By Lisa Golden Schroeder

I’m really hungry for something slightly creamy and sort of rich. Not so rich that I feel a bit sick after eating a plateful, but rich enough to meld with a big spoonful of rice. A splash of something tart, like lemon or vinegar, will cut through the richness and balance everything out. I’m not a huge heavy cream lover—at least not in savory recipes—but coconut milk can hit the spot. I know not everyone is a coconut fiend like I am, but partnered up with spices and a few vegetables it offers that nutty note to a sauce without being overwhelming. So a simmered cut-up chicken, that proverbial chicken in a pot, is once again the ultimate comfort food.

Even though we’re on the cusp (or you may be there already) of grilling season, I won’t abandon the economy and satisfying results of cutting up a whole chicken and stewing it up. I just bought a new pair of really sharp kitchen shears that make short work of dividing up a chicken into manageable parts. A nice 3-1/2 or 4 pound bird feeds six grown-ups nicely when divvyed up into two breasts, two legs, two thighs, and two wings. Or keep the wings attached to the breast halves for heartier servings. For the following recipe the most serious time you’ll spend is prepping the chicken—be sure to really brown it nicely, so once you add the coconut milk and tomatoes the skin won’t get too flabby, and a good sprinkle of coarse salt before serving will add back texture to each bite. Once the chicken is done, and I’d remove the breast pieces first as they cook faster than the legs and thighs, you can cook the sauce down a little to thicken it. But you might want to leave it alone, to be soaked up by that spoonful of rice.
 

By Lisa Golden Schroeder

Fennel is one of those mysterious inhabitants of the fresh veggie bin. Its flavor, like sweet anise or licorice, has a firm foothold in Mediterranean cooking. In southern French fish stews, as a grilled Italian side, slow-braised as an elegant first course, or thinly sliced in salads, fennel is versatile and adds a unique edge to recipes. I’ve chopped it up and simmered some in spaghetti sauce, with a palmful of fennel seed, and tossed it in a creamy coleslaw. It does have that love-hate element—everyone has a relationship with licorice-tasting foods in some way. But it’s a beloved flavor in many parts of the world.

Spring fennel, plump pale green bulbs with long stalks and feathery fronds (they look like fresh dill), is a treat as far as I’m concerned. Mild and crisp if served up raw, think about subbing it in recipes where you might use celery. Chopped into a chicken salad, with a spoonful of chopped fronds stirred into mayonnaise? Made into a salsa with multi-colored cherry tomatoes and lime…or trimmed into wedges you can grill with chunks of bell pepper and baby Yukon gold new potatoes? Or just sauté fennel slices with lots of spring onion and boneless chicken breasts. If you’d like to experiment, look for bulbs that are creamy white with few spots or blemishes and lively green stalks and leaves. A nice big fennel bulb will keep in the fridge for several days, but the stalks will dry out quickly. To prep fennel, cut the bulb in half and slice out the core. Cut into wedges or thinly slice—it’s tailor-made for a mandolin slicer.

Fennel loves citrus, pungent cheese like Parmesan, and garlic (though what doesn’t?) It’s a happy partner in leafy salads, and a combo of baby arugula, thin strips of fennel, and sliced ripe avocado with a lemon or orange vinaigrette is about as refreshing a salad you can make. Serve it up with smoky grilled drumsticks or thighs. Or make the following 5-ingredient salad, with crisply crumb-coated boneless chicken breasts on a bed of fennel, red onion, and sweet oranges. The combination is just slightly addicting!

By Lisa Golden Schroeder

The first time I ran across dukkah I was in a spice market in South Africa. There was a dizzying array of open burlap bags, the air pungent with aromatic blends of ground seasonings. On closer inspection there wasn’t a lot I hadn’t seen in other markets, in other parts of the world. But there was an exotic atmosphere, in that partially covered space, that felt different. After wandering around for a while, I spotted a pile of little plastic bags filled with coarsely ground nuts and seeds, amid bottles of rose-scented water and piles of cracker bread.  Each bag had a hand-written label that said “dukkah,” followed by Arabic letters I didn’t understand. I tried to ask what the mixture was, but couldn’t fully decipher the heavily accented explanation from the vendor. But I bought a bag anyway, along with South African braai (barbecue) seasoning and some brick-red dried chile mixtures I’d never tasted. I learned once I returned home that dukkah is a favorite way to combine nuts, seeds, and spices in Egypt—a snack blend eaten with soft unleavened bread dipped into olive oil. An Australian friend mixes it into yogurt or sour cream to make a dip; I like to use it as a final sprinkle on sautéed meats or steamed vegetables.

The beauty of dukkah, like so many wonderful combinations of spices and flavor-filled nuts and seeds, is that it’s tremendously versatile. I like to make it with toasted almonds, sesame, coriander, and cumin—but I’ve seen versions made with macadamia nuts, roasted chickpeas, or hazelnuts. Now McCormick’s, the international seasoning company, is identifying dukkah as an “in” flavor for 2013. It blows me away how what’s comfort food in one place in the world can now travel thousands of miles to the other side of the world—in nearly a blink of an eye. I quickly used up my small bag of dukkah once I got home, so I needed to figure out how to make it myself. It’s pretty easy and it makes a great crust on roasted chicken.

By Lisa Golden Schroeder

I just discovered I’m a couple of months early celebrating one of the most versatile of ingredients—vinegar. May, apparently, is National Vinegar Month according to the Vinegar Institute. The origins of “vin aigre” or sour wine, was one of those happy accidents in the annals of food history. Just like drinkable (though that’s up for argument) wine that can be made from so many things—grapes of course, but also dates and a myriad of other fruits, potatoes, grains, beets, malt, sorghum, maple syrup, even dandelions—vinegar is nipping at its heels. Making wine is all about the fermentation of natural sugars in foods, transforming them into alcohol. A second fermentation of that alcohol results in tangy vinegar.

Of all the ingredients taking up their fair share of space in my pantry, vinegars have nearly an entire shelf to themselves. And not only in my pantry—a huge jug of distilled white vinegar holds a place of honor in my laundry room, with a companion spray bottle of diluted vinegar under my kitchen sink. Vinegar water cleans my cutting board, countertops, and hardwood floors. What is it that makes vinegar so flexible? Beyond its acidic nature, which makes it a great natural cleanser, its wide-ranging flavor is a blast to play with in the kitchen. It seems like every cuisine has a vinegar darling, from rice vinegars in Asia, tarragon white wine vinegar in France, to balsamic in Italy or sherry vinegar in Spain. In the U.S. apple cider or red wine vinegars are pantry staples, at the ready for making salad dressings, to balance the sweetness in barbecue sauce or to pickle our garden harvests. Vinegars infused with herbs and spices, garlic, chiles, or fruit add a special zing to recipes. A splash of vinegar brings an element of freshness to slow-cooked or heavy foods—like lentil soup or a beef stew. Some vinegars add a very subtle sour note, like rice vinegar in a sweet and sour soup, while other vinegars are more assertive and raw. So having a wardrobe of vinegars allows the cook to tailor the zip they want by the kind of vinegar they chose to use. Some vinegars are aged and filtered, so are milder and have more finesse—like balsamic vinegar. Traditionally made from very sweet grapes grown in Modena, Italy, it’s exceptionally sweet and thick, the perfect balance of sweet and tart. The lore surrounding seriously aged balsamic is legendary, with some as expensive as exclusive wines. You don’t have to spend a lot to acquire a good balsamic, but do spend enough to get a real one from Italy (versus cheap red wine vinegar sweetened with sugar) if you want to make the following recipe. And no need to buy “balsamic glaze” in a bottle—it’s simple to make yourself.

By Lisa Golden Schroeder

I don’t care what people say about Hallmark holidays. I absolutely love Valentine’s Day—and in my opinion, we could use a lot more days in the year devoted to being nice to each other. I suppose we shouldn’t need to be told to be generous and caring, but having an annual day to give flowers, chocolate, and little notes to people we care about can only be good. So I’ve got my little padded envelopes stuffed with chocolate bars for my best girlfriends (and my boys in college) headed to the post, and a big bag of those slightly obnoxious Valentine heart candies stashed in my tote to share at work this week. I’ve never liked those candies, but they’re so much a part of our American “have a nice day,” elementary school Valentine’s fun, it almost feels like the day isn’t complete unless we’ve eaten a handful.

So the big question around Valentine’s is to eat out or eat in? Any excuse to go out is welcome, but to be honest, eating out on the busiest restaurant night of the year is disappointing at best. Overcrowded spaces, harried staff, overburdened kitchens… a recipe for mediocrity. And that’s not what you want when you’re waiting for a treat. I’ve learned the hard way that the best way to my sweeties’ hearts is by cooking myself. And to be honest, even though I’m the chef of the night, I’m so much happier. I guess I’m a control freak, but if I plan the menu, decorate the table (even if that only means using cloth napkins and sprinkling those silly heart candies around some lit candles), and cook something we all love, the night is about us—not restaurant madness. Even though it’s technically still winter, this year I’m taking a few extra minutes to make spring-inspired lasagna. A special occasion lasagna, one that isn’t all about a heavy, gooey mess of melted cheese. This one is more refined, though no more difficult to assemble. And since Valentine’s falls on a weeknight, there’s time to quickly prepare all the parts and layer them up on plates with no anxiety about extensive prep ahead of time. Find a nice crusty loaf of bread to serve alongside (with a little dish of good olive oil and flavored balsamic vinegar to dip it in) and toss a sprightly salad of baby kale leaves, dressed in a tangy vinaigrette. There’s nothing hard about this menu, it’s all in how it’s served. A recipe for special evenings, all year long. Oh, and don’t forget the chocolate—French silk ice cream with hot fudge sauce anyone?