Chopped Salad

Sometimes, I steal recipes.  This can happen in a completely innocent way.  For example, I may be perusing a cookbook or cooking magazine in a bookstore, and I stumble upon an enticing photograph or recipe.  The idea may simply stick with me, and lead to my own version of the aforementioned image, visual or verbal.  My previous post is prime example of this borrowed creativity.  I saw an idea that I liked, and put my own spin on it.  Other times, it is a little more malicious.  I might, say, take a picture of a photograph, or quickly type up a note on my phone, documenting a simplified version of a printed recipe.  Admittedly, this is sort of awful of me. 

This past weekend, I engaged in the latter type of activity.  I saw a recipe for the loveliest chopped salad, with two types of cabbage, fennel, olives, chicken, and an oregano vinaigrette.  Hunkered down on the floor of Barnes and Noble, tucked in an unassuming aisle, I jotted down a list of ingredients on my phone, and a few notes on the vinaigrette, while occasionally taking a nervous glance over my shoulder.  “I will make it my own,” I told myself, trying to rationalize my inappropriate behavior.  I had spent over an hour looking at the cookbook from which I stole the recipe.  There were quite a few additional recipes that caught my eye, but I only stole one.  Later that evening, I found myself wishing my notes on the vinaigrette were more thorough, but I figured that served me right, and I was not even feeling the proper kind of remorse, given the crime. 

The next day, I went back to Barnes and Noble on an unrelated errand.  As I was getting ready to leave my apartment, I suddenly realized I would get another opportunity to take a look at the now fuzzy vinaigrette assembly; I found myself involuntarily picking up the pace in excitement over spending a little more time with the cookbook.  I took care of my first task; I immediately sidled up to the cookbook section, and then blew another hour sitting cross-legged on the floor, with the cookbook nestled in my lap.  I suddenly heard a voice in my head, saying “BUY THE COOKBOOK.”  It was as if I became Pluto in an old Disney cartoon, and a mini-me angel tapped me on the shoulder, guiding me towards the right thing.  And I am now engaging in a bold-faced confession, hoping that it will entitle me to blog about the recipe with a (sort of) clean conscience.

Seriously though, in spite of my questionable moral compass, this chopped salad is very tasty.  I am not a big salad eater; they tend to be too crunchy and not rich or savory enough.  With that being said, I’ve got to hand it to Jeanne Kelley, author of SaladFor Dinner because her book truly lives up to its title.  She takes a genre of food known for leaving diners wanting more, and renders it worthy of calling it a satisfying dinner.  Her recipes, categorized by their protein, are all well-rounded, full flavored, and filling meals.  Granted I have only made this Chopped Salad, but I can tell that there are quite a few other recipes that will live up to its prowess.

Now about this Chopped Salad… it’s utterly divine.  Crunchy green and red cabbage, sweet fennel, and red onion are offset by the heartiness of plenty of shredded chicken breast, all kissed with a bright Oregano Vinaigrette.  This strong foundation is then highlighted by a wide array of salty, savory morsels, that elevate it from a glorified slaw into a balanced and thoughtful main dish.  Briny green olives and peppery parley leaves run throughout the salad.  And as if that weren’t enough, the salad is then garnished with feta and prosciutto (I know, it makes me swoon, too). 

When I initially read the recipe, I thought, “Why green olives?  Why not Kalamata?”  Shopping for the meal, I even paused at the olive bar, eyes darting between the bins of green Mt. Athos olives and Kalamata, questioning what I felt to be an otherwise brilliant recipe.  I made a last minute swerve to the left, and counted out my 10 green olives, upped from Kelley’s six.  I’m willing to defend my choice on this particular judgment call, but I have to say that the Kalamatas would have been a grave mistake.  The color and the firm texture alone make green olives worth their salt in this context, and I think the brinier, milder flavor is the perfect compliment.  As for the prosciutto and feta, I’m pretty sure those two ingredients speak for themselves, and  they truly yield a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. 

Another strong selling point for the delectable Chopped Salad is that is one of the few in the history of salads that actually holds up as a decent leftover, and that is because it made with cabbage instead of lettuce or baby greens.  Tossed in dressing, it retained its immaculate crunch over a couple of days, only deepening in flavor.  I kept the prosciutto and feta separate (they were a garnish, after all).  Please note, I did not add any salt to this recipe, besides in the preparation of the dressing and the chicken.  The smorgasbord of salty flavors is adequate without actually salting the dish.  My favorite salty element?  The prosciutto, no question.  The sweet, meaty flavor and toothsome texture definitely add a certain “je ne sais quoi,” and the color is the icing on the cake.  The recipe written below is true to how I made it, including a few minor tweaks that veered slightly from the original text; however, I stuck to Kelley’s overall vision because she gave me no reason not to. 

Chopped Salad (slightly adapted from Jean Kelley’s Salad forDinner):

Serves 4

3-4 cups very thinly sliced green cabbage

2-3 cups very thinly sliced red cabbage

12 ounces shredded cooked chicken breast (cooked in the same way at the previous post)

1 fennel bulb, trimmed and very thinly sliced (about 1 cup)

1/4 cup red onion, very thinly sliced, tossed with a few tablespoons of fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup fresh Italian parsley leaves

10 good quality green olives, pitted and chopped

3 ounces thinly sliced prosciutto, torn into pieces

4 ounces feta, crumbled

Oregano Vinaigrette

3 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper

1 garlic clove, lightly smashed

1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

Whisk all ingredients for vinaigrette together except oil and garlic.  Gradually whisk in oil.  Add garlic clove, and allow dressing to sit for 30 minutes.  Allow garlic clove to continue sitting in dressing, but don't eat it.

In a large bowl, combine both cabbages, fennel, onion, parsley, olives, and chicken.  Add enough Oregano Vinaigrette to lightly coat, and toss well.  

Divide salad on dinner plates and garnish with prosciutto and feta, and an additional drizzle of vinaigrette and freshly ground black pepper.

Greek Chicken for Dinner; Dessert in the ER

Oh, my poor, little blog has been so neglected this month.  I’m surprised it didn’t refuse my login ID and password out of spite.  I couldn’t have blamed it.  Sometimes, my real life bears precedence over my e-life, and this February has been one of those times.  I decided my blog needed some love, and I better pick an extra delicious recipe to write about in order to show my true affections for my sweet, little blog.  I chose Greek Chicken Thighs, which I found on my newest food obsession, TasteSpotting (world’s greatest website, I assure you).  The implicated chicken thighs are laden with grape tomatoes, garlic, shallots, lemon, and lush olives.  They are finished with feta and parsley, and I thought this would an utter vision of loveliness over couscous and wilted spinach.  I was particularly smitten over the cooking style: the dish is started on the stove, and then finished in the oven.  The notion of roasted grape tomatoes was irresistible.  This recipe and the ensuing post seemed to be the perfect offering to my neglected blog and readers. 

Let me assure you, the results were everything I hoped for, plus a little more than I bargained for.  What could that be, you ask?  Oh, just a joy ride to the ER due to extensive second-degree burns, and unmanageable pain.  The most attractive element of the dish turned around and bit back: the little trip to the oven.  I got the chicken in the oven safely.  I got it out of the oven without the tiniest hiccup.  My downfall: I wanted it just a touch roastier (no, this is not a word), and thought that a few more minutes in the oven were in order.  The chicken was in a sauté pan.  I usually see such a pan on the stove, and I usually pick up the handle, and this is usually not a problem.  However, it apparently slipped my mind that, on this particular evening, this particular sauté pan had spent some quality time in a 450-degree oven.  


I foolishly and whole-heartedly grabbed the handle.  My hand was on it so briefly that the pan never even lifted off the stove, but this millisecond of contact was still enough to do some major damage.  I now wear a bandage that requires a blueprint and makes me resemble Michael Jackson (if only I could find gauze with sparkles).  Underneath this architectural masterpiece, you can see exactly where the handle touched my skin, clearly delineated in a series of blisters.  Oh, well.  The good news: according the experts at the burn clinic (and I think I can trust them), no skin graft is necessary, and I’ve been prescribed enough Percocet to kill a small horse.  The bad news:  my bandage takes half an hour to assemble, and I am now functioning primarily with my left hand, although I am able to type (hallelujah!).  If something involves heat, moisture, dirt, or chemicals, I am a one-hand show these days (try showering or washing dishes using only your non-dominant hand.  It’s not easy). 

Clearly, by the presence of the pictures of this dish, I was deep in denial about the state of my wound.  Most pictures were taken with my left hand, while the afflicted hand soaked in a bowl of cool water.  Given the circumstances, I think they are pretty good.  And, honestly, this chicken was delicious!  If you are not a lover of dark meat, chicken breasts would be a fine substitute, but don’t come crying to me when they are dry.  I never got around to the sautéed spinach, for obvious reasons, but if you can pull this off and stay out of the ER, I would recommend it.  The moral of this story: be careful in the kitchen; cooking is apparently a dangerous business.  This is not my first kitchen causality, nor will it be my last, but I certainly hope that it is my worst.  Mysteriously, I sober when this occurred.  Perhaps, vodka has protective powers, and I should never be without it.  Hmmm… I will look into it, and get back to you. 

Greek Chicken Thighs (adapted from “For the Love of Cooking”)

1 ½ tablespoons olive oil, divided

1-2 shallots, sliced into thin rings

2 cloves of garlic, minced

1 ½ -2 lbs. boneless/skinless chicken thighs, trimmed of any fat, and cut in half if they are huge

Kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper, to taste

Garlic salt, to taste (about a teaspoon or so)

Dried oregano, to taste

Half package of grape tomatoes, halved (about 25)

1 lemon juiced

Zest of one lemon

1/3 t- ½ cup of chicken stock

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped

10 to 12 Greek olives, pitted and coarsely chopped (I used a mix of kalamata and green)

Crumbled feta cheese

·      Preheat the oven to 450 degrees (425 at sea level).

·      Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in an oven safe skillet over medium heat. Once hot, add the shallot and garlic.  Season with salt and pepper.  Cook, stirring frequently, until the shallot is tender (about 3-5 minutes).  Remove from the pan, and mix with grape tomatoes.

·      Add the remaining olive oil to the same skillet and turn the heat up to medium-high heat. Season the chicken thighs with pepper, garlic salt, and oregano to taste on each side. Once the pan is very hot, add the seasoned chicken to the pan.

·      Cook for 4-5 minutes, until the chicken has browned nicely on one side.  While the chicken browns, mix together stock, pepper flakes, lemon zest, and lemon juice (you should have about ½ to ¾ cup liquid).

·      When the chicken is golden, flip it.  Add the sauce mixture, and grape tomato-shallot mixture. Place in the oven and roast for 10-15 minutes or until the chicken is cooked through.

·      Remove from oven and sprinkle with parsley, olives, and feta cheese. 

Chicken Tagine with Fennel and Olives

If you are a loyal reader (which, of course, you are), you may remember a slightly disastrous encounter with a recipe for chicken sausage with fennel and lentils.  The purpose of that recipe was to experiment with fennel, and the results were boring, and lacking asthetic appeal.  However, in January’s issue of Bon Appetit, I found the answer to my fennel prayers: a chicken tagine with fennel and olives (a tagine is essentially a North African style of braising.  For more information, see my glossary).  Honestly, the title alone had me weak in the knees, and further investigation validated my initial sentiments.  This recipe has some of my favorite ingredients, which happen to be a perfect counterpoint to the fragrant, sweet fennel. What could better balance its anise flavor than salty, briny, meaty, green olives?  The remaining ingredients only augmented my high expectations, and rightfully so: cumin, paprika, lemon, and cilantro.  And all of those delicious elements come together in a lush sauce that pairs perfectly with couscous.   

In addition to the enticing recipe, Bon Appetit provided me with an entire article on fennel, exposing me to all sorts of coveted fennel facts.  For example, fennel is currently in-season.  As if this perfect recipe isn’t enough of a reason to run out to your nearest fennel provider, the “in-season” factor should give you added incentive.  Fennel also happens to be a heavyweight when it comes to nutrition.  I found this surprising:  usually we associate brightly colored vegetables with high nutritional value.  But, apparently, the perfectly pale fennel bulb is packed with fiber, potassium, and vitamin C, amongst other anti-oxidants.  Additionally, anethole, the substance accountable for fennel’s distinctive licoricy flavor, has anti-inflammatory properties, and who couldn’t use that?

Chicken Tagine with Fennel and Olives (adapted from Bon Appetit’s recipe)

1 ½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 medium-sized fennel bulbs, halved, cored, and cut into thin slices

2 teaspoons cumin

½ teaspoon paprika

½ teaspoon hot pepper flakes

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Juice of one lemon, divided

2 cup reduced sodium chicken stock
Salt and pepper, to taste

½ cup coarsely chopped green olives, packed in brine

½ cup chopped cilantro, plus extra for garnish

§  Heat olive oil over medium-high to high heat for 2-3 minutes, or until very hot.  Place chicken thighs in pan.  If the pan is hot enough, this should be very noisy.  Leave undisturbed for about 5 minutes, or until nicely brown.  Flip and cook on other side for 2-3 minutes.

§  Remove chicken from pan and set aside.  Remove excess fat from pan, leaving about 2 tablespoons (this can be done carefully with a paper towel)

§  Add fennel to the pan, allow to cook for about 5 minutes, or until it starts to brown.

§  Add chicken back to the pan.  Add stock, half of lemon juice, spices, and salt/pepper.  Stir to combine.

§  Bring mixture to a boil, and then reduce to a simmer, and cover.  Cook for 15-20 minutes, or until chicken in cooked through.

§  Add olives, and increase heat to allow sauce to reduce for about 5 minutes.

§  Add remaining lemon juice and cilantro.  Serve chicken, fennel, and sauce over couscous and garnish with extra cilantro.

Comments:  I had dangerously high expectations for this recipe, and it somehow managed to exceed them.  The above recipe includes a few minor revisions, compared to the original, and I wouldn’t alter this preparation for anything.  This dish is perfectly balanced.  For those of you who are weary of fennel’s strong anise flair, braising it in this fashion manages to mellow, but not drown out, the flavors.  The cumin lends a touch of smokiness; the hot pepper flakes add a little kick; the lemon brings its usual bright acidity; and the cilantro is an appropriate accompaniment, and not the least bit overpowering, as it sometimes can be.  The original recipe actually calls for a full cup of it, but I added only a half-cup, and it was still enough to make a difference in the flavor, but not so much that it becomes the only flavor.  Even after eating for multiple days in a row, I was mournful over the final serving.  If you are looking for something delicious, but a little unexpected for dinner, chicken tagine with fennel and olives will cure you of this craving.   

Pasta Puttanesca

I survived finals.  It was a little vicious, but I am alive and breathing, and feeling fairly successful.  Thus, I have no complaints, especially in light of the fact that I am now blessed with abundant free time.  The other night, I leisurely cooked pasta puttanesca, while listening to the Takeaway (my favorite news-radio program) in its entirety, rather than rushing through it like I usually do in the mornings.  All of this occurred after spending the day with friends, just hanging out, rather than suffocating in a group study room of the library.  Of course, it cannot last.  Reality will beckon for me in a few weeks and, I assure you, I will be ready for it, and most likely complaining of boredom by then. About a week later, I will lament my demanding schedule. The human spirit can be inconsolable, always desirous of whatever it lacks.  To be honest, I was plagued by a dash of anxiety, and a twinge of guilt prior to my puttanesca production.  After counting the minutes until my finals passed, I felt uncomfortable in my aimlessness, but the puttanesca brought me back.  Cooking is a rare, albeit temporary, cure for our lack of sustainable contentedness.  If anything can bring you back to the present moment, it’s something sizzling aggressively on your stove, or a big knife in your hand, that is unavoidably close to your fingertips.  Cooking is like a meditation that happens to result in something good to eat.   

Puttanesca sauce is a tomato-based pasta sauce full of bold, sultry flavors:  spicy red pepper flakes, briny capers, rich olives, and a little anchovy paste in the base of the sauce.  I beg of you: do not let the anchovy paste scare you off.  There is nothing fishy about this dish, but the anchovies elicit a mysterious depth of flavor, a certain “je ne sais quoi.”  I cannot accurately identify what the anchovies add, but I guarantee, you will notice their absence.    

Pasta Puttanesca

2 tablespoons olive oil

½ onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

Salt and pepper to taste (easy on the salt)

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon anchovy paste

½ teaspoon dried oregano

10 grape tomatoes, halved (optional)

1-14 oz. can whole peeled tomatoes

8 to 10 kalamata olives*, pitted and coarsely chopped

1 tablespoon of capers, plus more for garnish

Chopped parsley for garnish

Pasta of your choice (I used thin spaghetti)

·      In a medium-sized saucepan, sauté the chopped onion over medium to medium-high heat in the olive oil.  Sauté for a few minutes until translucent, but not browned. 

·      Add garlic, anchovy paste, a few grinds of pepper, oregano, and red pepper flakes (no salt – the anchovies are salty enough); stir to combine.  Sauté until onions are cooked through (about 10 minutes total, but I like to let them go for about 15 because I really don’t like crunchy onions in tomato sauce). 

·      (Now would probably be a good time to put a pot of water on to boil for the pasta.)

·      Add the grape tomatoes, if using.  Allow them to cook for 3-5 minutes, stirring occasionally.

·      Add the can of tomatoes with their juice. Break up the tomatoes with a wooden spoon (the tomatoes can remain fairly chunky as they will break down while cooking, and will be blended later). 

·      Reduce heat to medium-low; cover the sauce, venting the lid slightly.  Allow the sauce to simmer gently for at least 15 minutes.  Stir occasionally, and taste for seasoning, but be weary of the salt since capers and olives will be added later, and both are quite salty. 

·      Add pasta to the boiling water.  This amount of sauce can handle close to a ½ pound of pasta.

·      Use an immersion blender to smooth out the sauce if desired, but don’t obliterate it of all texture.  This can also be done with a standing blender, but should be done in batches.  Be sure to vent the blender and cover with a dishtowel to avoid explosions. 

·      Add capers and olives.  Stir to combine, and check for seasoning.

·      When pasta is ready, reserve about a ½ cup or so of pasta cooking water and drain.  Combine pasta and sauce; add pasta water as needed to help the sauce adhere to the pasta.  Garnish with parsley and enjoy!

Comments:  You may have noticed an absence of one of my favorite ingredients here.  I deliberately left off the CHEESE.  Although a sprinkle of Parmesan is perfectly appropriate in this context, I honestly did not want it.  The sauce has enough inherent richness and flavor.  Due to my undying commitment to cheese, the fact that I didn’t want it left me a little disturbed.  So after I ate about half my portion, I added some, and I wish to this minute I had trusted my intuition.  It was just too much: I felt like I was taking an exam, and hastily changed one of my answers at the last minute, only to discover that my initial instincts had been correct.  Without the cheese, I found the pasta dangerously close to perfection.  The addition of the grape tomatoes is not traditional, but those juicy crimson pearls helped balance out the boldness of the other flavors.  I made an effort to leave them alone when possible while my immersion blender maneuvered its way through the sauce. 

Ultimately, this dish is pungent and intoxicating, which its name reflects.  According to foodreference.com, in Italian, puttanesca translates to “in the style of the whore,” and puttana translates to “whore.”  A common interpretation of the name is that the smell of the pasta was used to lure customers to brothels.  However, puttana stems from the Latin word putida, which means “stinking.”  And this sauce does have quite a striking aroma.  Despite the mythical origins of this dish, it is quite delicious, though not for the faint of heart.

*See glossary for definitions

Braised Chicken, Provençal-Style

I do not consider myself a ravenous carnivore.  Besides the infrequent cheeseburger, I don’t really eat red meat.  Unlike a lot of people, USDA Prime steak doesn’t make me swoon.  I get bored after a bite or two.  However, chicken on the bone is one delicacy I cannot part with.  I just love it.  In fact, as tactless as it may be, on Thanksgiving, carve the bird and give me what remains; I will involuntarily hum as I eat out of sheer happiness.  This gem of a recipe is perfect for chicken on the bone.  Make adjustments as necessary; besides potentially dry white meat, it will come out fine.  Boneless, skinless chicken thighs are actually quite nice, although they sacrifice aesthetic appeal.  But, please, keep modifications to yourself, and spare me the heartache.  I inherited my poultry-bone-picking genes from not one, but two grandmothers, and my love runs deep.  Aside from the chicken controversy, this dish is pretty straightforward: tomatoes, olives, garlic.  It’s a classic combination for a reason, and that reason is that it’s utterly delicious.

1 ½ to 2 pounds of chicken pieces (I used thighs and drumsticks, skin removed)

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 onion, chopped

1 teaspoon anchovy paste (optional)

1 clove garlic, minced

½ teaspoon dried rosemary

½ teaspoon dried basil

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

1-14 ounce can of diced tomatoes

½ cup chicken stock, white or red wine, or water

½ to ¾ cup good quality olives, coarsely chopped (I used Kalamata olives* and Greek green olives)

¼ cup chopped flat leaf parsley

§  In a large deep skillet, preheat olive oil over medium-high to high heat until very hot (about 3 minutes).  Add chicken, seasoned with salt and pepper, and allow to brown, about 5 minutes per side.  Remove from pan and set aside; reduce heat to medium.

§  Drain all but about a tablespoon or so of oil from the pan.  Add onion and anchovy paste (if using) and some pepper and salt if you are not using the anchovies.  Sauté until softened, about 8 to 10 minutes. 

§  Add garlic, dried herbs, red pepper flakes, tomatoes, and salt/pepper (easy on the salt: olives and anchovy paste are salty).

§  Allow mixture to simmer (increase heat if necessary) for a couple of minutes and add stock. 

§  Bring it back to a simmer and return chicken to the pan. 

§  Cover the pan, and allow to simmer for 20 to 30 minutes, until chicken is cooked through.  Turn chicken every 5 minutes or so.  Scatter olives across the chicken and cover the pan to allow the olives to heat through, while the rest of meal is finished.  Garnish with parsley.  (If you want a more traditional preparation, add olives to tomato mixture before the chicken is returned to the pan.  I personally don’t like gratuitous cooking of olives.)

§  Serve with soft polenta (I added Parmesan and parsley to mine.  See my post on grits for details) and zucchini sautéed in live oil with garlic.  Couscous, rice, crusty bread, or extra vegetables are all appropriate accompaniments (add some eggplant to your zucchini and you will be oh-so-Provençal).

Comments:  The quality of the olives is paramount.  Go to Whole Foods, or another quality market, and indulge in the olive bar.  It will be priced at $7.99-9.99 per pound, which sounds like a lot, but a third of a pound of olives goes a long way.  I like to think of it as an affordable luxury.  Also, olives with pits will always taste better than those already pitted.  Just whack them with the side of your knife, like you would a garlic clove.  The firmness of the olive will dictate how hard you need to hit it.  Generally, black olives take a lot less force than green.  Like I said above, traditionally the olives should be cooked with the chicken, but I really don’t like that, especially with black olives, which get too soft.  However, each cook has to make his/her own judgment.  I did remove the chicken skin to avoid the temptation.  It obviously won’t get crispy in a dish like this, so I might as well spare my arteries.  Because if it’s there, crispy or not, I will eat it. 

This dish makes great leftovers.  I store the chicken, sauce, and polenta separately because it gives you more options.  For example, when you walk into your apartment starving, you can grab a drumstick and eat standing in front of the refrigerator.  But that is purely hypothetical.  Also, you can fry up the extra polenta and serve it with eggs or vegetables (again, see my most on grits for details).  If you’re tired or lacking creativity, you can recreate the whole meal by piling up the three components in a bowl; give it a quick spin in the microwave, and dinner is served.

*See glossary for details

Blonde on Blonde: Cauliflower and Pasta

Cauliflower is a highly underrated vegetable.  I absolutely love it, and this is a significant statement coming from someone who has a penchant for comfort food (see the previous post for an example).  Steamed, mashed, caramelized, or roasted: cauliflower is the epitome of versatility.  It fits into infinite ethnic cuisines.  Its adaptability is reminiscent of pasta, another one of my favorites, and the two create quite a duet in the right context, such as Pasta with Cauliflower, Green Olives, and Almonds (courtesy of Epicurious.com).  In this heady blend, linguine is tossed with sautéed cauliflower, and laced with garlic and hot pepper flakes.  Green olives unleash their briny brilliance, while flat leaf parsley, parmesan, and the crunch of toasted almonds provide balance in this pungent dish.  Below is the recipe:

Ingredients:

1 1/4 cups pitted brine-cured green olives (plain or stuffed)

1/2 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

1/2 cup olive oil

1 (2 1/2-pound) head cauliflower, cut into 1-inch-wide florets (8 cups)

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

Scant 1/2 teaspoon dried hot red-pepper flakes

1/4 cup water

3/4 pound dried spaghetti or linguine

1 ounce finely grated Pecorino Romano or Parmigiano-Reggiano (1/2 cup) plus additional for serving

3/4 cup whole almonds with skin (3 3/4 ounces), toasted and coarsely chopped

Preparation:

Pulse olives and parsley in a food processor until coarsely chopped. Transfer to a bowl.

Heat oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat until hot but not smoking, then cook cauliflower with salt, stirring occasionally, until golden brown, about 8 minutes. Add garlic and red-pepper flakes and cook, stirring occasionally, until cauliflower is tender and garlic is golden, 3 to 5 minutes.

Stir in water and boil 1 minute. Add olive mixture and cook, stirring, until heated through, about 2 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook pasta in a 6- to 8-quart pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until al dente. Reserve 1 cup pasta-cooking water. Drain in a colander and return to pot.

Add cauliflower mixture and toss well, then add cheese and toss again. If pasta is dry, moisten with some reserved cooking water.

Sprinkle pasta with almonds and serve immediately, with additional cheese on the side.

My rendition was scaled down to about a quarter of the specified quantity, without using exact measurements.  Though I would love Reggiano as a staple in my refrigerator, this is not realistic at $18 per pound.  However, I find Argentine parmesan (also known as “Reggianito”) perfectly acceptable, but I always grate it fresh.  I skipped the food processor, choosing to chop the olives and parsley by hand, and I resorted to adding them at the end, since I am personally opposed to gratuitous cooking of olives, or fresh herbs.  Nor did I add the water to the cauliflower, but used pasta cooking water to moisten the pasta in the final stages.

The end result was sultry, like a blonde puttanesca*.  Although future adjustments are by no means necessary, I have the sneaking suspicion that a grating of lemon zest would be a welcome addition.  This dish will definitely be making some repeat performances in my kitchen.

*See glossary for definitions.