Man, was I not in the mood to cook tonight. No, it was bigger than that: I wasn’t in the mood to eat. I could have cared less about food. There was this general pall over my evening, the kind of pall that says to you, “Please eat a big bowl of cereal and maybe some ice cream while standing in front of the freezer and then lie on the couch and watch bad television before going to bed late for no good reason.”

But I promised. I promised I would cook something and write about it. And unless I had some fabulous reason to not cook tonight, it seemed like a stupid reason to break a promise.

So I went to the Trader Joe’s in Newport Beach and wandered around for about 20 minutes, with a sort of lost and forlorn look on my face. I was glad that I had remembered to grab bananas but otherwise I couldn’t figure anything out. I seriously reconsidered this whole posting every day in November, being a good writer, making promises to readers thing. Then I spied some lamb chops.

I love lamb chops. Lamb is one of my favorite meats ever, besides wild boar (no, seriously. Have you had wild boar? Go. Now.) Not only is lamb delicious – and not only have some of the best dishes I’ve eaten in my life been lamb – lamb chops are even easier to cook than steak. Decision made!

By the way, for those of you who are still not convinced about cooking steak, my dear friend Conrad tried the steak cooking technique I wrote about a few weeks ago. He reported back about achieving medium-rare perfection. I’m telling you: Don’t be afraid of steak!

Or lamb chops, for that matter. Somehow, in the midst of the slicing and the chopping and the sautéing, the grumpy mood dissipated and the desire to cook returned. And I’m pretty sure the desire to eat came roaring back when I put the butter in the balsamic reduction and then scooped up a bit of sauce and shallots with a hunk of tender lamb edged with a salty, herbed crust. Oh my. Oh my, oh my.

Is it bad to tell you that once the pan cooled and I put away the leftover sauce, I swirled my finger around the inside edge, just to get the last remaining drops clinging like salty nectar to the cast iron? It is? I’m so sorry.

But seriously: Talk about a perfect meal for one (with gorgeous leftovers). So good that I wish I could do this whole evening over again, even the grumpy part, just to eat that freshly-prepared dish one more time. I paired the lamb with that sweet, garlicky kale with cranberries and rings of butternut squash roasted with olive oil, salt, and pepper. A square or two of dark Valrhona for dessert, and…

Oh, right. Then there’s that. Maybe I don’t want to do the evening over again. Does anyone want to come clean my kitchen?

Rosemary-Thyme Lamb Chops with Balsamic Reduction
Adapted from Allrecipes.com

3/4 teaspoon fresh rosemary leaves, coarsely chopped
1/2 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
salt and pepper to taste
4 lamb chops (3/4 inch thick)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 cup minced shallots
1/3 cup aged balsamic vinegar
3/4 cup chicken broth
1 tablespoon butter

1. In a small bowl or cup, mix together the rosemary, thyme, salt and pepper. Rub this mixture onto the lamb chops on both sides. Place them on a plate, cover and set aside for 15 minutes to absorb the flavors.

2. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Place lamb chops in the skillet, and cook for about 3 to 3 1/2 minutes per side for medium rare*. Remove from the skillet, and keep warm on a serving platter. (Remember, meat will continue to cook after you remove it from the heat.)

3. Add shallots to the skillet, and cook for a few minutes, just until browned. Stir in vinegar, scraping any bits of lamb from the bottom of the skillet, then stir in the chicken broth. Continue to cook and stir over medium-high heat for about 5 minutes, until the sauce has reduced by half. If you don’t, the sauce will be runny and not good. Remove from heat, and stir in the butter. Pour over the lamb chops, and serve.

*You can cook them to your preferred level of doneness, but don’t. I am firmly convinced red meat, particularly lamb, should be eaten medium rare.

I had very good intentions for this evening. I don’t just mean that I was going to work out and be in bed by 10:30. I mean I was going to take a break from all this talk of ow, my digestive tract, and hey, check out these vegetables and was going to tell you about a fantastic cake I made a few weeks back that I’m still proud of and secretly dying to show off. Even if I can’t eat things like cake right now. But like the working out and the bedtime, that’s not going to happen tonight.

Instead, I’d like to take this moment to thank Italy. Oh, there are so many things to thank Italy for, most of which I can’t even think about eating right now, which brings a tear to my eye. But there is still this one thing:

Prosciutto di Parma.

You silky, creamy, ridiculously expensive luscious ham, you. The way you tangle up on yourself, too thin to maintain the integrity of your slice. The way you drape over my tongue, almost melting in my mouth as I chew you. It’s so dangerous when you’re in my house, because every time I walk by the refrigerator I think, “Oh, just a little piece. Just a half a slice. A taste. That’s all.” Then I realize I’m halfway through the 1/4 pound I bought and I better slow down or there will be none left for that salad I like so much or the dish I made tonight.

Which, as current obsession would have it, also included kale!

Yeah, about that: Expect to see a few kale recipes here in the next few days. After making that kale recipe on Saturday and hearing from a number of people how much they love kale, I got all jazzed about kale. And it just so happens there’s a full article in this month’s issue of Saveur on cavolo nero, also known as lacinato or dinosaur kale. So, um, the other day I came home from the market with so. much. kale. it was kind of ludicrous. I got swept up in the kale frenzy. I’m going to bring you along with me tonight, and again in the next day or two, because you love kale too. You do!

At least, you will love it this way. A tangle of spicy greens redolent with rosemary, slow cooked just to the point of tenderness, topped with a small but luxurious pile of prosciutto di Parma. The cavolo nero takes on the intense flavors of the rosemary and the garlic without fading into the background. The leaves soften just so, maintaining enough body to give the teeth something to sink into – in fact, the kale and the prosciutto are finely matched, both so tender and satisfyingly chewy at the same time. The cooked kale is so full of flavor (even if you, like me, are making it while watching The Office and forget to put the salt and pepper in until you’re about to turn the heat off), you’d think the prosciutto would be one step too far. Yet the salty pork pulls all the flavors together. It’s the perfect cap. Like a little meat crown.

Don’t fret, vegetarians. You could top yours with goat cheese, which I bet would be delicious and which I plan on trying one day. And even without a topping, the kale would make a wonderful side dish to all variety of roasted meats and vegetables.

In fact, one of the two original recipes for this particular dish didn’t call for prosciutto at all – it called for goat cheese. It was the other, from Saveur, that used prosciutto. The Saveur recipe required boiling the kale in salted water for 30 minutes, then tossing it with olive oil, salt and pepper, and making bruschetta. I didn’t feel like boiling the kale though, so I found another recipe, and adapted it using what I had available in the kitchen. For obvious reasons, I didn’t make bruschetta and just topped it with the prosciutto. I didn’t even miss the bread.

Like I said, all those wonderful things Italian that I can’t eat – it brings a tear to my eye. Just one. The other one is eyeing the leftover prosciutto.

Cavolo Nero (Lacinato Kale) with Rosemary, Chili, and Prosciutto di Parma
Adapted from BBC Food and Saveur, November 2007

The BBC recipe called for an onion and fresh chili. I didn’t have the latter, and I didn’t feel like chopping up half an onion, especially not when I had a few shallots lying around. Which I always do, and I recommend you always do too – I love cooking with shallots more than almost anything.

2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
2-3 shallots, sliced
2 small sprigs fresh rosemary
1/8 tsp. red pepper flakes
2 garlic cloves, sliced
1 bunch cavolo nero, trimmed of tough stems, rinsed and cut into 1/2″ thick slices
salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 slices prosciutto di Parma (you might as well get 1/4 lb. so you can snack on it)

1. Heat the olive oil in a deep, heavy-bottomed lidded pan over a medium heat. Add the shallot, turn down the heat and sauté gently until very tender.

2. Add the rosemary, chili flakes, and garlic and sauté for one more minute.

3. Add the cavolo nero and season with salt. Cover with a tight-fitting lid, reduce the heat to its absolute minimum and leave to cook gently for about 20 minutes. Stir once after five minutes, then again ten minutes later.

4. Remove the rosemary stalks, then taste and adjust the seasoning. Divide between two plates and serve each portion with two slices of prosciutto. Serve at once, grating extra pepper on top if desired.

Serves 2

You don’t much want to know about my Monday. It wasn’t a “Oooh, someone’s got a case of the Mondays” Monday, the kind in which nothing goes right and it seems like everyone is either out to get you or out to annoy you by telling you to smile. It was just long and tiring and full of a lot of work.

So let’s not talk about Monday. Let’s talk about Saturday instead.

Saturdays are easy to talk about. Saturdays are just plain easy to love. Saturdays leave time for bike riding and coffee drinking. There’s usually a good farmers’ market somewhere – in Berkeley there’s one downtown with the best croissants on earth, and in Irvine there’s one by campus where you can get the softest, most flavorful organic dates every other week. (You can get them every week if you go to the Alamitos Bay Market on Sundays, but that’s Sunday. Stick with me, here.) Even if you have work to do on a Saturday, which I usually do, it’s easy to sort of nudge it gently to the side, quietly promise yourself you’ll do it later, really you will, you have all of Saturday and Sunday ahead of you!

Saturdays are especially nice when you’re in the mood to do some serious cooking. It might even be an extra special Saturday, if you’re lucky: you’ve got a whole meal planned, all sorts of recipes you’ve never tried before, and a very nice person who’s volunteered to do all the shopping for you.

So Saturday. I cooked. I roasted. I cooked. I pureed. I sauteed. I cooked. And I cooked some more. Y’see, last week I had a big idea stuck in my head. It found its way there while I was reading The New York Times, where I came across a recipe for roast duck. A certain someone I know has a very big fondness for roast duck, and since I have a very big fondness for a certain someone, I wanted to try making duck for him one of these days. I’d never made duck before, not in any way. I’d certainly never roasted a whole one. But the recipe not only seemed pretty easy, it was from a Food: Eat, Memory column in the Times magazine that really grabbed me. It had been written that week by Dorothy Allison, the very same Dorothy Allison who wrote Bastard Out of Carolina and Cavedweller. We’re talking some literary duck here, people.

So I roasted us a Muscovy duck. I sprinkled it with summer savory and draped it in thick slices of bacon and stuffed it with butter and baby onions and carrots. Toward the end of its roasting, I got to work on a salad and a side dish of kale, and I re-heated the squash puree I’d made before putting the duck in the oven. At the end I stirred up a perfectly creamy gravy. Everything finished at precisely the right time, meaning everything was at the exact temperature it needed to be. When does that ever happen?

Oh, I’m terrible. I’m leading you on. I didn’t make just any old salad or any old side dish of kale or any old squash puree. Here I am, making you think the duck was the star of the show. But the surprise was: It wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong, the duck was lovely. But it wasn’t the best part, and to be honest, I think the smokiness of the bacon overwhelmed the flavor of the duck a little. So if the duck was very good but not outstanding, why am I so excited about this dinner?

So many reasons. A fantastic dinner is worth more than the sum of its parts. Even if one dish doesn’t quite work, the others will quietly do their job and still make that dish glow. This dinner was one of those rare occasions when all the parts did exactly what they were meant to do.

I managed to put together a group of dishes that complemented each other just right. This was most remarkable considering the boldness of the flavors involved (don’t worry, I’m getting to them!). Each dish worked with all the others; as a whole dinner they complemented each other and turned a cacophony of tastes into a beautiful quartet. The sweet-salty-richness of the salad set off the earthiness of the supple puree, which was a perfect foil for the tart, garlicky greens, which in turn stood up to the tender, slightly smoky, rich duck meat dolloped with a bit of salty gravy. Reverse the order, or recombine, and new flavors would be highlighted, new layers revealed.

It was a rare feat of culinary artistry for me. If I do say so myself.

But let me give credit where credit is due. I only brought the recipes together, I certainly didn’t create them.

First was the salad, from the November issue of Gourmet. I made the spicy green salad with manchego and pears, sprinkled with crispy, salted pepitas. I had to deviate slightly from the recipe; we had only roasted pepitas available to us, so instead of toasting them and using the oil in the dressing, I substituted a little roasted walnut oil and used them as they were. The dressing was in turns unctuous and sweet from honey, salty and a bit spicy from my favorite mustard, tangy from the Sherry vinegar, and rich and warm from the oils. It perfectly melded the same disparate notes in the salad – the sweet pears, salty pepitas, spicy from the greens, and rich from the cheese. With the bounty of beautiful pears out there right now, a more casually presented version of this salad would make a perfect weeknight dinner for one or two, alongside some soup or a nice piece of leftover roast chicken. It’s definitely a keeper. But it’s not the recipe I promised.

Then there was the puree. Once Luisa posted this recipe for delicata squash and celery root puree, I knew I’d be making it. She’d already gotten me hooked on one squash puree, so I had no doubts the second would be a winner. And no surprise, it was as plush and earthy and irresistible as she’d said it would be. The roasted squash (which I roasted for nearly 15 minutes before realizing I’d forgotten to brush them with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper) develops the sweetest, most caramelly squash flavor with a silken texture that simply melts in your mouth. The celery root asserts itself but, boiled to softness and tamed by the cream with bay leaf and sage, it doesn’t overpower, instead allowing for a mellow but deeply flavorful harmony to develop. But again, that’s not the recipe I’m going to highlight here. I can’t! I love it, but it’s Luisa’s and she just wrote about it.

So that leaves the kale. You’re probably sitting there thinking to yourself, “She’s gotten me all worked up, and I’ve done all this reading… for kale?” Believe me. This is one of the best kale (or any greens) dish I’ve ever had, anywhere. Even my lovely dining companion, for whom the duck was roasted, declared the kale his favorite part of the meal. He couldn’t stop remarking on it. The sweet-tartness of the dried cranberries, the softened but still pungent garlic that seems to infuse the leaves, and the kale itself, deep green and tender on the tongue and not bitter in the slightest. How those flavors combine is marvelous. On first bite each flavor is separate, for the briefest of seconds, and then they mingle and awaken every part of your palate, so alive and sassy and vibrant. This, my dears, is the recipe I want you to make. Try it out this week. Introduce it into your Thanksgiving meal. Make it again the next week, when you need some greens but are tired of steaming everything. I’m laminating this recipe.

Oh, and about that dining companion? The one who loves Shauna’s gluten-free chocolate financiers, which I keep making secretly so he’ll keep popping them in his mouth and grinning? Like I said, a great dinner is always worth more than the sum of its parts. I guess it just happens when the parts are worth a lot to begin with.

Kale with Garlic and Cranberries
adapted from Gourmet, November 2007

I will let you know a few things: 1) I forgot to drain the kale and put it in the pot directly from the ice bath. It was a little wetter than intended, so I had to pour off some water after a few minutes. However, I think this worked out fine – it gave the garlic extra liquid to cook in and it plumped up the cranberries. You may have this happen if you drain the kale, as there will still be water in it. But if you forget – like me! – you’ll be fine. 2) I did not measure my salt and pepper, so you can also add those to taste, as I did. 3) This is a good recipe for IBS – if the garlic is too much for you, use less; if the cranberries are too much sugar, ditto. But otherwise – lots of greens, nicely cooked! It is so flavorful you might end up eating the whole pot (like I nearly did).

2 pounds kale (preferably Russian Red), stems and center ribs discarded and leaves coarsely torn
1 tablespoon minced garlic
5 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup dried cranberries (2 ounces)

1. Cook kale in a 6-quart pot of boiling salted water (1 1/2 tablespoons salt for 4 quarts water), uncovered, until almost tender, 5 to 7 minutes. Drain in a colander, then immediately transfer kale to an ice bath to stop cooking. When kale is cool, drain but do not squeeze.

2. Cook garlic in oil in same pot over medium heat, stirring, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add kale, dried cranberries, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper and cook, tossing frequently with tongs, until kale is heated through and tender, 4 to 6 minutes.

Do you ever have those weeks when you can’t seem to get a single thing right? No matter how hard you try, no matter how simple your plans may be, you find yourself staring down at mess after mess, feeling like the villain in another epsiode of Scooby-Do. Really? Foiled again? By those bumbling kids?

Here it is, only Wednesday, and it’s been one of those weeks. No matter what I’ve tried this week, I’ve fumbled. Whether it was making delicious and ridiculously easy tomato bread soup, glazing some sinfully thin (and sinfully expensive) prosciutto di Parma, introducing a friend with high food expectations to what I swear – swear – used to be the best carne asada tacos I’ve ever had in my life, or just putting liners in my bike tires, nothing has gone as planned. The tomato soup turned into creamy tomato porridge; I don’t think I got enough tomatoes. The prosciutto di Parma turned into sad black wads of bitter, bacon-scented charcoal; luckily it wasn’t a total loss as I decided to only make part of the recipe, and saved half to nibble on throughout the week. The carne asada tacos were shockingly the driest and worst tacos I’ve ever eaten. And at one point during the bike tire experience, my hand slipped and I punched myself in the nose. People, I tell you. I can’t seem to get it right.

Now, under normal circumstances, I’d have thrown up my hands, grabbed Linty and a piece of dark chocolate, and crawled under the covers to read some magazines. But this week I faced a little challenge. See, after the Long Beach Farmers’ Market on Sunday, I stopped at Wild Oats to get myself some fresh meat (no, not that kind, you saucy readers) so I could be sure and have some tasty protein (dirty minds! I swear.) to keep me going for the week. And I hadn’t gotten just any old piece of meat. No, I went and found the nicest all-natural, grass-fed rib-eye steak I’d seen in quite some time. The kind of steak you can’t throw in the freezer and wait for another week, a nicer week, to roll around. But at the same time, the kind of steak you better cook right, or you’ll never forgive yourself.

Oh, the dilemmas we face.

As I stood in the kitchen, forlornly eating my creamy bread and vibrant tomato mash that I kept wishing would magically turn into soup, I steeled myself. Self, I said, you’ve been teaching yourself lately how to make a good steak. You know how. It’s foolproof. More foolproof than tomato bread soup or those tacos or any tire technique. You’ve almost perfected it yourself. Go on, cook that steak. Make it the one thing you get right this week.

The steak, deep red and marbled with fat, sat innocently on its brown wrapper. I’d let it sit out at room temperature for about 30 or 40 minutes, not quite as long as I’d have liked, but I couldn’t wait any longer. It was time.

And you’ll never believe it: It was heaven. Perhaps the best steak I’ve ever cooked. I realized: a lot of people (at least those who eat meat) aren’t comfortable cooking steaks, particularly not in the house. “I don’t have a grill,” they’ll say, or “I don’t like to cook red meat at home,” or “I’m just not very good at steak.” But you know what? I don’t have a grill. Cooking red meat at home is less squidgy than cooking chicken. And you only think you’re bad at steak.

Take it from me: If you eat meat and can handle working with raw chicken, steak is a piece of cake. Look there, I even made a rhyming mantra for you. It took me a little while to get steak right, but with a little help from a friend and from Saveur, I finally have it down. And since every meat-eater should be able to cook up a steak (c’mon, no more excuses), I’m here to walk you through it.

Steak Making, Made A Lot Easier

Step 1: Choosing your steak. In the past weeks, I’ve cooked a porterhouse, a NY strip, and a rib-eye. I’ve used basically the same technique, with some minor variations and a little tweaking. All were delicious, but of course all were a little different. It depends on what you’re looking for in your hunk o’ meat. If you’re looking for thrift, a hefty porterhouse is probably not for you; the steaks are usually big and part of what you’re paying for is a decent amount of fat and bone. But a porterhouse does offer tender loin meat and all that fat keeps things nice and juicy. And if you’re actually eating what is a normal portion of meat, you can make a big porterhouse last you for a few meals. For those looking for a somewhat leaner, less-expensive cut that still lets you feel like you’re eating a steak, the NY strip (also known as the top loin) is a good choice. Then there’s the rib-eye, which most people are familiar with. I’m not a steak expert by any means, but I’d say the rib-eye is a good choice that falls in between the other two. Not as rich as a porterhouse but richer than a NY strip, tender but with that full beef flavor. At any rate, get good quality meat and you can’t go wrong with any of the three. And by good quality, I’m also talking grass-fed. If you’ve never had it, or you think it doesn’t make a difference, you are so, so wrong. Don’t believe me? Ask an Argentine.

I’m one person, and not a particularly big one at that. I generally get a steak that’s around a pound – perhaps a little more or a little less – and I can get at least three meals out of a good-sized steak, if not four, depending on how much of the weight is fat and/or bone (and how succulent it is when it first comes out of the oven and my will-power is at its weakest). Sounds crazy, but remember that a serving of meat is 3-4 oz. Cook it just right and pair it with enough vegetables, and you’ll be surprised to find you don’t need much more than that. Magically, the $12 steak for one doesn’t seem so extravagant. The $23 porterhouse from the very nice butcher shop, on the other hand…

(Above is the porterhouse from a few weeks ago, with its phenomenal crust.)

Step 2: Choosing your pan. You don’t have a grill, which is why you’ve managed to avoid the whole “cooking a steak” thing in the first place. But if you’re doing any sort of cooking, I bet you’ve got a cast iron skillet or two lurking around.

I’ve used both the regular skillet and the grill pan. The regular skillet allowed me to make a truly incredible crust on my porterhouse, deep brown with a crisp, peppery crunch that melted on my tongue. I loved it, but I did find that, because the steak roasted in its fatty juices in the flat bottom, it was a little richer and fattier than I might have liked. Nonetheless, that crust was phenomenal, and I have a scheme for having the best of both worlds (use two pans and switch off: advanced indoor steakery).

The grill pan gives you those great grill marks (so you can pretend you’re a professional or at least a BBQ master) and it does create a nicely seared exterior but really shines when it comes to the roasting. The ridges allow the steak to sit above the juices – the benefit of the grill without setting the outside of your house on fire.

To be honest, you can’t go wrong with either one. I lucked out and found a great cast iron grill pan at a garage sale for $3, but you can use a regular skillet and you’ll be fine.

Step 3: Ventilate the hell out of your house. Things are about to get smoky. Open every window and turn on the fans.

Perfect, Simple Steak
Adapted from basically every steak recipe ever, including the Saveur steak issue

1 big, juicy steak, preferably grass-fed – about a pound, anywhere from 1 1/2 to 2 inches thick
Oil (I use olive or, very occasionally, canola)
Coarse salt and coarsely ground pepper

1. Take the steak out of the fridge and let it sit on the counter for an hour, bringing it to about room temperature.

2. Preheat your oven to 450F.

3. If you’re using a flat-bottomed skillet, rub a tablespoon of oil into each side of the steak and generously salt and pepper both sides. For the grill pan, just salt and pepper each side.*

4. Heat the skillet over high heat until very hot, about 5-6 minutes. Pour about a tablespoon or so of oil in and swirl it over the ridges if using a grill pan. Carefully lay the steak on the pan.

5. Cook the first side for at least 6 minutes, if not 7-8, creating a deep brown crust. Flip the steak and sear the other side for 2-3 minutes.

6. Transfer the skillet to the oven and roast for 6-8 minutes, until medium rare.

6a. You’ll be nervous the first few times, and that’s okay. Just take the steak out at about 6 minutes and cut into it (what? You’re not presenting it to anyone). You want a layer of brown crust, followed by a deep reddish-pink, and a darker, more red center. If it looks like it needs another minute or two, put it back into the oven. I took one of my steaks out at 5 minutes, cut it all the way in half, realized it needed more time, and put it back in for 2 more. It came out perfectly. I prefer my steak on the rarer side of medium-rare, so I take the steak out when the center is a little gelatinous – not raw, but just this side of rare.

7. Remove the skillet from the oven and place the steak on plate. You can also place it on a rack over a tray to keep it out of its juices, but I have yet to try this. Loosely tent the plate with foil and let it sit 5-10 minutes. I find mine is ready to go after about 5.**

8. Slice, and serve, fanning the slices on your plate so you can admire your handiwork.

If you’ve cooked it right, and I bet you will, your steak will have an almost silky mouthfeel. There will be a little chew to the exterior, but just enough to make it feel substantial in contrast to the smooth, rich center. You’ll taste the deep flavor of the grass-fed beef, highlighted by the crackly salt-and-pepper crust. And if you can resist tearing that beauty apart in the kitchen, licking your fingers with abandon, you’ll even get to sit down at the table and enjoy your freshly cooked steak like a civilized human. Good luck with that.

*I’m not going to get into the debate of whether or not to salt meat before you cook it, because it draws the juices out. It turns out wonderfully for me and gives a fantastic flavor. Maybe I’ll try it without sometime and get back to everyone on it.

**There are those who say you should never let meat sit under foil, even for a few minutes, and those people are probably right and are probably brilliant chefs. I am a happy amateur home cook! Watch me tent! You will too!