Happy Doughnut Day! Celebrate with Tomatoes

OK, tomatoes have absolutely nothing to do with doughnuts—although I could imagine a tomato-infused cake doughnut, covered in cinnamon 

sugar. . . . I just couldn’t let this important day go by without mention, despite the fact that the most carb-loaded thing I am eating is a couple of sweet vegetables.  I did have two doughnuts from a local doughnut shop this week on my way to Phoenix—one must get them when one can—so it is not as if I am being virtuous or anything. And I will make doughnuts for the blog this summer.  But for doughnut day today:  tomatoes.

It is hot—nearly 5:00 p.m. and still 107F—and I am tired, tired, tired.  This combination means, in no uncertain terms, no cooking.  Fortunately, I have some rather nice heirloom tomatoes from our rather nice Farmers Market. I also had a few local carrots. So I made this little sweet salad.  It seemed to want an old-fashioned dressing, and just a breath of  it, so I stuck with corn oil, cider vinegar, salt (no pepper), and one of my favorite ingredients, ground caraway seed. With everything fresh and local, including the onion, it makes for a tasty light supper accompanied by another hot-weather essential, Campari and orange with a splash of soda. Followed by a doughnut, if you are lucky enough to have one on hand.

 

THT (too hot and tired) Tomato Salad

This isn’t really a recipe so much as a list of things to toss together. Serves 1, generously.

2 medium carrots, finely shredded

1 ripe heirloom tomato of your choice (this is a German Stripe), roughly sliced vertically

1 very thin slice onion, halved

1 T corn oil

1-1 ½ tea cider vinegar

Salt to taste

Big pinch—maybe ½ tea—ground caraway seed

Set the tomato aside. Mix the rest of the ingredients and let stand 15 minutes or so, then toss in the tomato and correct for seasoning. Resist the temptation to add a green herb, you’ll spoil it.

Second Annual Fish Fry

     

Eating fish within hours of its being caught is similar to eating corn minutes after it is picked. Both have a taste and texture so fresh, sweet, tender, and pure that it is identifiably different from the same corn or fish eaten a short time later. So much so that, not being much of a fish fan, I rarely order it at a restaurant or buy it unless I am cooking for someone who is. But fish straight from the water is truly amazing—a different kettle of fish, I almost said. And if the fish has been fried—well, you know that a thing fried is always a wonderful thing.

My last evening in Little Compton before heading back to Nashville was spent eating such pristine, fried fish. Almost better, it was prepared by someone else, friend and fellow cook Anne: the perfect combination of good food and no work. It was caught by her husband and brothers and their kids, and yes, that striped bass in the photo that looks like a trophy is one of the actual fish, digitally captured by Anne’s father Frank Parker of Bookstand World fame. In fact, the photos here are a mix of mine and Frank’s. There was flounder, too.

The fish was dredged in a flour/cornmeal mix and simply fried, served with homemade tartar sauce, corn on the cob, a perfect lettuce salad, and cole slaw. We had divine stuffed squash blossoms with tomato sauce to start. Every component of the meal was local and new. I made the cole slaw, from a Walker’s cabbage, Karla’s carrots, and the Fruit Lady’s apples. There was a very good cake and good wine. The evening was lovely, winding down around the fire pit, a glowing memory of summer to tide me over ‘til next year.

LCS 

LCS means Little Compton Slaw or Local Cole Slaw, whichever you like. I make my cole slaw similar to my potato salad, with the addition of mustard, celery seed, and buttermilk instead of cream; directions are general and proportions are approximate and to taste. I added the apples at Anne’s request; just leave them out if you don’t have or want them.

1 Savoy cabbage, outer leaves removed, cored, and finely sliced with a knife
2 or 3 large carrots, 3 or 4 times more if they are little new ones, peeled and grated
1-2 T very finely minced onion
2-3 small tart apples, peeled and grated (optional)
2 cups homemade mayonnaise or Hellman’s® only
1 T sour cherry cider vinegar from the pickled sour cherries or cider vinegar
Few small splashes of buttermilk
2 tea Grey Poupon® Dijon mustard
1-2 tea Celery seed
Salt, freshly ground pepper

General notes: Cut the cabbage in half with a large, heavy cleaver or chef’s knife; be careful. Slice finely crosswise, preferably with a Japanese Usuba or a very sharp chef’s knife. Your onion (and apple if used) should be so fine that it disappears. This cole slaw’s outstanding flavor is achieved through the right balance of seasoning, which is onion; vinegar; mustard, celery seed , salt, and pepper. Start with less, add more to taste. It should be fresh and tangy, but not sharp or sour; don’t overdo, particularly on the vinegar, mustard, and celery seed, none of which should be pronounced. It should be creamy but not watery, so be cautious with the buttermilk and use only very fresh onions and apples, and pat them and your carrots with a paper towel before grating. Absolutely simple, but everybody loves it.

      

 

                                     

Comfort Me with Carrots

This week I moved my son and one-and-only child to New York, where he starts his first job tomorrow. He’s graduated. He’s grown up. He’s gone. It may take 21 years, but the child’s growing season is the fleetingist of all. One day you are carrying them fresh and new into your home; turn around the next, they have matured on the vine and you are carrying their things out and into their own.
The morning I left New York, after a whirlwind two days of unpacking and settling in, my son and I met for coffee and walked down the street to Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, one of his neighborhood’s many small parks, to sit. It was Wednesday, Greenmarket Day, and I was surprised to see a full-blown, well stocked market, a veritable miniature Union Square. There was fresh fish; grass-fed beef, pork, and veal; baked goods; honey; handmade cheeses and eggs; and an excellent selection of fruits and vegetables, everything grown, raised, or produced in New York. Buying to bring back to Rhode Island would have been, for the most part, like bringing coals to Newcastle. But the truly beautiful carrots I could not resist.
Carrots are underrated, I think, even considering my well-known congenital preference for sweet vegetables. A fresh-pulled carrot rates right up there with fresh-picked corn or freshly dug potatoes in the category of transcendent—and transient—unadorned eating experiences. In the desert-island game of foods you would choose if you had to eat the same thing forever, raw carrots with salt are invariably on my list (along with good bread and butter, and steak, and apple pie). I love them glazed with butter, maple syrup, and salt and white pepper, for their taste and for the burst of color they add to the plate. At this time of year, beautiful carrots contribute to crisp (also underrated) coleslaw or other salads, and make a lovely summer appetizer blanched and served with aioli. Either grated or pureed carrot is used in carrot cake (I make a carrot chiffon cake with a puree), but both have myriad other uses. Grated carrots can be used as a crunchy binder in meatballs, pureed carrots in sweet or savory custards, stirred into turnips or mashed potatoes, as a base for soups, or served on their own with lots of butter and herbs. And the nutritional value of carrots, while legendary, is worth a reminder, particularly their astoundingly high level of natural antioxidant vitamin A carotenes.
So consider the carrot. When you see them, tall or short, orange or yellow or red or purple—the variety I saw in Switzerland was lovely—, and intact with their giant tops, buy them. They are a delicious treat, and the simple preparations to which they lend themselves are pretty and satisfying. I found myself, returning home after sending my son off to his life, making this salad from my own youth, one of my Pennsylvania German grandmother’s many sweet-sour concoctions blending sugar and vinegar. Along with a natural casing, snappy beef frankfurter, topped with some of the last jar of last summer’s red pepper relish, it made a simple and yes, comforting, lunch.
Sweet and Sour Marinated Carrots
In a departure from my by-now familiar room-temperature rule for salads and marinated vegetables, serve this one cold. The recipe makes a generous ½ cup dressing; you may have some left over, enough to dress sliced tomatoes the next day. Serves 2.
½ lb carrots, or about 4 medium
2 slices, about 1/8” thick, from a large onion, cut in quarters
½ sweet red pepper, sliced thin
2 T finely chopped parsley

2 T homemade tomato sauce, pressed through a fine strainer (see Note)  
¼ cup vegetable oil
¼ cup sugar
¼ tea salt
1/8 tea white pepper
¼ tea celery seed
¼ tea dry mustard
2 T cider vinegar
Peel and trim the carrots; cut them at a 45° angle into slices about 3/16” thick. Blanch in boiling salted water about 3-4 minutes, or until they can be pierced with a sharp knife but are still firm. Drain and rinse under cold water; set aside.
In a small bowl or glass measure, whisk together the tomato sauce, oil, sugar, and seasonings until thick and well combined. Whisk in the vinegar.
Place the well-drained carrots, the onion, the pepper, and parsley into a serving bowl and pour over enough dressing to just cover—a little more than half, most likely. Toss well, cover the bowl, and marinate in the refrigerator for about 8 hours or overnight. This is a nice side for anything smokey, from ham to grilled sausages, burgers, or dogs.
Note: I like to have fresh tomato sauce, made from imported plum tomatoes cooked in a few tablespoons of olive oil and seasoned with salt only, on hand, and always save even the smallest amount left over from making pasta or pizza. With just a few tablespoons, you can make a dip for fried food or sausages, or use it to add body and flavor to stews, soups, sauces, and dressings. You can substitute canned plain tomato sauce or even thick tomato juice here.