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

Preserved Lemons

Having a huge batch of duck confit tucked into the back of my refrigerator for six or so months gave a me a feeling of deep satisfaction and pride. It also caused my foot to start tapping anxiously, with me itching to crack into the solid white fat.

Having a large vat of preserved lemons always at the ready in your fridge will fill you with a similar sense of accomplishment without any of the niggling impatience. The most you'll be waiting is one little month, and if done right you might be flush with preserved lemons for a year.

Preserved lemons add a decidedly Moroccan flavor to any dish. You've probably encountered recipes for lamb shanks with prunes and preserved lemons, or chicken with olives and preserved lemons. Those dishes are fantastic, but you needn't always work that hard to enjoy the flavor of these beauties.

They add a wonderful salty tanginess to sautéed vegetables like spinach. They quickly add depth of character to a simple lemon vinaigrette. The lemons lend an exotic perfume when paired with capers on roasted fish. I've even read of people adding them to lemon ice cream!

I find preserved lemons to be endlessly useful in the kitchen. When I discover that my planned meal seems a bit humdrum, I turn to these lemons and everything -- the flavors and my spirits -- begins to perk up.

When your batch of preserved lemons is young, in its first few months, you might try using the flesh in your dishes. Some even say the juice from the fruit adds a bracing kick to a Bloody Mary. I can't vouch for this, but it does sound exciting. As they mature, you'll want to use the rind exclusively, discarding the flesh, and thinly slicing or finely chopping the rind.

There is no point in making a piddling batch of just four or five lemons. Do it right, and make an ample jug full of lemons. They should last up to a year. They'll keep in your pantry, but somehow I feel more confident with them in the refrigerator.

All you need is a heap of lemons, preferably the sweeter, thinner-skinned Meyers, but any lemons will do (all I've used is the common Eureka lemon, and I am definitely not complaining), a substantial amount of kosher salt, and a large wide-mouthed canning-type jar with a tight-fitting lid.

Some folks sterilize the jars. Will you forever doubt me, if I confess that sterilizing has me confounded? Probably. But no matter. Alice Waters, whom I trust on almost all topics, doesn't seem to bother sterilizing and neither did I. It's not just Waters. I'd say about fifty percent of the conversations and recipes that I researched were for sterilizing with the other half not. There's no debate about it. Some do and some don't. That's all. At the very least wash with lots of soap and very very hot water.

The process is really quite simple. You essentially tamp lemons full of salt, stuff them in a jar until they are as snug and cozy as possible, and make sure after a few days they are drowning in juice. You wait for a month or so and then enjoy.

To help in the motivation department, I'll be posting a few great recipes using your preserved lemons over the next week or so.

And by the way, these homemade preserved lemons are worlds better than the jarred ones that you might find at your local fancy-pants cheese shop. Just saying.

Preserved Lemons

Lemons (enough to fill a big jar)

Kosher salt

Wide-mouth jar with tight lid

Scrub the lemons thoroughly. Cut them in quarters, without cutting all the way through the stem end. Pack each lemon full of kosher salt. Pour a thin layer of salt in the bottom of the jar and then layer in the salt-packed lemons, pouring in some extra salt after each layer. Press down on the lemons with a metal spoon to help release some of the juices. When the jar is stuffed with lemons, add a final layer of salt and seal the jar. Leave on the counter for a few days to allow the lemon juices to release. You may turn the jar on its sides to help moisten all the lemons. If after 3 or 4 days, the lemons are not submerged, add additional lemon juice to cover. Store in the refrigerator or the pantry for a month or longer and then enjoy.

The lemons should keep for up to 1 year.

Carrot and Coriander Salad

For Mother's Day my sister Mo gave me A Platter of Figs and Other Recipes by David Tanis.

Tanis works for six months out of the year as head chef at Chez Panisse. He spends the rest of the year in Paris, where he hosts a private dining club.

Lucky dog! He's living at least part of my fantasy life.

The book is gorgeous, and immediately I want to try every recipe. They all seem to be my kind of cooking: seasonal, family-style, simple, and stunningly beautiful.

These are the kind of recipes that will impress your friends and family, but won't keep you away from your friends and family for too long. What pleases me is that I already have all the ingredients I need to make at least a couple of them.

I dive into the recipe for "Carrot and Coriander Salad" straightaway. Tanis is correct when he advises you to use a mandoline or a Benriner to julienne your carrots.

Turns out my Benriner is dull, and thus far too dangerous to use. I make a half-recipe and, given my knife skills are not what they ought to be, it takes me almost 30 minutes to julienne one pound of smallish carrots.

(Ssh. Don't tell anyone. I'm embarrassed!)

After the carrots have been tackled, everything else is a cinch.

You add lots of citrus, plus toasted cumin, coriander, garlic and shallots. Combine that with chopped fresh cilantro and a small blast of heat, and you have a bracing Moroccan salad that is actually good for you. (Figured it was time for something like this, after the carbonara and pot roast!)

Tanis garnishes the salad with green olives. I think this is fine, but not strictly necessary. He sprinkles the cilantro on top, and I mixed mine in. I think you can go either way. I do like and will definitely try his suggestion for a spicier version, adding slivered red onions and jalapeño chiles.

David Tanis' halibut with Indian spices and chilled pink borscht coming soon!

Carrot and Coriander Salad

2 pounds carrots, peeled

salt and pepper

1 large shallot, finely diced

2 garlic cloves, smashed to a paste with a little salt

2 teaspoons cumin seeds, toasted and ground

2 teaspoons coriander seeds, toasted and ground (You can toast and grind the spices together.)

red pepper flakes or cayenne (I used red pepper flakes.)

juice of 1 to 2 lemons

olive oil

limes

good green olives, such Picholine or Lucques (not pitted)

1 bunch cilantro

Julienne the carrots into long slivers, put them in a large bowl, sprinkle lightly with salt, and toss. Add the shallot, garlic, cumin, coriander, red pepper flakes, and lemon juice. Toss well, and let soften a bit.

Add olive oil to coat, then adjust the seasoning with lemon juice, salt, black pepper, and red pepper. Cover and set aside at cool room temperature for up to several hours, or refrigerate and then return to room temperature to serve.

Toss the salad again to distribute the seasoning, and heap on a large platter.

Squeeze a little fresh lime juice over, and garish with green olives. Roughly chop some cilantro and scatter it over the salad. Strew sprigs of cilantro and lime wedges around the salad, if you like.

Moroccan Chicken with Carrot Purée

What fun to receive the Los Angeles Issue of Saveur Magazine!

I love reading about my city. I love movies that take place in my city. It is always a treat to uncover more about the city I live in than I already know. The latest Saveur was no exception. Jonathan Gold's piece does a nice job of summarizing the importance of Los Angeles to the food world.

So far I've only prepared one recipe from that issue: Suzanne Goin's Moroccan Chicken with Carrot Purée.

Goin is just so amazing. Her Sunday Suppers at Lucques: Seasonal Recipes from Market to Table is an outstanding –– albeit very labor intensive –– cook book. She has an uncanny ability to make a complete and perfect meal using beautiful ingredients from local farmers.

I stumbled upon this recipe and knew that I could pull it off, and hopefully entice my poultry-phobic husband to partake. My C.S.A. share has provided me with a lot of Chiccoria, otherwise know as dandelion greens, and plenty of carrots, so my shopping would be limited (thank god!).

The sweet, mild carrot purée is a lovely foil for the sharper bite of the dandelion greens and sliced shallots, which join the salty kick of oil-cured olives in the little salad. The harissa that cloaks the chicken is also echoed in the dressing for the dandelion green salad.

I'm glad she asks for sherry vinegar in the vinaigrette. I love it, and always forget that I should be using the bottle hiding in my pantry.

I don't have a grill pan, so I used my trusty iron skillet to sear the chicken. No lovely black lines, but certainly just as tasty.

The real surprise for me here was the orange sauce, consisting of orange juice, butter, and orange segments. The buttery-sweetness of this sauce brings all of the forceful flavors of harissa, shallots, olives, and dandelion greens together.

Not only is this sauce delicious on this dish, but it clearly belongs in a dessert crèpe as well.

I was thrilled by how visually beautiful this dish is, and by how well all the parts came together. My husband ate the whole thing, but somehow he still cannot mentally get past the fact that he is eating poultry. I will keep at it!

Moroccan Chicken with Carrot Purée

6 boneless skin-on chicken breasts, pounded 3/4" thick (Place them in a ziplock bag for the pounding to reduce the mess!)

16 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

4 cups chicken broth

2 pounds carrots, cut into 1/2" rounds

1 large onion, minced

1 1/2 cups fresh orange juice

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 peeled oranges, segmented

3/4 cup plus 2 teaspoons harissa

2 teaspoons sherry vinegar

3 ounces dandelion greens

3/4 cup pitted oil-cured black olives, roughly chopped

2 shallots, thinly sliced

Put chicken into a dish; drizzle with 3 tablepspoons oil; season with salt and pepper. Set aside. Bring broth to a boil in a 6-quart pan. Add carrots; cook for 6-8 minutes. Purée in a food processor with 2 tablespoons oil. Season with salt and pepper; keep warm.

Heat orange juice in a 2 quart pan. Cook until reduced by half, 12-15 minutes. Whisk in butter; season with salt and pepper. Add orange segments; set sauce aside.

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Heat a grill pan over medium-high heat. Working in 3 batches, add chicken, skin side down; cook until crisp, 8-10 minutes. Transfer chicken, skin side up, to a baking sheet. Brush with 3/4 cup harissa. Bake until cooked, 6-8 minutes.

In a bowl, whisk together remaining oil and harissa with sherry vinegar. Add greens, olives, and shallots; toss. Divide carrot purée between 6 plates; top each with salad and a chicken breast. Spoon sauce over each.

Serves 6