Farro salad with roasted tomatoes and shaved parmesan

I've been obsessed with farro ever since it started turning up in restaurants. First I had it at too-cool-for-school Beretta in the Mission. Then I had it at the only semi-hip (but extremely delicious) Gialina in Glen Park. It even trickled down to plain old Pasta Pomodoro in Noe Valley, where we sometimes end up for weekend brunch.

Then I read about Thomas Keller's buttered farro over at Connie's blog, and I pretty much haven't stopped thinking about it since.

If you haven't had farro, it's a bit like barley, only slightly chewier. Farro can take nearly any flavor, be served hot, cool, or at room temperature, and either grace the side of a roast or stand up on its own. In short, it's exceedingly versatile.

When I finally got around to buying some (which turns out isn't cheap-possibly its only downside),  I decided to make something that felt like summer, which to me means tomatoes and basil.  Grilled vegetables or peppery arugula would work well in it too, as would curls of salty prosciutto or velvety black olives. What would have really blown me to bits was if I'd had some burrata on hand. But I suppose you can't have everything.

Farro salad with roasted tomatoes and shaved parmesan
Another Hungry Dog original

1 c. farro
2 T. unsalted butter
1 T. olive oil
3 c. water
1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes
handful of basil, julienned
parmesan for shaving
vinaigrette made to taste (I used olive oil, balsamic vinegar, one clove of minced garlic, a little honey, salt and pepper)

Preheat the oven to 425.

Heat the oil and butter over medium high heat in a medium saucepan. Once the butter has melted, foamed, and subsided, add the farro and toast, stirring frequently, for 3-5 minutes. Add water, stir well, bring to a boil then reduce heat so that the water is simmering but not boiling. Let cook, uncovered, for 20 minutes. Farro should still be chewy when it's done cooking, not overly soft.

While the farro is cooking, toss the tomatoes with a little olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread out on a baking sheet. Roast for 8-10 minutes, until the tomatoes split. Remove from oven and let cool slightly.

Make vinaigrette. I made about, oh, 1/3-1/2 c. and kept it separate from the salad mixing bowl so I could add it gradually. I'm not including directions here, because I never measure when it comes to vinaigrettes, which may explain why sometimes they are good and sometimes they are not.

When the farro is done, either pour it into a large mixing bowl, or if there is still some water that hasn't been absorbed, drain the farro and place it in mixing bowl. (I just estimated how much water to use and 3 cups turned out right--the farro is boiled, not steamed, so err on adding more water rather than less). Toss with vinaigrette, and taste for seasoning. The farro will keep absorbing the vinaigrette, so add as much or as little as you like. Then add the tomatoes, with any juices that have accumulated. Mix gently, then add basil, and mix again. Season to taste and serve warm or at room temperature, garnished with shaved parmesan.

I guess I don't like catfish after all

Isn't this pretty?

Catfish panfried until golden, then topped with a tomato, basil, and olive sauce.

Too bad I didn't like it very much.

Well, I liked the sauce part. After I cooked the fish, I melted some butter and oil in the same pan, threw in cherry tomatoes, kalamata olives, and garlic and cooked it until the tomatoes broke, about two minutes. Stirred in some basil for an herby finish.

The sauce would be good on pasta. Or bruschetta. Or over chicken. Or with a different kind of fish. Just not catfish. I decided, with this recipe, that I don't like catfish after all. I've eaten it many times in my life and each time, I think to myself, "Do I like this?"

Sometimes I've overcooked it. Surely that hasn't helped. Catfish already learns toward the tough side--overcook it and it's a rubbery mess. But I've also undercooked it. That's no good either. Unlike tuna or salmon, catfish needs to be done all the way through or it gives me the heeby jeebies.

There's a secret to cooking catfish, but I don't know what it is. And I think I'll devote myself to unlocking other mysteries of the kitchen. Because even if it were cooked perfectly, I'm not sure I would love it. The sauce, however--that's a keeper.

Quick tomato and olive sauce
A Hungry Dog original

1 pint cherry tomatoes
1-2 garlic cloves minced
1 T. olive oil
2 T. butter
1/4 c. pitted olives, chopped
2-3 T. chopped basil

Melt butter and oil in a saute pan over medium high heat. After the butter has foamed and subsided, toss in tomatoes, olives, and garlic. Let cook for a couple of minutes over lively heat, until the skin on the tomatoes splits. Turn off the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste, and basil.

Serve over anything but catfish.

Brown is beautiful: easy chicken marsala

Some of my favorite things to eat and cook are not photogenic at all. For example, anything that is brown--a stew, a roast--is likely to appear a little less than appetizing in a photo.

A better photographer could make these things look delicious. But pictures have always been secondary to this blog. And my method for taking pictures is admittedly poor. Often I'm working with hot food which means there's a steam issue. Sometimes I'm contending with glare. I'm always racing against a grumbling stomach and an impatient husband if it's dinner time.  By far, my best photos are of baked things that have long since cooled and I can take my time with.

This is all to say, this photo isn't great--it's too brown and shiny--but I still think it's beautiful because it tasted so delicious. It's Giada's chicken marsala with mustard and mascarpone.

Chicken and mushrooms in a brown sauce isn't exactly a knockout, but it's a winner in the taste department, which is all that really matters. Anything with marsala is luxurious. Add mascarpone and you've got a recipe that's cozy for two, but elegant enough for company.

I've made this a couple of times before, and while I recommend it, I do have a few edits. For one, I only add one tablespoon of mustard. Two, I brown the chicken pieces whole, since that's the way the recipe is printed in the cookbook. They usually take about 16-18 minutes. Three, I do not slice the chicken before returning it to the sauce.  And four, while I have made it with the full amount of mascarpone, I think it would be equally good  and perfectly creamy with less. I bet half would be just fine.

We enjoyed this lovely dish this the other night and looked forward to eating the leftovers for lunch the next day. But something distressing happened: somehow, we forgot to put the chicken in the fridge and it sat out overnight! The husband woke up and discovered it while he was putting on the coffee the next morning.

This may have been the one time I've been glad to live in a cold place. Our flat is usually around 60 degrees overnight, and while this isn't exactly the recommended food storage temperature, I decided the chicken had probably survived. I decided this mostly because I wanted to eat it again. Plus, I'm fortunate to have a nearly iron stomach. The husband was understandably dubious of my feeble assurances of, "It's probably fine," but he too had had dreams of chicken marsala lunch.

In the end, we ate the chicken, and lived to tell you about it. Literally.