle additions that deepen the flavor in that “I don’t know what it is, but I like it” kind of way.

Tell me about your Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookie.

Bob’s Ultimate Chocolate Chip Cookies

Ingredients

optional

or all-purpose flour

I use Maldon, but any coarse salt will work.

Preparation

Beat butter and sugars at medium speed in a heavy-duty mixer until creamy, about 3 minutes.
Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add vanilla extract and espresso powder. (I use about 1.5 tablespoons for a subtle mocha flavor. Double up if you love the taste of coffee in your sweets.)
In a food processor, pulse the oatmeal several times until it’s reduced to coarse crumbs.
Combine ground oatmeal, flax seeds if using, flour, baking soda, and salt in a separate bowl. With the mixer on low, gradually add dry ingredients to butter mixture until just combined.
Stir in chocolate chips.
Place dough in an airtight container and refrigerate overnight or up to three days. (The dough can also be frozen. Allow it to thaw in the refrigerator for a few hours before you want to use it.)
When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350°F.
Drop cookies by heaping tablespoonfuls onto baking sheets lined with parchment paper or Silpats. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt. Bake for 14-18 minutes or until lightly browned but still soft. (I prefer mine slightly under cooked.)
Cool slightly on baking sheets. Remove to wire racks to cool completely.

Want even more chocolate in your cookies? Try these Double Chocolate Cookies with Mint.

A Baker’s Tale and Double Plum Crostata

September 14, 2011

tags: crostata, Escoffier, history, love, Silpats

Once upon a time I was a baker.

Long before I knew the difference between roasting and braising, before I could turn out a silky béchamel without so much as a peak in a cookbook, before I could grill a whole fish, beady little eyes and all.

Before. I was a baker.

Cookies, too many varieties to list or count. A few cakes. Simple sheet cakes glazed with a powdered sugar icing before they had time to cool. Banana walnut cake with browned butter icing. Or a German chocolate cake. Just once a year. On my birthday. Licking coconut pecan frosting off the spoon. Holiday nutrolls, Aunt Flossie’s poundcake, raspberry squares, Angel food strudel.

I knew little of techniques and ratios or the chemistry of leavening. I creamed some butter and sugar, always by hand, never with a mixer. Added an egg. Or two. A splash of vanilla here. A pinch of salt there. Pecans? Chocolate chips? Coconut? Maybe, no, yes. More. Again!

It wasn’t about the way the ingredients came together. This I knew even back then when I was just a little girl trying to please her mother with every scrape of the cumbersome mixing bowl. No, it was the way that the women I loved most in my world came together over a warm oven in a manner we couldn’t manage in any other facet of our lives. It was uncomplicated, the baking that is, as long as everything was done per mom’s instructions and no mistakes were made. There were stories; there was laughter; there was love. It wasn’t always, if ever, this idyllic, really, but that’s the way I like to remember it. The love.

I stopped baking somewhere in my early twenties. Somewhere between losing my virginity and losing my dad. It became complicated, the baking, maybe even tainted. The memories became painful. I was alone in an unfamiliar kitchen. And the love I carried was lost or maybe just buried. It didn’t happen with a dramatic thud. I barely noticed, because I still found myself most often in the kitchen; in baking’s wake, I discovered cooking.

I moved around plenty for a decade or so. New schools. New jobs. New men. New kitchens. New recipes. I traced a path from Pittsburgh to Gainesville, from Greenville, SC to Chicago and cooked my way from my Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book to Escoffier. I was many things to many people. And to no one at all, I was myself. I was not a baker. I could no longer be relied on for the sweet ending.

I simmered for a long time.

And somewhere between losing my mom and gaining a fantastic husband with an insatiable sweet tooth, I began baking again. There’s more; I’ll save that for another time. Today, new stories are shared as friends and family gather in my kitchen. And there is laughter. And love.

I am a baker. And this is my favorite summer tart. Please make it with love.

Double Plum Crostata

Ingredients

pastry crust

These days I’m partial to making my pie crusts with whole wheat pastry flour, but all-purpose works fine too.

less if your plums are on the sweet side

Raisins are nice too.

Preparation

Toss ingredients together in a bowl and allow the sugar to dissolve a bit while you prepare the pastry crust.
Preheat the oven to 375°F.
Roll dough into a 13″ diameter circle and transfer it to a baking sheet. (I roll mine directly on parchment paper or a Silpat.)
Pile the plum mixture in the center of the dough. Allow a clean, 2-inch border all around.
Fold the edges of dough up and over the plum mixture, leaving a 6-inch opening in the center.
Gently press the dough to hold it in place.
Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the top is lightly browned and the plum filling is bubbly.
Share it with someone you love.

Then and Now: Whole Wheat Walnut Biscuits

September 8, 2011

tags: Earle MacAusland, Gourmet, history, mom, Silpats, yummy with cheese

I don’t like looking back.
Especially when it comes to food.

Peering through a culinary lens, the past, my past can appear unsavory, largely decorated with Tombstone pizzas, Jello and Cool Whip desserts, and countless casseroles fashioned out of Kraft Mac and Cheese. Mom can’t be blamed for all of those missteps. To be fair, to myself and my mom, there were a few delicious highlights like Mom’s lasagna, fried fruit pies, and Texas sheet cake. Though certainly deserving of a place in my cookery present and future, those standouts were forever locked in my past when my mom died.

Alas, the past cannot be altered. I can’t turn back the clock or the gas flame and rescue the blackberry jam that I overshot and turned into a chunky blackberry caramel. The future, on the other hand, is full of hope, of jams to come, of berries yet to pick, and favorite foods as yet undiscovered.

So my recent fixation on old cookbooks caught me by surprise. A colleague of mine from my previous life as a structural engineer got wind of my current endeavors and graciously gifted me his cookbook collection, most of which dated back to the late 50s and the 60s. For two weeks I have lulled myself to sleep turning the pages of Gourmet’s Menu Cookbook, Gourmet’s Old Vienna Cookbook: A Viennese Memoir, and more. In Gourmet’s Menu Cookbook Earle MacAusland paints a striking contrast to the present: “Food that can be served from trays and eaten with the fingers is best for a small party. To attempt to manage a plate, a glass, and a cigarette all at once can prove most uncomfortable.” Yes, indeed. More surprising given the fifty years that separate my present from Earle’s are recipes like Curried Walnuts and Camembert Shortbread, which seem ahead of their time. (And yes, Earle, they would be easy to handle along with that wine glass and cigarette.)

A simple recipe for walnut biscuits was the first recipe from those pages of time to capture my imagination and the first one I tried. I couldn’t resist the urge to give it an update, swapping out the all-purpose flour for my new favorite whole wheat pastry flour. I love biscuits; they’re a soul-satisfying, portable comfort food, and they are easy to make. The extra steps of rolling the dough and dressing it up with sugar and nuts added just five minutes, but it was time, you will likely agree, well spent. On their own these biscuits strike a perfect balance between sweet and savory. I slathered my second, (That’s right, you can’t eat just one.) with homemade fig preserves, pushing it into the equally delicious but decidedly sweet realm.

If only all history lessons could be so unforgettably good.

Whole Wheat Walnut Biscuits

Adapted from Gourmet’s Menu Cookbook recipe for Walnut Biscuits.

Ingredients

Preparation

Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper or a Silpat.
Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in a mixing bowl.
Using a pastry cutter or two knives, cut in 1/4 cup butter.
Stir in the milk. You want a soft but not sticky dough.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured board and knead for 30 seconds.
Roll the dough out into a 1/4-inch thick rectangle.
Spread the remaining, softened butter over the dough. Evenly sprinkle the brown sugar over the butter, followed by the walnuts.
Roll the long edge of the dough up, gently patting it as you roll so that it holds together. Lightly pinch the seam together and roll the finished log so that the seam is on the bottom.
Cut the log into 1.25-inch thick slices. Lay the slices on the lined baking sheet about 2 inches apart.
Bake for 15-20 minutes, until lightly browned on tops and dark golden on the bottoms.

Makes 10-12 scones.

These Pumpkin Scones are scrumptious too!

Making Man Jam: Peach Ginger and Almond Conserve

August 31, 2011

tags: Annie, conserve, man jam, The National Center for Home Food Preservation, yummy with cheese

A few weeks ago after a, do forgive the pun, fruitful trip to Michigan, my kitchen became jam central. For three days and nights I peeled, pitted, sliced, macerated, stirred, simmered, and ultimately canned my way through nearly fifty pounds of fruit. When it was over the kitchen floor was shiny and sticky, and I added sixty-five jars of jams, preserves, conserves, spoonsweets, and compotes to my basement larder.

At the time it seemed as though the stove-top burbling would never end. Not that I wanted it too; this ritual, though arguably a bit out of hand this year even by my ambitious standards, had become one of my favorites. I didn’t even mind the way my flip flops stuck to the kitchen floor with every step–“thwop-smack, thwop-smack.” The sweet aromas–a blend of ripe fruit and caramel–seemed to permeate every corner of the house. I would wake in the middle of the night to the scent of vanilla. The next night it was thick with the smell of peaches laced with bourbon. I couldn’t think of a more pleasing way to savor summer. And I knew that when Old Man Winter came a-knockin’ for me, my jams would see me through, reminding me of life after the thaw.

When Operation Jam finally came to a close, Greg and I had a breakfast tasting so we could choose our favorites. Mine was Apricot Preserves with Vanilla Beans and Gewürztraminer. Greg’s pick was the Peach Ginger and Almond Conserve pictured above.

“What’s a conserve?” he asked as he dipped his spoon into the jar of glistening orange goodness for a third helping, this one bypassing his scone and going right to his mouth.

“I think it’s just preserves with nuts and maybe dried fruit,” I answered, but the truth was: I wasn’t exactly sure. Barron’s Food Lover’s Companion defined it as: A mixture of fruits, nuts and sugar, cooked together until thick, often used to spread on biscuits, crumpets and so on. But Collins English Dictionary countered with: (Cookery) a preparation of fruit in sugar, similar to jam but usually containing whole pieces of fruit.

Most, but not all, conserve recipes I found did indeed contain nuts. I was in the midst of explaining my research project to Greg when I noticed his eyes gloss over not unlike the conserve he was still devouring. He smiled at me from across the table, “It doesn’t matter to me what you call it. This stuff is gooo-ooood.” As if anticipating my next question, he paused and added, “I think it’s the texture I love. I’ve never had nuts in my jam before.”

Two days later, I was standing in my sister Annie’s kitchen in Pennsylvania unloading the goodies I’d brought her from Chicago, which included several jars of the fruits of my labor. My brother-in-law Tim immediately reached for Greg’s favorite peach conserve and asked, “What’s a conserve?”

Having learned my lesson from Greg, I offered the abridged version, “It’s a preserve with nuts.”

Tim held the jar up to the sun-filled kitchen window with his left hand, a smoking cigar in his right, and looked thoughtfully at the conserve, “Why don’t you just call it Man Jam?”

Yes, Man Jam.

This man jam can transform a simple slice of toast into a satisfying breakfast. And it’s a near perfect partner for a creamy brie. Of course my man likes to spoon it straight from the jar. Call it what you will and spoon some up today before peach season passes you by.

Peach Ginger and Almond Conserve

Ingredients

3 pounds peaches
5 cups granulated sugar
1 lemon, juice and zest
1 orange, juice and zest
1/3 cup crystallized ginger, finely chopped
1 cup almonds, blanched and roughly chopped or slivered

Preparation

Poach the peaches for one minute in a pan of boiling water. Remove them to a bowl of ice water. Peel, pit, and chop into 3/4-inch chunks.
Combine the peaches, sugar, and citrus zests and juices in a non-reactive pan and bring to a simmer. Pour into a bowl. Cover and refrigerate overnight.
The next day, bring to a boil, stirring gently. Skim and continue cooking on high heat until concentrated. If you have a candy thermometer, boil until it reaches 221°F.
Add the crystallized ginger and almonds. Return to a boil.
Process the jam immediately using your method of choice. If you’re a canning novice, The National Center for Home Food Preservation is a great resource: Processing Jams and Jellies.

Makes about 5 cups.

And while you’re at it, try my favorite jam of Summer 2011: Apricot Preserves with Vanilla Beans and Gewürztraminer

Lost In Translation: Panzanella With Golden Beets and Walnuts

August 26, 2011

tags: A Fish Called Wanda, Annie, garlicky, Kevin Kline, sexy

“What’s Panzanella?” my sister asked when I described my new favorite salad to her over the phone.

I paused.

It was one of those awkward, pregnant kind of pauses.

It wasn’t that I expected her to know what it was. I’d never heard of it myself until last summer. No, I simply hate the English translation: bread salad.

Panzanella sounds sexy. In fact, I think all Italian foods sound sexy. Remember Kevin Kline as Otto in the movie a Fish Called Wanda? “Parmigiano,” he cried as he sniffed his armpit. Okay, pardon the possibly obscure and somewhat crass digression. Let’s get back to the matter at hand. “Bread salad” sounds like the kind of dish you make when you’re desperate, when all you have is bread. Bread salad is probably what my mom had in her lunch sack when she was walking to school–“uphill both ways, in the snow, barefoot.” I’m not sure why the words, which are quite lovely on their own, sound so unappealing to me when combined to describe a single dish. “Bread” when warm and crusty is my favorite food group, and “salad” makes my head spin with tantalizing possibilities. Call it what you will; panzanella is anything but a dish of desperation.

Yes, panzanella is all about the bread–lightly toasted in good olive oil–but the bread is merely the beginning. Think of it as a blank canvas. The most common version is made with fresh tomatoes, a light vinaigrette, perhaps a bit of basil and cucumber with a few capers, anchovies, or olives thrown in for a salty measure. Panzanella is a patient dish too, the kind that improves as it sits, those crunchy bread cubes soaking up the garlicky dressing.

I’m not usually one to muck with perfection, but we recently had a run on golden beets in our garden. Score! I love roasted beets nearly as much as warm, crusty bread. Was it possible that my favorite summer salad could get even better? The answer is yes. The result is a close relative of my familiar favorite with a bit more sweetness from the roasting of the beets. The feta gives it the briny punch I love. And the toasted walnuts take it to a whole new level. (I think of toasted walnuts the way many people think about bacon–there isn’t much that they don’t improve.)

Panzanella.

Say it with me.

pahn-zah-NEHL-lah

Now, try it. I think you’ll agree that something indescribably delicious can get lost in translation.

Panzanella With Golden Beets, Walnuts, and Tarragon

Ingredients

(Mine were about 2″ in diameter.)

(Stale French or Italian breads work well.)

Preparation

Preheat oven to 400°F.
Wrap beets in foil and roast for 30-60 minutes depending on their size. If they yield slightly when pressed, they’re done. Remove the beets from the oven, let cool, peel, and slice into 3/4″ cubes.
Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large skillet. Add the bread cubes and cook over low to medium heat, tossing frequently until nicely browned.
For the vinaigrette, whisk together the remaining olive oil, vinegar, garlic, mustard, salt, and pepper.
Place the toasted bread cubes, beets, walnuts, and tarragon in a large bowl. Add the vinaigrette and toss to combine.
Wait, if you can, for at least 30 minutes so the flavors can meld together and the vinaigrette can soak into the bread.
Sprinkle with crumbled feta cheese immediately before serving.