• roasted zucchini parmesan

    Last night’s meal screamed summer: corn, a loaf of fresh sourdough bread, and this roasted zucchini Parmesan of which I was most proud because: ooh-la-la delicious, my husband took seconds (and then packed leftovers for his lunch), and the kids’ fussing was pleasantly minimal. (What the heck—two colons in one sentence? Is that even legal?)

    I’m always looking for new ways to serve zucchini and this one:

    *(like I already said) tastes delicious
    *uses a substantial quantity of zucchini
    *can be assembled ahead of time
    *makes good leftovers

    I was afraid the zucchini, which gets roasted in the oven and then baked in the casserole, might be mushy-soggy, but no. It was tender and velvety, almost creamy. I also worried it wouldn’t be flavorful enough—there are no spices, just salt and pepper, red pepper flakes, and then the tomato sauce and cheeses—but it’s packed with flavored. Maybe because of the twice-baking? In any case, it’s lovely.

    I served it with crusty bread to sop up the juices, but this would go well with rice, too, or just serve it alongside whatever else you’re making for dinner. You won’t regret it.

    Roasted Zucchini Parmesan
    Adapted from the New York Times.

    I used a pint of my homemade pizza sauce in place of the fresh tomato sauce that the recipe called for, but any garlicky pizza sauce would be fine. And I added mozzarella.

    If you want to make this a heftier dish, the addition of browned bulk sausage and/or sauteed mushrooms would be fab. Update, July 27, 2017: to one pan, I added a pound of browned, bulk sausage and sauteed onions, plus fresh basil and oregano. It was an enormous hit.

    2 ¼ pounds zucchini
    2 cups roasted tomato and garlic pizza sauce
    1 cup mozzarella cheese
    1 cup freshly grated Parmesan
    ½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
    olive oil
    salt and black pepper

    Roast the zucchini:
    Slice the zucchini lengthwise into ¼-inch slices and place them in a single layer on parchment-lined, sided baking sheets. Drizzle them with olive oil and sprinkle liberally with salt and black pepper. Sprinkle with red pepper flakes. Flip the slices of zucchini and give the same oil-and-seasoning treatment to the other side.

    Roast at 450 degrees for 10 minutes. Take the pans from the oven and flip the zucchini slices. Return the pans to the oven (first one and then the other) and broil for 3 minutes.

    Assemble and bake:
    Drizzle some olive oil in the bottom of a 9×13 pan. Spread a quarter cup of the tomato sauce on the bottom of the pan. Cover with a single layer of zucchini slices. Spread half of the tomato sauce over the zucchini and sprinkle with a third of the mozzarella and a third of the Parmesan. Repeat: zucchini, the rest of the sauce, a third of the cheeses. Make a final layer of the zucchini slices and sprinkle with the remaining cheese. Drizzle a little more olive oil over the top. At this point the pan can be covered and stored in the fridge for a couple days, if desired.

    Bake the casserole at 375 degrees for 30 minutes until golden brown and bubbling. Let set at room temperature for 10-15 minutes before serving.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.27.16), futbol, dark chocolate zucchini cake, a break in the clouds, honeyed apricot almond cake, red beet greens.

  • the quotidian (6.26.17)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    The pancakes on the right are missing a crucial ingredient. Can you guess?

    Got milk?
    Moving on from lettuce and spinach: beet greens.
    Saucy.

    The baker’s table (and toes).

    Pro tip: donuts soften the blow of a heavy to-do list. 

    A tack(y) cleaning party.

    Single-handedly putting it up.

    In knots.

    Running the numbers.
    Summer feet.
    That cast stinks to high heaven: one of the many reasons why, probably.

    This same time, years previous: fruit-filled coffee cake, seven nothings, better iced coffee, my ethical scapegoat, on slaying boredom, the quotidian (6.25.12), chocolate peanut butter cake, lemon ice cream with red raspberries, slushy mojitos, the chicken that’s been missing from your life.

  • buttermilk brownies

    Grouching around the house the other day, I said to my husband, “In the morning I go running, which is miserable, and then I go write, which is also miserable. I don’t know why I bother getting up.” But then yesterday I had a day off from writing and I was all whiney because I missed writing, so go figure.

    I get in these spells, these creative voids, when there is NOTHING going on (and we all know I work best under pressure). I have no reason to complain—everything is peaches-n-cream—but I feel depleted. There’s no fire. For example, these days…

    *I have no one to cook for. Now that Melissa and my older son are gone, we’re down to five people in this house. Feeding five people is peanuts.

    *The younger kids are perfectly happy to be left alone. If they had their way, they’d spend the entire day reading. Remember when I used to ache for the day my kids could read?

    *Writing is a grueling process. Most days when I leave off writing, the word jumble is thick, practically indecipherable, leaving me feeling unaccomplished and at odds. There is no glory.

    *The kids do most of the cleaning/laundry/yard work. Why am I here?

    Yesterday I woke up grumpy (’tis a theme), realizing too late that I should’ve chosen that day to sleep in and be lazy. But the ball was already rolling, so I sweated out the four miles and then set about facing the long day ahead. In a self-pitying email dump to a friend, I wrote: “So I made a list and I’m going to make myself Do The Things and I’ll keep breathing and eventually I’ll make it through.”

    On that list was brownies.

    Buttermilk brownies, to be exact, made with browned butter, oat flour instead of regular flour, and liberally studded with three kinds of chocolate. I also read to the children (this and this), finished my book (what next?), drank a large coffee and then dozed off and on for two hours (bliss), and took a big container of chilled watermelon chunks to my husband who has no time for existential crises because he’s busy spending his ten-hour work days hauling around great enormous beams in the broiling sun, bless his heart.

    But those brownies… They were a smash hit. After our supper of leftovers (I told you I don’t cook) I served them, topped with scoops of coffee ice cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce, for dessert. 

    They saved the day, pretty much.

    Buttermilk Brownies
    Adapted from Aki’s blog, Ideas in Food, that she co-authors with her husband Alex.

    For the cocoa, I used Hershey’s Special Dark. For the chips, I used chunks of Bakers semi-sweet, semi-sweet chips, and milk chocolate chips. I used vinegar-laced milk in place of buttermilk.

    About her choice of oat flour, Aki says (because I asked her in an email): “I generally use a fine oat flour and the resulting brownies manage to be both chewy and cakey, in the best possible way. I also like the fact that it makes them whole grain, adding some fiber to slow digestion, and that everyone who comes to visit can eat them because they are also gluten free.”

    To make my oat flour, I simply whirled a scant cup of rolled oats in the blender (grind it as finely as you can), and then measured out the amount I needed.

    Update March 4, 2020: After 25 minutes, these were still eat-with-a-spoon gooey in the middle, so go 30 minutes, at least.

    10 tablespoons butter
    1¼ cup sugar
    ¾ cup cocoa
    ½ teaspoon salt
    ¼ teaspoon baking powder
    2 eggs
    2 tablespoons buttermilk  or sour milk
    1½ teaspoons vanilla
    2/3 cup oat flour
    1 cup chocolate pieces

    In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over medium-high heat and let cook until golden brown. Remove from heat and stir in the sugar, cocoa, salt, and baking powder. Allow to cool for a few minutes. Beat in the eggs. Add the buttermilk and vanilla. Beat in the oat flour until satiny and smooth. The mixture will be thick and black, like molasses. Stir in the chocolate pieces, reserving a few to sprinkle over the batter once it’s in the pan, if you wish.

    Pour the batter into a greased square pan and bake at 325 degrees for about 25 minutes. The center should be puffed but a little wobbly to the touch, and the brownies should be just beginning to pull away from the pan’s edges.

    This same time, years previous: Korean beef, the quotidian (6.22.15), in recovery, three things, weigh in, please, cilantro beet salad, driving lesson.