This recipe came about after a day spent sitting on the beach. Long hours of sunbathing and swimming leave a girl awfully thirsty for a fun cocktail. The drink comes together with a spoon or two of jam, a few squeezes of citrus, and a quick shake with some ice. You likely have these ingredients on hand, and even if you don’t, you’ll be just fine with a bit of improvisation. It’s a gin and tonic with a few bells and whistles; just sweet enough to take the edge off the alcohol but far from cloying.
Now my loyal go-to, this drink has only four ingredients, and there’s plenty of room for substitution, variation, and creativity. No limes? Grab a lemon. Blackberry preserves instead of raspberry? Just as good. Dress it up with muddled basil or mint, add a splash of grapefruit, rim your glass with sugar and zest. The opportunities are endless.
While the raspberry-lime iteration might be the best way to rinse salty, sunburnt lips, the upcoming holiday season calls for something a little more festive. I encourage an exercise of your own imagination with this drink, but I will suggest you try cranberry, orange, and rosemary for those late November and December festivities. I know I certainly will. Cheers.
3 tablespoons raspberry preserves (I like Bonne Maman)
2 limes, juiced and peeled*
4 oz gin
8 oz tonic water
Start with your lime ribbons. Find your longest pieces of lime peel, and trim the long edges with a knife, leaving them with a width of ¼ inch. Cut the shortest ends on a bias, both going in the same direction. Twist each end of the ribbons in opposite directions; they will contract and curl. Set aside.
Add the raspberry preserves, lime juice, and gin to a dry shaker, and shake without ice to build some froth and ensure the jam fully mixes with the other ingredients. Add ice to the shaker, and shake once more until cold.
Add fresh ice to two clean glasses and strain the gin, jam, and lime evenly into each. Top with tonic water and garnish with lime ribbons.
*Note: use a vegetable peeler or pairing knife to get long ribbons of peel from the lime. Don’t worry too much about the shape; the peels will be cut down further.
The freezer at my house is a bottomless pit. The bottom two drawers are dedicated to various cuts of meat that have been carefully vacuum-sealed by my dad, who has a habit of buying whatever “looks good” at the grocery store. Because my dad, the primary dinner-preparer, is away for the week, my mom and I have made it our mission to clear out the freezer one meal at a time.
I came home from work to a pound of thawed ground lamb on the counter and a request for meatballs. Part of me felt like I was on an episode of Chopped, but instead of four mismatched mystery ingredients, I had a basement pantry stocked with items that my dad insists on buying in threes and fours. God forbid we run out of roasted red peppers or rigatoni. I grabbed a can of cannellini beans and ran upstairs to scan the fridge and kitchen cabinets. I found a bunch of parsley, a few lemons on their last legs, and some sweet red peppers.
Putting together a meal without a recipe is a combination of doing what you know, trusting your intuition, guesswork, and a lot of tasting spoons. For components of the dish that you can’t taste as you go, I’ve always found it helpful to use a few different recipes as a guide for proportions and measurements. Taste anything and everything you can along the way, because it’s unlikely that whatever you’re making will taste exactly how you want it to on the first try. This recipe is an ode to freestyling: add what you have in the fridge, taste each component, and feel free to approach these instructions as nothing more than loose guidelines.
1 (29-ounce) can chickpeas
3 tablespoons tahini
5 cloves garlic
⅓ cup parsley, chopped
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 tablespoons harissa
1 teaspoon red chili flakes
⅓ cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt, to taste
Black pepper, to taste
Quinoa Herb Salad
3 tablespoons olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
Salt, to taste
Black pepper, to taste
½ cup cooked quinoa
2 shallots, finely diced
½ cup parsley, chopped
½ cup spinach, chopped
½ cup any other vegetables you have on hand, diced (cucumbers, sweet peppers, and tomatoes all work great)
1 pound ground lamb
4 cloves of garlic, grated
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon red chili flakes
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
Black pepper, to taste
4 tablespoons olive oil
Start with the cannellini hummus. Place all ingredients except for the olive oil, salt, and black pepper in the bowl of a food processor. Blend until smooth, slowly streaming in the olive oil as the other ingredients break down. Add salt and pepper, and blend once more. Place the hummus in the fridge and allow it to sit while you continue to cook.
When building the quinoa salad, begin by whisking together the olive oil, lemon, vinegar, salt, and pepper in a medium mixing bowl. Add in all other ingredients and toss. Set aside.
Next up are the meatballs. Add all ingredients, except for the olive oil in a medium mixing bowl and, using your hands, mix until just combined. Form golf ball-sized meatballs, about 9 or 10 total. Heat the olive oil over medium in a wide skillet. Place the meatballs in the oil, and fry on each side until crispy and cooked through, about 8 minutes. Once cooked, remove the meatballs from the heat and place on a plate.
Build your bowls. Add two hefty dollops (about ½ cup) of cannellini hummus to the bottom of each bowl, and spread gently in circular motions to evenly distribute it. Layer the quinoa salad over the hummus, and place 4-5 meatballs on top. Finish with good olive oil, an extra squeeze of lemon, and any leftover herbs.
This recipe was born out of an almost-empty fridge and a can of chickpeas found in the storage ottoman / makeshift pantry in my dorm room. I wasn’t working with much: a questionable bunch of parsley, a few eggs from the week-old carton in my mini fridge, a lemon, and some seasoning essentials.
I toted my ingredients across the street to 2k and shot a quick text to warn my friends that I’d be taking over their kitchen for the next 30 minutes. I knew what I wanted to make, I just hadn’t the slightest idea how to execute it. A few weeks prior, I saw a recipe in The New York Times for crepe-like chickpea pancakes. I wanted something sturdier. I knew how to make a decent meatball, but what I had in mind wasn’t meant to serve the same purpose as a meatball.
By the time I reached the apartment, I still had no idea how I was going to throw together a chickpea pancake with no guidance. I was quickly distracted by warm “hellos” and hilarious conversation, forgetting why I had come to see my two friends in the first place. My growling stomach reminded me of the task at hand: chickpea…Pancakes?? Patties?? Whatever it was that I was making, I had to get cooking.
I decided to trust what I knew, and I loosely followed part of my recipe for meatballs. Sautéed onions would add some sweetness, parsley would brighten things up, and lemon (not generally a player on the meatball roster) would bring in a bit of zing. I needed binders to hold everything together: egg and cornstarch would have to suffice.
Once my batter was made, I turned on the heat. I spooned a few globs of my chickpea mixture into the pan and hoped for the best. The edges sizzled in the oil: the first green flag. Within a few minutes, I could smell the onion and crispy crust as the pancakes browned: another good sign. Next up was the dreaded flip. The test of all tests. The pancakes falling apart would guarantee the failure of my freestyle recipe. I held my breath as I shimmied a spatula under the first pancake and plopped it over. A slight splatter of oil on the stove, but an otherwise perfect flip AND a perfect golden crust on the bottom of the pancake. Sweet success.
In just a few minutes, I took the five pancakes off the pan and sautéed some heirloom cherry tomatoes and garlic and oil until they burst and became slightly saucy. I quickly fried two eggs over easy and assembled my meal. Two pancakes went down first. A hefty spread of tomatoes on each pancake, and eggs placed ever-so-carefully on top so as not to break the yolks. A few dribbles of chili crisp and some leftover parsley to seal the deal.
A few bites in, and I knew this one was a winner. Soft and steamy on the inside and crispy-crunchy on the outside, these pancakes were exactly what I had in mind when I first set out to make them. The chickpeas provide a blank enough canvas to get creative with the herbs and spices; so feel free to improvise with what you have on hand. Reheat your leftovers in a toaster or air fryer to keep that crunch.
4 tablespoons olive oil
½ sweet onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 (15-ounce) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 egg, lightly beaten
¼ cup fresh parsley, chopped
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
1-2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon cornstarch or flour
In a medium skillet over medium heat, drizzle about 2 tablespoons of olive oil and add in the chopped onion. Sauté the onions for about 5 minutes until soft. Add in the garlic and cook until fragrant, 2-3 minutes. Remove the onions and garlic from the skillet and set aside. Turn off the heat, but leave the onion-y oil in the pan.
In a medium bowl, crush chickpeas with the tines of a fork, leaving only some intact. The chickpeas should be broken down, but not smooth and hummus-like. Add in the egg, and stir well to combine. Sprinkle in the chopped parsley, lemon juice and zest, crushed red pepper, salt, and a few generous twists of cracked black pepper. Stir once again until everything is incorporated evenly throughout. Add in the cornstarch or flour to bind the mixture. The batter should be slightly thicker than a muffin batter, but it shouldn’t hold its shape easily.
Reheat your pan to medium high and add in the rest of the olive oil. The skillet should be more than generously coated; this will allow for a crispy fry on each pancake. Spoon the batter into medium rounds (about the size of the palm of your hand) in the hot oil. Work in batches so as not to crowd the pan. Fry for 3-4 minutes, or until the bottom of each pancake is golden brown. Flip and fry for 3 more minutes. Remove from the skillet and place onto a plate lined with paper towels. Serve with a squeeze of lemon and extra parsley. Enjoy as a stand-alone bite or with toppings.
For the first 18 years of my life, I was spoiled rotten. I grew up on good food: tender mafaldine with luxurious lamb bolognese for my birthday;charcoal-grilled duck in the middle of a 15-day power outage; scallops and saffron-laced risotto on Valentine’s Day; fall-off-the-bone short ribs braised in red wine on any old Sunday evening. My dad, whether intentionally or not, has trained my siblings and I to expect a stellar meal at the drop of a hat.
Even though I haven’t been home in three months, Dad saves me a seat at our tiny dinner table. Every few weeks, I receive a plate of food in our text message conversations. I’m sharing some of my favorites in the hope that you too will be reminded of the taste of home.
Note to reader: Read the text below as you would a text conversation. My dad’s words and pictures are on the left; mine are on the right. Italicized words have been taken directly from our messages. All non-italicized words are additional thoughts and comments.
Tuesday, October 20, 2020
Ina Garten’s Coquilles St. Jacques A first in the Frias house, at least as far as I remember
Woah Looks really good
Bay scallops, mushrooms, breadcrumbs, and cheese
Ah the idea of baking scallops and cheese doesn’t sit right with me I clearly have trouble reconciling the combination of dairy and fish
I know But I thought of a way to make it for you He goes to great lengths to reconfigure recipes according to my dietary needs, and I could not be more grateful
How is that
No butter, gluten-free breadcrumbs, coconut milk, and skip the cheese But I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d rather pass on this adaptation. Sorry Dad.
Thursday, November 26, 2020
Wear a mask…. Dad jokes from 300 miles away are almost funny.
That’s kinda gross
What if it coughs?
Let’s hope it doesn’t
Roasted squash, fire roasted sweet potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts with walnuts and pomegranate seeds, pâté in the middle Thanksgiving (minus the smoked bird) dinner modified to feed five; a step down from our yearly menu for 10.
Looks BEAUTIFUL Truth was, I wanted nothing more than to be home on Thanksgiving. Tom yum takeout in my dorm room wasn’t quite the same.
Thursday, February 4, 2021
Taiwanese popcorn chicken Gluten free! This made me giggle. Maybe it was his way of telling me he missed me
Looks good You don’t have to make things gf when I’m not there you know I could see him shrugging exasperatedly as he read this.
The final product w/ fried basil
Looks really nice Does it have a sauce?
No sauce―but feel free
To think about sauce?
Yes I made a mayo/sriracha dip
Nice I’d be a fool not to request this when I go home for summer break.
Hopefully I don’t fuck it up Unfortunately, Dad has a long history with fucked up pizzas. On one occasion, an entire pie fell through the grates of the grill. There was a lot of swearing involved. *four hours later* Okay, I need more practice The dough portion was way too small (and I don’t know how to properly stretch the dough) so the pizzas were very small. I don’t think they tasted bad, at least mine didn’t, but overall it was very stressful
Yikes Any pictures? I’m guessing there weren’t any pictures.
Monday, March 9, 2021
*Link to playlist titled “Pizza and Pasta* A new playlist….Self explanatory Some of my earliest memories in the kitchen were surrounded by the sounds of Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Tony Bennett, and Sammy Davis Jr..
Lovely I have one like that I didn’t tell him that I stole most of the songs off of his playlist. Titled “dinnatime” We think alike. It’ll let me see what’s on the playlist but not play it I’ll have to move it to Spotify manually
It’ll be good to play on a Sunday afternoon
With sauce A Sunday supper staple. Or eggplant parm A once-in-a-blue-moon treat.
Sunday, March 14, 2021
A shot from a 30-second video of Sunday red sauce bubbling on the stove. The gently simmering pot and “‘O Surdato ‘nnammurato” by Pavarotti can be heard in the background.
Soon enough… I bet Dad could find a way to mail a jar of sauce to Chestnut Hill. Great playlist If I do say so myself
It is great Much better than “dinnatime.”
Friday, April 2, 2021
Yes―I’m going to try this again
Godspeed Send final product
The perfect pizza is Dad’s kryptonite. This is a major win.
VERY NICE What about everyone else?
They’re all out there All the same I doubted that my brother Alessandro would allow anchovies on his pizza.
You did them on the grill?
Yes A couple of new tricks Used parchment paper to slide the pizza off the peel…and did a better job with the dough
Food is the way my family shows love. I can’t enjoy every dinner with my family from several states away, but these photos are the next best thing. While my dad doesn’t say “I love you” over text, he does send plates of food. And to me, that’s even better.
Imagine yourself in 16th century Florence. You peruse the cobblestone streets, balancing your straw-bottomed flask atop the mountain of goods you gathered at the market in the city square. Your eyes scan the stucco exteriors of the palatial homes in search of the custom door of your favorite buchetta del vino. The familiar tarnished family crest rests above the brick-outlined window, and you reach for the knocker. After a few swift raps, the cantiniere, a skilled servant trained in the preservation of wine, greets you with a fragment of his face peeking through the window. You pass your flask and payment through the opening, receiving a full bottle of red wine in return.
Travel over four hundred years to the present day. You remain on the same cobblestone street, but instead of cloth wrapped parcels from the market, you carry grocery bags with food for dinner. Wearing your reusable triple-layer cotton mask, you walk home and spot a line of people waiting before a window tall enough for a bottle of wine. An anonymous hand passes glasses of red through the opening to the eager customers, many of whom snap pictures to prove their participation in one of Florence’s most unique wine experiences. Assuming you’re of drinking age, you also hop in line. You pass a few euros through the window, and receive a glass in return. Quietly enjoying your wine with distanced strangers on the street, you have a strange sensation of 470-year-old deja vu.
Since 2015, Florentine residents Matteo Faglia, Diletta Corsini and Mary Christine Forrest have been working to brush centuries of dust off of Florence’s buchette del vino (wine windows), one of the city’s most unique architectural details. Beginning in the mid 1500’s, these foot-tall arched openings were carved out of ground level exterior walls in the homes of the wealthy. While many of these windows have since been cemented shut, several are being revived to serve their original purpose.
The three aforementioned locals founded the Associazione Culturale Buchette del Vino (Wine Windows Cultural Association)in effort to revive and rehabilitate these functional architectural elements. First used in 1559, the wine window was born from Cosimo I de’ Medici’s decree granting Florentine vintners permission to forgo distribution taxes by selling wine directly from their homes.
Although few functioning wine windows exist today, they were especially popular during the seventeenth century when the bubonic plague epidemic necessitated contactless purchase of food and wine. “Wine producers who were selling their own wine through the small wine windows in their Florentine palaces, understood the problem of contagion,” explains Associazione Culturale Buchette del Vino cofounder Diletta Corsini. Centuries ago, wine purveyors facilitated contactless trade by filling flasks directly from the windows using a metal tube or alternatively by selling pre-bottled wine.
Since the 16th century, wine windows have slowly grown obsolete. Time filled the small openings with cement, and they became elements of the wine-drinking past. That is until the work of the Associazione Culturale Buchette del Vino began five years ago. In addition to spreading information and organizing events, their mission is to “to promote the study, census, evaluation, maintenance, and when necessary, the restoration of these historical architectural features,” as explained on the organization’s website. The nonprofit has worked to encourage respect for this piece of Tuscan history by clearly labeling the windows and restoring those that have not been filled or otherwise destroyed.
As of late May, several Florentine wine windows are in service. In Via dell’Isola delle Stinche, gelato and coffee is sold through a buchetta by Vivoli gelateria. Two restaurants, Babae in Piazza Santo Spirito and Osteria delle Brache in Piazza Peruzzi, have restored their windows for their original use for the sale and purchase of wine. While patrons no longer fill their pints from a metal tube, they do receive their food and drinks from gloved hands of restaurant employees. Amidst the slow reopening and recovery from the coronavirus pandemic, some Italians have taken comfort in this salute to the past. As we face historically repetitive obstacles in our world, we find ourselves reaching back in time for old solutions to our modern problems. Along the way, some may even grab a glass of wine.
This is the twenty-sixth installment in Mucho Gusto, a recipe initiative by and for students to help connect us through food in times of isolation. If you’ve got a recipe you think would make a great addition, reach out to us!
Make if you have: cauliflower, tahini, lemon, parsley
Earlier this year, my dad and I ordered this amazing fried cauliflower at Farmstead Table in Newton, and I’ve been dreaming about it ever since. Fast forward four months, and I’m deep frying cauliflower at home in an attempt to recreate it. Perfect as a side dish, this crispy cauliflower gets a bright boost from its tahini lemon dressing and parsley.
2 heads of cauliflower
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 bulb of garlic
⅓ cup tahini
Juice of 2 lemons
1 tsp lemon zest
½ tsp red chili flakes
½ cup of fresh parsley, roughly chopped
Oil for frying
Salt and pepper
Break your cauliflower into medium-sized florets, think 1-2 bites each. Boil the cauliflower for 3 minutes in salted water, drain, and rinse with cold water to stop the cooking process. You want the cauliflower to be slightly tender but still crunchy. Spread the blanched florets onto a baking sheet lined with a kitchen towel, and allow them to dry for 1-2 hours. Water left on the cauliflower will cause the oil to spatter when you go to fry, so don’t skimp on drying time.
While you wait for the cauliflower, roast your garlic. Cut off the top of the bulb to expose each clove. Give the bulb a generous pour of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Wrap in tinfoil and roast on a baking sheet for 40 minutes at 400°. Squeeze the cloves out of the bulb and set aside.
Heat your oil (I used 2 quarts of canola) over high heat in a deep pot or dutch oven. Stick a kitchen thermometer into your pot to regulate the oil temperature as you fry. When the thermometer hits 340-350°, use a spider or slotted spoon to lower your first round of cauliflower into the oil. Be sure to leave room for each floret to rise to the top. Working in four or five shifts, fry the florets for 2-5 minutes, until golden brown and crispy. Immediately place your fried cauliflower on baking sheets lined with paper towels to drain excess oil.
While your cauliflower is still hot, make the lemon tahini. In a bowl, smash the roasted garlic with the back of a spoon. Add in the olive oil, tahini, lemon juice, lemon zest, and red chili flakes. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Transfer the cauliflower to a medium bowl, and drizzle in the tahini sauce, tossing to lightly cover each floret. Throw your parsley into the mix and toss once more to combine throughout. Serve immediately.
**If you’re not up for deep-frying, this recipe also works beautifully with roasted cauliflower. It’s less crispy, less time intensive, equally delicious.
This is the twelfth installment in Mucho Gusto, a recipe initiative by and for students to help connect us through food in times of isolation. If you’ve got a recipe you think would make a great addition, reach out to us!
Make if you have: heavy cream, eggs, bourbon, honey
Burnt honey pairs nicely with an oaky Bourbon in this ice cream that you can whip up with or without an ice cream machine. It’s proof that some accidents (burning honey, for example) are delicious.
1 quart heavy cream
3 egg yolks
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
3 tablespoons bourbon
1 ⅓ cups honey
Pinch of salt
Heat the heavy cream in a medium saucepan over low heat until hot but not bubbling. While the cream is heating, separate 3 egg yolks into a bowl and whisk in the granulated sugar, bourbon, and a pinch of salt. Ladle about a cup of hot cream into the yolk and sugar mixture, whisking quickly to ensure the hot cream doesn’t cook the eggs. Slowly whisk in the remainder of the hot cream until combined. Place your ice cream base mixture over a double boiler on medium heat and stir often.
In a tall saucepan, heat the honey over high heat until it bubbles and becomes frothy. Lower the heat to medium, stirring constantly until it turns dark amber and smells slightly burnt, about 9 minutes.
Immediately pour the burnt honey into the ice cream base. Work in three or four batches and whisk the ice cream base as you pour; the hot honey will cause your mixture to bubble. Continue heating the ice cream base over the double boiler for 20 minutes.
Remove the ice cream base from the double boiler and allow it to cool slightly before covering with plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours until very cold. Pour your ice cream base into an ice cream machine and churn according to manufacturer’s directions.* Freeze in a container until hard.
*Because of the alcohol in the bourbon, this ice cream base takes longer to freeze while churning. You may need to run your machine twice to reach your desired consistency.
If you don’t have an ice cream machine, make these tweaks for a no-churn version:
Heat 1 ½ cups of the heavy cream, and reserve the remainder of the quart in the fridge. Follow the entire recipe with the reduced amount of cream. Reduce the total cooking time over the double boiler to 15 minutes total instead of 20. The higher egg-to-cream ratio means your base mixture over the double boiler will be thicker and more custardy. If you notice lumps in your base mixture, press it through a strainer. Cool the base as directed. Once the base is cold, take the remaining 3 ½ cups of heavy cream from the fridge and whip in a cold bowl (I stick mine in the freezer for an hour before whipping) until stiff peaks form. Fold the cold custard base into the whipped cream, being careful not to deflate the cream. Pour the mixture into an airtight container and freeze until hard.
This is the second installment in Mucho Gusto, a recipe initiative by and for students to help connect us through food in times of isolation. If you’ve got a recipe you think would make a great addition, reach out to us!
Make if you have: bell peppers, tomatoes, eggs
Shakshuka is traditionally made with red tomatoes and peppers, but I swapped the red for yellow for a sweeter stew. Harissa adds a kick; feel free to reduce the amount if you’d prefer a milder flavor. A few good slices of bread to mop up any stray tomatoes and peppers are highly recommended.
Extra virgin olive oil
1 yellow bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 yellow zucchini, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced
2 cups of small heirloom tomatoes, preferably yellow and orange, halved
6 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
½ teaspoon cumin
½ teaspoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon harissa
¼ cup cilantro, roughly chopped for serving
Red chili flakes for serving
Coat the bottom of a wide skillet (I recommend using a cast-iron) generously with olive oil, and sauté the onion, bell pepper, and zucchini over medium heat for 30 minutes until soft. Season with saltandpepper. Clear space in the middle of the pan, and add garlic, stirring to cook slightly for 1-2 minutes. Once the garlic is tender, add the cumin and smoked paprika, letting it toast for a minute or so. Spoon the harissa into the middle of the pan and stir with the cooked vegetables. Clear the middle of the pan once again and add the tomatoes. Season with salt and pepper.
Allow them to cook for five minutes until they’ve broken down and mix throughout. Make 5 pockets in your stew and gently crack an egginto each pocket. Bake your shakshuka in the oven until the eggs are done, 7 to 10 minutes depending on how soft you like your eggs. Remove from the oven and top with cilantro, red chili flakes, and black pepper. Serve with good crusty bread. I made my own with this no-knead recipe—it’s quick and foolproof.