This unusual fava bean greens pesto is enhanced with the earthy flavor of toasted walnuts and toasted walnut oil. Orange and lemon zest, plus a bit of spicy heat, lifts the subtle flavor of fava bean greens to new heights.
If mayonnaise has a season, it is definitely summer. I use more mayonnaise in summer than in the other three seasons combined. Where would pasta and potato salads be without mayonnaise? Or a grilled hamburger? Or grilled vegetables?
I can’t imagine these and a host of other dishes without mayonnaise or one of its endless variations. Imagine summer without garlicky Aioli and dill pickle-laden Tartar Sauce. Not possible. And where would our Northwest seafood soups be without the requisite swirl of roasted red bell pepper and garlic mayonnaise, otherwise known as Rouille?
Mostarda has been showing up with some frequency on restaurant menus of late and after tasting it for the first time with a succulent grilled pork chop at Nel Centro a couple of years ago, I was smitten. It was LOVE at first bite.
Imagine fresh or dried fruit glazed in a sweet, spicy syrup with a subtle or not so subtle mustard kick. As good as that pork chop was, I could have eaten an entire plate of the mostarda.
We explored the umami (oo-MA-mee) phenomenon in the previous post, Umami: The Fifth Taste. Now it’s time to make a little umami magic of our own. But, as I mentioned in the earlier post, an umami paste with the predominant taste of anchovies (Taste #5 Umami Paste) is not as useful as it might otherwise be. You can always add a squeeze of anchovy paste if the need arises.
My Grandma Mary would have loved homemade chutney, but alas, I doubt she ever tasted true chutney, even though her cellar walls were lined yearly with row upon row of pickled and candied veggies and fruits.
She preserved everything she could get her hands on. Her large yard boasted mature peach, pear, plum, sweet cherry, pie cherry, and crab apple trees, which we loved to climb and pilfer.
Have you ever found yourself standing in front of the exotic condiments section of an upscale grocery store pondering whether to shell out $8 for a tiny jar of glistening something-or-other? The jars have names such as Sriracha, Chimichurri, and Harissa. You covet them ALL.
That’s exactly what happened to me recently at City Market in Northwest Portland. I walked out of the store with a tiny, expensive jar of Mustapha’s Moroccan Harissa and although it turned out to be quite delicious, barely an hour had gone by before I began to make my own. I had visions of Red Kuri Squash & Orange Soup with Cinnamon Harissa, and in order to follow that vision, I needed Harissa with more body and warmer spicing than the store-bought version.