Sweet pea risotto with scallops

Sometimes I like to jolt a little excitement into a plain old weeknight with something a bit decadent. One night this week, I decided to make sweet pea risotto with scallops. Doesn't that sound fancy?

Maybe so, but it was really easy. The only problem I encountered is that my scallops didn't get nicely browned the way they do when you order them in restaurants. I dried them adequately (I thought), but they emerged kinda pale, which is too bad. See for yourself.

The recipe I used was from Tyler Florence, about whom I have mixed feelings. Sometimes I think he's cute and charming; other times it's clear that he thinks he's cute and charming. There's a whiff of the overgrown frat boy in him. That said, his food often looks good, and his recipes tend to work. He did, however, say to cook the scallops over medium heat. Next time I would turn it up--way up. I want my scallops to have that gorgeous golden crust that not only adds flavor but contrasts so well with their smooth interior.

There seems to be one universal method of making risotto, am I right? Once you learn it, you barely need to read another recipe. I learned how to make risotto in 1994 and in the ensuing 16 years have found little to no variation in recipes. The only thing that was different about this recipe is that you blend one cup of the peas with a bit of chicken broth to make an electric green puree, which you stir into the risotto toward the end. The combination of sweet peas with the faintly briny scallops was delightful.

However...

Don't freak out when I say this, but I think the recipe could be improved...

with some pork.

I was thinking a little prosciutto stirred in would be great, or even better, garnishing the whole thing with crumbled bacon.  Bacon and scallops are like Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. Or, for my fellow "Friday Night Lights" fans, like Tim Riggins and Lyla Garrity. Cheek-to-cheek for eternity.

Speaking of true love, I'm very excited about my Valentine's Day post, so don't forget to circle back around on Sunday. Until then, have a great weekend!

Chewy ginger cookies with cardamom and black pepper

Yesterday, during my regular rounds of food blogs, something led me to Pithy and Cleaver, which for unknown (and now remedied) reasons was not part of my daily reading. I came across a recipe for chewy ginger cookies with cardamom and black pepper and for the rest of the day could think of nothing else.

This happens to me sometimes, most powerfully with the root beer cake.  (Although I don't think this happened, I like to envision myself reading about the root beer cake and floating away from my computer in a robotic fog to the store where I purchased all the ingredients--including the bundt pan, as you may recall--and making the cake, all the while measuring and mixing with glassy eyes as if under a spell.) This may be an exaggeration, but sometimes a recipe takes hold in my head and I can't do anything until I make it.

It happened with these cookies yesterday. Luckily, this time I had all the ingredients on hand, so no trancelike trip to the store was necessary. Once I got home from work and got the dog walked and fed, I began baking. Frances settled down on her special kitchen rug (equidistant from the cutting board and the fridge so she can quickly reach any dropped bits) and watched me.

I was in the midst of rolling the dough into little balls when my sister called from New Jersey.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making ginger cookies," I replied nonchalantly. She seemed surprised, and jealous that we didn't live closer.

While I was chatting with her, the husband arrived home and looked at the sheet pan, half-filled with sugar-crusted gingery orbs. He also looked surprised. His look translated to, "What the what?!"

Ginger cookies, I mouthed.

One thing especially cool about this recipe, and what drew me to it in the first place, is that it calls for my favorite spice, cardamom. I've already written a love letter to cardamom here, so I will spare you another long-winded tribute. Basically, I think it's the bomb--full of ginger and pepper and earthy spice-- but tragically underused.

I also like that these cookies bake for 7 minutes. So in no time at all, I was admiring my lovely little cookies, which I stacked up to make them look arty.

 

I brought the husband a pre-dinner cookie to enjoy with his beer while he cursed Comcast for not airing the Kentucky basketball game, which, much the way I had been with these cookies, he had been looking forward to all day. The cookie seemed good enough to mollify him, though briefly. I thought they were outstanding--spicy, a little sweet, and as soft and chewy as promised--no gingersnaps here. Not to get ahead of myself, but these would make dynamite ice cream sandwich cookies.

The ingredient list is a bit unusual; in addition to the cardamom and black pepper, it also calls for a tiny amount of cocoa powder, as well as fresh grated ginger, and crystallized ginger, which I didn't have. Although I probably wouldn't have included it even if I had it because I don't care for junk in my cookies unless we're talking chocolate chips or possibly toffee. You can keep your nuts, dried fruit, and dessicated ginger nubs (which I will eat by themselves--just not nestled into cookies).

Next time I would add more cardamom, and a little more fresh ginger, but that's just me. They are quite delicious just as they are. So, if you are on the hunt for a perfect ginger cookie recipe, give this a try. With their pantry-friendly ingredient list and super-quick baking time, you could be eating one of these fabulous, fragrant cookies in no time flat.

Things I like and things I don't

Everyone has their preferences, and some cannot be changed.

I have very few foods that I outright dislike, but there are a few combinations I can't stand, such as fruit and chocolate. I realize that this is verboten for a foodie. But I've adhered to this opinion for more than three decades and I just don't see myself changing my mind. It doesn't matter what kind of fruit you pair with what kind of chocolate: the idea of any of it turns my stomach. So please don't start listing in astonishment all the different kinds of fruit you adore with chocolate; it will only make me dig my heels further in my anti-fruit-and-chocolate stance.

I know I'm not alone in having immutable preferences. The husband, for instance, doesn't care for eggplant. I can offer it in parmigiana, moussaka, or baba ghanoush form, all of which I find absolutely delicious, but he holds fast to his belief: eggplant is no good. And given that he eats pretty much everything else, I don't foist eggplant on him. Although I love it, I can understand why he wouldn't.

So when I mention the recipe I made the other night, yet another old faithful from Marcella Hazan, if you don't like mushrooms, you may as well not bother with this post. Mushrooms play a starring role here and there is no substitute.

But if you do like mushrooms, this might up your alley: creamy mushroom and ham sauce, tossed with fettucine. Mushrooms and ham happen to be two things I like quite well, and if you add shallot, parmesan, and cream and toss it with beautiful strands of pasta, I'm sold.

This recipe taught me how to coax mushrooms to give up their liquid. It goes like this: Start them in a pan with some butter and salt over low heat. Once they begin to release their liquid, crank up the heat and boil it off rapidly. You're left with pure concentrated mushroomy goodness.

I'm feeling a little lazy and am not going to type out this recipe. But as I said with Marcella's pot roast,  feel free to email me and I'll scan and send it to you. I cross my cream-and-butter-logged heart.

 

On Friday, after a long week, this was the perfect dinner to send us into the weekend. It's important to have a relaxing Friday evening, as it shapes your mindset for the weekend. So whatever that means to you--creamy pasta with mushroom sauce or chocolate-dipped strawberries-- make sure it's something that makes the work week recede rapidly into the distance and lets you focus on the delicious plate in front of you.