Something Other Than Chili for Super-Bowl Sunday -- Roasted Spareribs with Crushed Fennel & Red Chiles

In the middle of the night, when I couldn't sleep, again, I was thinking about what you could serve for Super Bowl Sunday that would be fun to eat, wasn't chili, and wouldn't require a grill. People want to watch the game -- I'm assuming -- not whatever is on the stove.

It struck me that I hadn't shared an incredibly easy recipe for some pretty stellar ribs with you. Ribs that need a quick oil and then spice rub and then just need to sit a spell in the oven. They would be just the thing for a football afternoon. Chill some beer, whip up some German potato salad and a tangy cole slaw in advance and entertaining and viewing would unfold almost effortlessly.

I received Andrea Reusing's Cooking In The Moment from my wonderful Mother-in-Law for my Birthday. I can't give a full commentary on the book, because I've only prepared three dishes so far, including a perfectly passable red lentil soup, a very strong macaroni with beans, roasted squash and ham hocks, and her roasted spareribs with crushed fennel and red chiles. So far I'm pleased, and looking forward to trying more of her seasonal recipes.

The roasted spareribs with crushed fennel and red chiles immediately caught my eye, because back in the day when I roasted chickens on a far more regular basis, I loved massaging them with olive oil, and smashed fennel seed and red chile, and salt and pepper. It was a fantastic way to enjoy a bird. It honestly never occurred to me to take in beyond poultry.

The other reason the recipe jumped out at me was exactly the same reason I am suggesting this to you for Super Bowl Sunday. It is absolutely easy. There are hardly any ingredients to gather and almost no thought or prep involved.

A little bit spicy thanks to chiles, highly aromatic courtesy crushed fennel seed, and succulent beyond belief, because they're pork spareribs for goodness sake, these ribs should satisfy a hungry football crowd. The edges are crisp and the interior juicy. They'd make your family happy too, while keeping you free to goof around all evening long.

Depending on the size of your crowd you may want to double the recipe. Shouldn't be a problem at all. Because of the fattiness, the ribs took well to a gentle reheating. Tasted good cold too!

Andrea Reusing's Roasted Spareribs with Crushed Fennel & Red Chiles

2 racks (about 5 pounds) pork spareribs

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 small dried red chiles, such as de Arbol

1 tablespoon fennel seeds

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Drizzle the ribs with the oil and rub it in evenly. In a clean spice or coffee grinder, pulse the chiles and fennel seeds until coarsely but fairly evenly ground. Season the ribs on both sides with the mixture, and with a generous amount of salt and pepper. Put the ribs on a rack in a roasting pan and roast for 15 minutes.

Reduce the oven temperature to 375 degrees and roast, rotating the pan halfway through cooking, for 1 to 1 1/4 hours, until the meat is tender and deep golden brown, and easily pulls away from the bones. Cut into individual ribs.

Serves 4 to 6

Sopa De Fubá - Collard Greens, Cornmeal and Sausage Soup

Today it's going to nudge 80 degrees. It's January for goodness sake! What is going on here? Last week it was cold and a touch rainy. Today doesn't necessarily feel like soup, but a couple of days ago it surely did.

Thanks to the outstanding Silver Lake Farms C.S.A. I belong to, I had a smallish bunch of young collard greens in the crisper and a tempting bunch of purple Russian Kale, and the desire for something warming in my toes. I had glanced up at the teetering stack of aging issues of Saveur magazine piled on top of my old wood filing cabinet, when I spied a spine that promised recipes for collard greens. Flipping through, I discovered a recipe from Brazilian food-blogger Neide Rigo unlike any I had tried before. Sopa de Fubá, a robust Brazilian soup of collard greens, cornmeal and kielbasa sausage, looked to be just what I craved.

I luckily found myself in the Fairfax district later that day so a visit to the seriously lovely ladies of the Lindy & Grundy butcher shop was in order. I picked up a few gorgeous plump kielbasa that turned a wonderful soup into a knock-out. Spicy!

Always the skeptic, I had doubts about the lack of garlic or onions, the absence of any spices or herbs, and the apparent watery quality of the soup during the early stages of cooking (it didn't look like the picture in the magazine!). The recipe is really quite simple. The main ingredients are cornmeal, kielbasa, chicken stock, collard greens, eggs, and a garnish of green onions. I was stumped as to how this was going to evolve into something marvelous.

The trick is toasting the cornmeal. This results in a richer flavor for the soup and perfumes the house with a toasty sweetness. The other thing to remember is the intense flavor of the kielbasa sausage. You don't need any spices competing with the boldness of kielbasa.

I've never made a soup with cornmeal. I expected the soup to thicken up markedly, but when you are using only half a cup of cornmeal to seven cups of chicken stock, this clearly isn't going to happen. It's actually the two lightly beaten eggs that provide most of the body to the Sopa de Fubá. And there's plenty of body at that. The soup is hearty and thick, laced with the green collards (I used half kale and half collards, contentedly), and peppered with spicy chunks of sausage. The flavor is powerfully delicious. Just be sure to taste before you salt!

A few notes. The cornmeal I used took only thirty minutes to become tender, so be sure to taste along the way. Also the greens took closer to ten minutes to wilt. This will depend on the size and age of your greens.

The recipe suggests that it will feed six. Perhaps. As a first course, you'd be fine serving six. I served this as an entrée with a salad and loaf of crusty bread to a hungry man and a very hungry pregnant woman (me!) with only enough left for one. I was wary of reheating the soup, but was pleasantly surprised by how good the soup tasted a few days later.

Sopa De Fubá - Collard Greens, Cornmeal, and Sausage Soup

1/2 cup yellow cornmeal

2 tablespoons canola oil

6 ounces kielbasa sausage, cut diagonally into 1/4-inch thick slices

7 cups chicken stock

4 ounces collard greens, stemmed and thinly sliced crosswise

2 eggs, lightly beaten

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

2 scallions, thinly sliced

Heat the cornmeal in a 10" skillet over medium-high heat and cook, swirling pan constantly, until lightly toasted and fragrant, about 3-4 minutes. Transfer cornmeal to a bowl; set aside. Heat oil in skillet and add sausages; cook, turning occasionally, until browned and cooked through, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a plate and set aside.

Bring chicken stock to a boil in a 6-quart pot over high heat. Whisk in reserved cornmeal, reduce heat to medium-low, and cook, whisking often, until cornmeal is tender, about 40 minutes. Stir in reserved sausages and collards and cook, stirring occasionally, until collards wilt, 15 minutes. Place eggs in a medium bowl and add 1 cup cornmeal mixture; whisk until smooth. Return mixture to pot and stir until incorporated; cook for 1 minute more and season with salt and pepper. Ladle soup into serving bowls and garnish with scallions; serve hot.

Serves 6

Sautéed Shrimp in Pastis with Lemon & Cherry Tomatoes

I'm not sure if I've mentioned my fitful relationship with shrimp of late. In my heart, I love the curly shellfish. In practice this is less and less the case. The shrimp I've found in local markets and the frozen muck they sell at Trader Joe's has left me wondering what I ever saw in the pink crustaceans. In Puerto Vallarta last September, we were popping shrimp like no tomorrow. They were all scrumptious, succulent morsels. At home, not so much.

I realize that purchasing your shrimp at highly reputable vendors is the key to enjoyment. I'm currently stuck on McCall's Meat & Fish in Los Feliz. They're pricey as hell, but the quality is so high that you start to feel weird about shopping at lesser institutions like Gelsons (especially because their fish is expensive, yet lacking a healthy sheen and really tastes mediocre at best) or Whole Foods (because they are so expensive and their beef is lacking in tenderness and flavor). With McCall's, I've never been disappointed. I just can't afford to shop there exclusively.

Of course an outstanding preparation will certainly increase your odds of success. When I was preparing mussels with sherry and chorizo the other night, I started to remember a shrimp dish that I'd eaten back in Santa Cruz; something with cherry tomatoes and lots of butter. A quick phone call to my old pal, Eric, had me on the right track. He reminded me that it was a Gerald Hirigoyen (great Basque chef based in San Francisco) recipe that I was after.

Thank goodness for Google. I found the recipe I was looking for within seconds, and with a short trip down the hill to Cookbook for herbs, I was all set.

The recipe that I speak of is Hirigoyen's Sautéed Shrimp in Pastis with Lemon and Cherry Tomatoes. The preparation is ultra-simple. Making this on a weeknight is a breeze. I think your only complaint might be the liberal use of butter. The recipe is supposed to serve four. I used a pound of shrimp instead of a pound and a quarter and it served two with one serving left for little Fe. the next day (hurrah, he's finally allowed to eat shellfish!). That being said, a stick of butter may seem like an awful lot for a dinner for two and a shorty.

But what the hell?! You've got to let yourself go every so often and this dish is a perfect reason to do just that. Plus it's exciting! Pyrotechnics! You light the pastis (I used Ricard.) on fire!!

Flambé all the way!

I had trouble wrapping my head around the fact that the recipe does not call for garlic or shallots. It felt positively unnatural to make a sautéed shrimp dish without one or both. I'll tell you confidently that it actually does not need it. I couldn't help myself so I sautéed a crushed clove of garlic in the olive oil for a minute or two (then tossed it) before adding the shrimp. Truth be told, I could barely taste it and not for even one second did I miss the alliums.

You sauté the shrimp in the hot olive oil, add the halved cherry tomatoes, add the pastis, and then flambé until the flame dies out. You add lemon juice, herbs, butter and salt and pepper and simply swish the pan around until the butter is completely incorporated. Presto, your dinner is ready. Serve it with a small heap of fragrant rice for ultimate satisfaction or perhaps a nest of slippery noodles.

The recipe calls for basil, but I opted for tarragon since it pairs so well with pastis. The butter is cut into smallish cubes to ease the melting and emulsifying. You want to be sure not to boil the sauce or the lovely emulsion that results from your gentle pan swishing will break and the beurre-blanc like sauce will be shot. Careful!

This is a buttery, herbaceous dish full of basil (or tarragon), parsley and chives that packs a nice citrus hit from the ample use of lemon juice. The flambéed pastis adds a warm anise flavor that ties the entire dish together. It's quick work, but it would easily impress your Saturday night dinner guests.

Gerald Hirigoyen's Sautéed Prawns in Pastis with Lemon and Cherry Tomatoes

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 1/4 pounds shrimp (approximately 30) (I used fewer larger shrimp), shelled and de-veined

10 ounces cherry tomatoes, cut in half

3 tablespoons Pastis, such as Ricard or Pernod

3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

2 tablespoons julienned fresh basil

1 tablespoon freshly chopped parsley

1 tablespoon snipped fresh chives

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Warm the olive oil in a large sauté pan over high heat. Add the shrimp and sauté for about 2 minutes stirring frequently. Add the tomatoes and the Pastis, and flambé until the flame dies out. Add the lemon juice, butter, basil, parsley, and chives and season with salt and pepper to taste. Swirl the pan over the heat just until the butter is completely melted into the sauce. Take care not to boil, or the sauce may separate.

Serves 4

Escarole & Meatball Soup

A steaming bowl of this escarole soup replete with meatballs is exactly what I imagine someone suffering the cold in the midwest would be hankering for. Here in sunny Southern California, where it smacks of Spring, it fits the bill quite nicely too. Hot and hearty, but not overly thick and heavy, this may just be the soup to carry you through all of 2012.

Thank you, Dana Bowen for sharing this terrific recipe with Saveur readers this December. An equally heartfelt thank you to Rita and Joseph for pointing it out to me. Rita declared it a winner and I couldn't agree more. The escarole soup contains two of my favorite things, meatballs and escarole! Add a mound of comforting rice, plenty of sweet onions, and a healthy dose of ground pepper and you've got a soup that is sure to satisfy.

The soup is a snap to make as long as you don't mind getting your hands dirty. Ground beef under your nails and in between your fingers is a certainty. For me rolling out meatballs is soothing work, carrying the promise of something delicious and nourishing just around the bend. The smell of the ingredients heaped up in the bowl was pure Italy, familiar and exotic all at once.

Just a couple of notes. I used fresh bread crumbs that I whizzed up in the food processor from a day old loaf of ciabatta. The recipe calls for seasoned bread crumbs, and I'm guessing that you can buy pre-seasoned breadcrumbs in a grocery store, but I didn't bother with that. I did not find the meatballs lacking due to this. I also don't own any Italian seasoning. I simply mixed together a tablespoon of oregano, basil, thyme, and marjoram. This did the trick, also without any noticeable want.

We supped on the escarole soup over the course of a few days. The soup is ever tasty the second and third go-round, but the meatballs do tend to fall apart (not necessarily a bad thing). Serve this to the young and old alike! A and I were mighty pleased and Fe. scarfed down the greens and meatballs like they were going out of style. A definite hit all round.

Dana Bowen's Escarole Soup

1 pound ground beef

1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs

1/2 cup grated parmesan, plus more

1/2 cup grated pecorino

1/2 cup olive oil

1 tablespoon dried Italian seasoning

3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced, plus 1, minced

2 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced, plus 1, minced

1 small bunch parsley, minced

1 egg lightly beaten

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

2 large heads escarole, cored and cut in to 2-inch pieces

8 cups chicken stock

Cooked white rice, for serving

Mix beef, bread crumbs, parmesan, pecorino, 1/4 cup oil, seasoning, minced garlic and onion, parsley, egg, salt, and pepper in a bowl. Form into 30, 1 1/2-inch meatballs; chill.

Heat remaining oil in a large soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the sliced garlic and onions; cook until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Add escarole; cook until wilted, about 6 minutes. Add stock; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low. Add meatballs; cook until meatballs are cooked through, about 20 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve over cooked rice; top with more parmesan and black pepper.

Serves 8

Happy New Year!

We ended 2011 with a bang. The champagne cork shot straight up to the ceiling with absolutely no prodding from me. Pop!

We did it up big time for our final meal of 2011. It was decadence at its finest. To start, buckwheat blinis with clarified butter, crème fraîche and glistening orange salmon roe. To keep up appearances we followed with trembling bone marrow, toasted ciabatta, and a piquant parsley salad.

The final shabang and main course was boiled whole Maine lobster. You don't need showy sides to distract from your giant red crustacean, so we settled for simple and delicious. Steamed artichokes, boiled potatoes, coleslaw dressed in a vinaigrette and melted butter and lemon and homemade garlic aioli for dipping.

A. was not too keen on lobster death. By the time the creature was placed in front of him, he was well past over it. Too bad, because everyone else was delighted with dinner. A real feast to be sure.

With New Year's resolutions and diets, and reformed spending measures, I'm guessing people won't re running out to splurge on lobsters right away. And what is marrow besides an added inch to the waist-line (a delicious one at that)? I thought I'd start you off with something slightly more versatile and straight forward. Although perhaps not much healthier...

Moderation, folks. It's all about moderation.

The garlic aioli that I made was in my humble opinion, stupendous. I know. That is singing rather high praises, but I was honestly floored by how great it was. I have been a long time hater of mayonnaise and an aioli skeptic at the best of times. That's not to say that I haven't made my fair share of aioli. As a prep cook in Santa Cruz, after picking parsley, aioli preparation became my specialty.

But Santa Cruz was a long time ago, and I haven't made a habit out of aioli. Far from it. But I was certain that garlic aioli was just the condiment to accompany our feast. The potatoes, artichokes and lobster would all be cozy cloaked in a spot of aioli. So yeah, I was a little insecure about my aioli making skills. I didn't trust my judgement (or frankly my whisking ability), so I turned to my super-hero, Nancy Silverton.

She's got a bang-up garlic mayonnaise (I still can't even handle that word!) recipe in the new Mozza Cookbook. It isn't wildly different than any other mayonnaise or aioli recipe, but the seasoning is spot on. So is Silverton's advice to take it slow. It is way easier (although not that easy at all!) to slowly add one drop of oil at a time than to repair a broken aioli, which is one of the world's greatest pains in the ass. I nearly lost my right arm to crippling fatigue, but it was all well worth it.

So Happy New Year to you all! There are good things to come in 2012. The photography should be looking up, thanks to super-generous A. who thoughtfully gave me a fancy-schmancy new digital SLR (definitely something a little rad!) camera and macro lens for Christmas. Hurrah! We'll also be welcoming a baby girl into the world some time in the beginning of June.

So good things indeed!

Mozza's Garlic Mayonnaise

1 extra-large egg yolk

2 teaspoons champagne vinegar

2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

1 large garlic clove, grated or minced

1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more as needed

3/4 cup grapeseed oil or another neutral-flavored oil, such as canola (I prefer peanut)

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Add the egg yolk to a medium sized heavy glass bowl and whisk. Add the vinegar, lemon juice, garlic and salt and whisk to combine. Combine the grapeseed oil and olive oil in a measuring cup. Add a few drops at a time to the bowl, whisking constantly to form an emulsion. When you've added about half of the oil, begin to drizzle the oil in a slow steady stream, continuing to whisk constantly, until all of the oil has been added. Taste for seasoning and add more salt, if necessary. The mayonnaise can be made up to three days in advance. Keep in an airtight container in the refrigerator.

Makes approximately 1 cup.

Happy Holidays!

Dearest family, friends, and loyal readers,

I'm hoping you'll extend your patience with me until January. I haven't forgotten you! I know I've been silent for an unforgivable amount of time, but November and December have taken their toll as per usual. I can't complain, there have been Anniversaries, Birthdays, Holidays, house guests, parties and now traveling. Lots of fun, some pretty great eating, but zero time to leisurely document any of it. Sorry!

I'll be back in early January a new girl in a brand New Year. Until then I wish you and yours the happiest of Holidays and lots of love.

Cheers!

Jacqueline

New Mexican Green Chile Stew

A grey gloom is stretching outside my window. There was rain and there's more to come. Autumn is finally here, and the now-working heating is on. I've been drinking cup after cup of tea, and I've found that the only way to truly warm up is from the inside out.

If you're feeling even a hint of this kind of chill, I have a suggestion for you.

New Mexican Green Chile Stew.

I have this one issue of Saveur Magazine (September/October 2001) that is the most dog-earred, crumpled, wreck of a magazine. It is the issue that keeps on giving. I've made Pork Roast with Mustard and Herbes de Provence countless times. It is phenomenal. The Arroz con Pollo is the epitome of comfort food. I've whipped up the classic Clafoutis aux Pommes and now I can say that I've prepared the Green Chile Stew. It won't be the last time.

The recipe for green chile stew is a quintessential New Mexican recipe with a twist. It uses beef instead of pork. The humble chuck roast to be exact. The beef has a satisfying chew and its bath with the onions and garlic in slowly bubbling water produces a richly flavorful broth. Being a passionate soup-lover, this stew appealed to me on an intrinsic level. The soupiness is just what you need to cure a rotten case of the shivers.

This is not a complicated recipe. The hardest part is charring and peeling the anaheim chiles. This type of task used to scare me off when I was younger, but I've gotten the hang of it, and once you get in a groove, you can make quick work of it. Using the broiler is a breeze, but you can also char them on your stove-top if you suffer from broiler-phobia as I used to.

The recipe is in fact so simple, verging on minimal, that I was concerned that it might be a flop. Chiles, chuck roast, onion, garlic, potatoes, tomatoes, cumin. Sounds so basic. I swear when the meat was simmering away, I was the most skeptical of all. Boiled meat and onions, hmm. I really wasn't turned on. The pot looked so grey. But it is amazing what a simmer, some chiles and onion, garlic, tomatoes, and cumin can do.

The flavor is actually quite huge. Although this green chile stew is not very spicy. There is a faint notion of heat, but that is it. The robust beefy broth is soothing and verging on addictive.

I do have an important reminder, which I foolishly did not listen to when I said the same thing to myself. Do not crowd the pot, when you are browning the chunks of beef. I doubled the recipe. As I was throwing all the beef into the pot to brown, I knew I was making a big mistake. Your meat will boil not brown if the pot is too crowded. I know this. You know this. Listen! It makes such a difference.

The enticing aroma will fill your house. The windows will steam up. You will feel like your are doing right by the season. To my mind hot buttered tortillas are a necessary accompaniment and perhaps a crisp salad to finish it off.

New Mexican Green Chile Stew

8 medium-hot fresh green chiles, such as anaheim or new mexico

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 pound boneless beef chuck, in 1-inch pieces

Salt

1 medium yellow onion, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 clove garlic, peeled and finely chopped

5 new potatoes, peeled (I didn't bother peeling) and halved

2 medium tomatoes, cored and diced

1 teaspoon ground cumin

Set oven rack in top third of the oven and preheat the broiler. Arrange chiles in a single layer on a large baking sheet and broil on each side just until their skin blisters and chars, about 5 minutes per side. Transfer chiles to a medium bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and set aside until cool enough to handle. Using your fingers, peel off skins and remove and discard stems and seeds. Coarsely chop chiles and set aside.

Heat oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot with a tight-fitting lid over medium-high heat. Generously season beef with salt, then add meat to pot and cook, stirring often with a wooden spoon, until well browned on all sides, about 5 minutes. Add onions and garlic and cook, stirring frequently, until onions are soft, 5 minutes. Add 3 cups water, scraping any browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pot. Reduce heat to medium, partially cover pot, and simmer until meat is tender when pierced with a fork, about 30 minutes.

Add potatoes to pot, reduce heat to medium-low, and continue cooking, partially covered, until potatoes are soft, about 20 minutes. Add tomatoes, cumin, reserved chiles, and salt to taste and simmer, completely covered, until meat is very tender when pierced with a fork, about 30 minutes more. Adjust seasonings. Serve with warm flour tortillas, if you like.

Serves 6

Mother Dough

I wouldn't have guessed that the Los Feliz, Silver Lake, Echo Park environs needed another pizza joint. The area seems quite over-run by pizzerias and vegan cafés. But it turns out that I was wrong. What we actually desperately needed was a Neapolitan pizzeria.

As is often the case these days, I am a little late to the game. Mother Dough on Hollywood Boulevard in Los Feliz has been open since last February. I read about it when Jonathan Gold wondered, "am I the last person to discover the pizza at Mother Dough," in August. Well here it is November and I can finally say that I have eaten the Neapolitan goods at Mother Dough.

I'm not sure how I survived without Mother Dough. I want to be eating this kind of pizza in this atmosphere a lot more often. It was so cold out last Saturday night, but inside Mother Dough it was cozy as can be, the lighting warm from exposed filament bulbs and the room glowing from the 850 degree wood-burning oven in the back. I like the spare decor and brick walls.

Mother Dough is a no-reservation kind of place. This tends to get on my nerves, because it's usually impossible to wait around for a table when I'm eating out with Fe. And as Fe. (turning 3 this month!) gets older, it is more and more fun to dine out with him. In any event, we showed up at six o'clock p.m. on Saturday night, just as the restaurant was opening and there was no problem getting a table. Hurrah!

The menu is succinct and focused with only a handful of starters and five pizzas. The place mats offer a rundown of what to expect. Why is the crust charred? How long does it take to cook the pizza in the 850 degree oven (60 seconds!)? Why use only buffalo mozzarella? Why have our pizzas arrived at different times? What is the significance of Mother Dough? Apparently the Mother Dough folks have been asked some of these questions many times.

There were four of us. I was dining with A., Mo., and Fe. We opted to start with the mixed olives, always a nice beginning and a sure-fire hit with Fe. We followed with the burrata salad, which was surprisingly generous. An unruly tangle of arugula dressed in a fairly spicy vinaigrette made a vibrant bed for a hefty portion of exquisite burrata. Typically when I have to share a burrata appetizer, I'm wishing there were fewer people at the table. In this case, there was plenty to go around. Sliced heirloom tomatoes and two crostini rounded out the dish. With more than enough to share, this is a very tasty and satisfying way to begin your meal.

We ordered three of the twelve-inch pizzas. The best way to judge a pizzeria is to sample its Margherita, pizza at its purest. So that was at the top of our order along with a white pie strewn with an abundance of julienned zucchini and fragrant thyme. We couldn't deny ourselves the house-made sausage pizza either.

I'll start by saying that A. was pining for these pizzas the very next night. And just this morning I was ruing the fact that Mother Dough is not open for lunch. I need to get my hands on this pizza again really soon. I'm positively craving it.

These pizzas were extraordinarily good. The crust is chewy with lightly crisp edges and bits of char; the flavor salty and yeasty. The red sauce is pure tomato, acidic and sweet (but not overly so). At first you might actually miss it on the zucchini pie, but you'll recover as you continue to tear into the delicious garlicky and herbaceous ode to summer squash. The trick is to order several pizzas with sauce and perhaps one without. Thus you'll find the perfect balance.

The sausage pizza is also terrific, but for my taste I prefer crumbly mounds to the slices of sausage at Mother Dough. I believe the sausage pie was A.'s favorite, and Fe. kept snatching rounds of it off others' slices. Naughty boy! So there is no denying the success of this choice. I personally was thrilled to have another cheesy and saucy pizza in our midst.

I'll admit that my absolute favorite was the Margherita. It was perfection in its simplicity. Lightly sauced and sparingly topped with buffalo mozzarella and fresh basil leaves, this is the pizza that is calling me back.

I have to tell you that this is not cheap pizza. The pizzas themselves run about fifteen bucks a piece. Our meal as detailed above plus two beers, two glasses of wine and a pop cost approximately $100 before tax and tip. So yeah, not cheap, but I found that our dinner was absolutely worth it. The setting is lovely and the food it turns out is exactly what the neighborhood needed.

Mother Dough

4648 Hollywood Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90027

323-644-2885

http://www.motherdoughpizza.com/

Spaghetti alla Bottarga

Do you ever do this thing, where you take really small bites just to make a scrumptious dish you're eating last just a little longer?

I only eat like that when I am deeply in love with a dish. Last night I shoved a big bite of the spaghetti with bottarga that I had whipped up for dinner into my mouth. And I was all, YES, INDEED!!! Every bite after that was tiny.

Folks, I've consumed and loved many pastas with bottarga, but this dish just knocked my socks off.

Clear off.

I recently made a glorious steak with bottarga butter, and I managed to squirrel away about four ounces of the pressed and dried grey mullet roe for another night. This was the night! An easy-peasy Sunday night dinner that you'd pay big money for in a fancy-pants Italian restaurant.

I'm dead serious about the ease of this dish. You only need spaghetti, olive oil, garlic, crushed red pepper, parsley, lemon and bottarga. You can knock it out in about the amount of time it takes to boil the pasta. The garlic needs slicing, the parsley chopping, the lemon zesting, and the bottarga grating or shaving. Cinchy. Halving the recipe for two is no problem.

I snagged the recipe on the internet. A Mario Batali number. He is a good man. A really good man. I've always been a fan, but now I may be a stalker.

When I first read the recipe, I was actually worried that there were too many ingredients, because I remember enjoying similar dishes with just the olive oil, bottarga and possibly garlic. I worried that the lemon zest, parsley, and crushed red pepper would be gilding the lily.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

For me this spaghetti with bottarga was perfection, the most harmonious balance of flavors. It isn't lemony, because you only use the zest. You do experience the perfume of the lemon, but it is just a sparkle of citrus that brightens up the dish. It isn't spicy, but there is a warmth. The ratio of olive oil to spaghetti is spot-on, the strands slipperily slicked. It is garlicky, but you do not suffer from an allium assault.

And then you have the bottarga itself, a funny looking orange slab of fish roe that is encased in wax when you buy it. It isn't cheap (between $30 and $80 on Amazon) and you can't buy it at the supermarket, but you can find it and you definitely should splurge on this delicacy. I've found it on the internet and in local cheese shops and specialty stores.

It is not fishy and weird. Bottarga has a subtle fish flavor. It is a little bit briny, but it possesses sweetness as well. To me the flavor of bottarga might best be categorized as umami. Bottarga is incredibly delicious and it adds body and depth to whatever you're using it in.

I can tell I'm failing a little bit here. It's just so difficult to really capture the flavor of this unique ingredient in words that I'm familiar with. Argh! Suffice it to say, I was sighing and moaning throughout the meal. I almost skipped out on watching Game of Thrones with A. so I could share this recipe with you last night. I woke in the night itching to get to my computer. I'll also confess to scraping up every remaining crumb of the bottarga from my counter like a jittery coke-head hoping for one last high. Oh you know what I mean. Plate of pasta!

There's only enough for me. No sharing this time. So someday this week, when A. is at work and Fe. is sound asleep, lunch is going to be quietly off the hook.

Mario Batali's Spaghetti alla Bottarga

8 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon crushed red pepper

2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced

1 pound spaghetti

2 bunches Italian parsley, finely chopped, to yield 1/2 cup

6 ounces bottarga, tuna or grey mullet

Zest of 2 lemons

Bring a large pot of water to boil and add 3 tablespoons salt.

In a large sauté pan, heat the olive oil, crushed red pepper and garlic over low heat until fragrant, approximately 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Cook the spaghetti, per the package instructions until al dente. Drain the pasta and add it to the oil mixture and add the parsley. Mix well over medium heat and pour into a warm serving bowl. Shave or grate the bottarga over the bowl and sprinkle with the lemon zest. Serve immediately.

Serves 4

Smashed Green Olive & Grapefruit Salad with Pomegranate & Avocado

Since I had Hassan M'Souli's Moroccan Modern out on the counter to make charmoula, I figured I'd search for an intriguing new vegetable dish as well. It was serendipitous that I actually had grapefruits, green olives, parsley, hazelnuts, avocado and pomegranate in my kitchen. The only ingredient I needed to purchase was watercress, and then I'd be set to whip up M'Souli's Smashed Green Olive and Ruby Grapefruit Salad.

Pomegranate season is in full force right now, and I for one am always looking for a convincing way to use the finger-staining seeds. They're fun to eat on their own for awhile, but I bore of that rather quickly. It's so messy! In Santa Cruz we used to make a solid salad of frisée, roasted butternut squash, goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, but still I search for something new.

M'Souli's salad is a riot of textures. There's the crunch of the toasted hazelnut, the pop of the pomegranate, the squish of green olive, and the buttery smoosh of avocado. Undeniably there is a lot going on flavor-wise as well. The saltiness of the olives, the zing of the grapefruit, the vegetal bitterness of parsley and watercress, and the sweetness of pomegranate make for a whole lot of stimulation for your mouth.

I've never tried anything quite like this salad before. I really liked it. I didn't love it. I'd make a couple of changes and I think it would be right up my alley. I feel like one other contrasting flavor would be necessary to truly bring the salad together. That is to say that the recipe is sorely missing shallot or perhaps garlic. There isn't much of a dressing, beyond two tablespoons of olive oil and the juice of half a lemon. I'd either mix the two together with a tablespoon of chopped shallot or I'd mix the lemon and olive oil together with a clove or two of smashed garlic and let that sit for about fifteen minutes before drizzling over the rest of the ingredients.

I'd also cut back just a bit on the green olives. I was suffering from olive fatigue by the end. Instead of eight ounces, perhaps five would suffice. With those few easy changes, I think this salad would be spot on.

The beauty of the recipe is that it is a snap, aside from segmenting the grapefruits and pitting the olives, which once you get into the rhythm of it is really no big thing. M'Souli suggests placing the olives between paper towels and hitting them with a mallet or rolling pin to release the pits. I recommend squashing each one with your thumb and removing the pit. It's more straightforward.

Plus, this salad is amazingly healthy and fresh, and perfect for the season, not to mention easy on the eyes.

Hassan M'Souli's Smashed Green Olive & Ruby Grapefruit Salad

8 ounces green olives

2 ruby grapefruits, peeled and segmented

1/4 cup flat-leaf parsely

3 1/2 ounce snowpea sprouts, if available, or watercress

1/2 cup roasted hazelnuts

1 avocado, chopped

1/2 cup pomegranate seeds

2 tablespoons olive oil

Juice of 1/2 lemon

Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Place the olives between layers of paper towels and hit each olive with a mallet or rolling pin to release the stones.

Place the olives, grapefruit, parsley, watercress, hazelnuts, and avocado onto a serving plate. Mix pomegranate seeds, oil, lemon juice, and pepper, and pour over salad. Allow to stand for 10-15 minutes prior to serving, for the flavors to mix and enhance.

Serves 4

Charmoula with Preserved Lemon

So speaking of jazzing up fish...

Last week I had two plump halibut fillets ready to go for dinner, but I was fearful of falling into the same old rut of serving the fish with a vinaigrette. A couple weeks ago I was successful at avoiding the vicious-vinaigrette-cycle, trying my hand at a yuzu-kosho butter sauce. I wanted to continue in a similar vein, attempting something new.

I randomly grabbed an enticing cookbook off the shelf that I haven't used nearly as much as I should, Moroccan Modern by Hassan M'Souli. Within moments I had my solution. Not only had I figured out what to do with the halibut, I had also found a fantastic way to take advantage of my new batch of preserved lemons.

Charmoula with preserved lemons was the answer. Charmoula is a common North African marinade or garnish made with herbs, oil, preserved lemons and spices. This particular charmoula also relies heavily on chopped raw onion. I'll confess that this made me a wee bit nervous, but I soldiered on and can report no ill effects.

All this recipe requires is a dash of chopping and a smidgen of stirring and the result is a symphony for your olfactory system. And then when you finally taste the charmoula?

Dynamite!

This charmoula possesses powerful flavor. The onion and garlic give a kick. The chiles lend heat. Extraordinary freshness comes from the cilantro and parsley. The cumin seeds and paprika introduce a seductive exoticism, while the real mystery is created by the saffron threads and the use of an entire preserved lemon.

I can vouch for M'Souli's assertion that this charmoula works wonderfully with baked fish. I'd also like to test it out on roast chicken and I'm certain it would shine on a simple carrot soup. It keeps for a few days in the refrigerator, but I liked it best the evening it was made.

Charmoula with Preserved Lemon

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

2 red onions, diced

4 large garlic cloves crushed

1 cup cilantro, finely chopped

1 cup flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

2 red birds-eye chiles, finely chopped

1 preserved lemon, diced

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1/2 teaspoon saffron threads

1 teaspoon ground paprika

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 teaspoon sea salt

Extra-virgin olive oil, to cover

Combine all the ingredients thoroughly. Spoon into a jar and cover with a film of olive oil. Keep in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

Makes approximately 4 cups