Originally posted at The Daily Meal (https://www.thedailymeal.com/recipes/tuna-braised-ratatouille-recipe) and reposted here for EU readers who are unable to view that site.

 Tuna Braised In Ratatouille

By

Edward Schneider

Cooking Off the Cuff: some noble uses for summertime leftovers

Edward Schneider

When summer squash (zucchini; courgettes), eggplant (aubergines), tomatoes (tomatoes) and peppers are at the apex of ripeness, it’s hard not to think of Provençal-type vegetable stews fragrant with olive oil, onions, garlic and herbs. Let’s call them ratatouille, though that will expose us to outraged criticism by people with strong (though differing) opinions about the precise use of that term. Anyway, I’m not going to tell you how to make ratatouille: Open up a cookbook or a Web browser and you’ll soon have a nice recipe. Just be sure to use plenty of good oil and to cook your onions long enough to rid them of harshness.
Whatever recipe you use, and no matter how small you try to keep the quantities, you will surely have leftovers, and leftover ratatouille is a wonderful thing. At room temperature, deposited onto grilled bread, it is one of the best of summer dinners. Even a little bit can be eked out with pasta, or reheated with scrambled eggs – or simmered down with extra oil and some smoked paprika to form a sofrito as the underlay of a not-so-traditional paella.
But when we saw some really nice tuna at the farmers’ market, Jackie and I simultaneously thought how good it would be with the last of our leftover ratatouille from a few days earlier. In Mediterranean mode, it would not be served rare, much less raw in the center: For maximal flavor, it would be cooked though, but cooked with care so that it would not become dry, and once it was lightly browned it would braise gently in that oily, juicy ratatouille with just a splash of wine to add acidity and another layer of flavor.
It worked just as planned – as, I confess, we knew it would, because this is a dish we eat almost every summer, sometimes replacing the tuna with swordfish.
So next time you make a panful of ratatouille, throw in an extra few handfuls of vegetables to guarantee that there will be enough left over for this fish dinner.
(Note that other stewed summer vegetable mixtures can work well too: South-Western French piperade and Hungarian lecsó to name two that lean on tomatoes and peppers for their deliciousness.)

2 Servings

Ingredients

• A 1-inch-thick tuna steak – 8 to 10 oz should suffice for two portions, but feel free to use a larger piece if you have a keen appetite
• Extra-virgin olive oil to coat the cooking surface of a 9- or 10-inch skillet
• 1/4 Cup white wine
• 1-1/2 cups ratatouille or similar summer-vegetable stew
• 1/3 Cup chopped parsley (approximately)
• 1 Teaspoon chopped fresh thyme leaves
• Optional: a handful of pitted olives, halved
• Salt and black pepper

Directions

Trim the tuna if necessary; pat it dry and season it with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a 9- or 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat. Add the tuna and cook 2 minutes on each side, until lightly browned.
Off the heat (to minimize splattering), add the wine; return to the heat and cook until the wine no longer smells raw, 15 to 30 seconds.
Add the ratatouille, distributing it around the fish; lift the fish with a spatula to allow a little of the juices to slip underneath too. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook for about 4 minutes, partially covered. Start checking for doneness after 3 minutes: pierce the fish with a cake tester or thin toothpick; for tuna that is cooked through but still moist, catch it at the moment when the cake tester meets little resistance as it enters.
Remove the fish to a plate or cutting board and cut it into two portions. If you find it underdone (which, truth to tell, would be no sin, though not my preference in a dish like this) return the fish to the simmering ratatouille for another minute or so.
Check the ratatouille (which is now your sauce) for seasoning and stir in the parsley and thyme, and the olives if you’re using them. Divide the mixture between two warmed plates and set a portion of fish atop each. You can finish the fish itself with a sprinkling of crunchy sea salt if you like. Corn pancakes are a good accompaniment; you can make them in advance and reheat them in a skillet or in the oven. Steamed new potatoes (simply salted, with no butter or oil) would be lovely too.

Pasta With Buttery Pea-Tomato Sauce

Originally posted at The Daily Meal, and reposted here for European Union readers unable to access that website.

 

Pasta With Buttery Pea-Tomato Sauce

By

Edward Schneider

Cooking Off the Cuff: A small handful of ingredients for a quick summer dinner

Edward Schneider

As we pant in anticipation of height-of-summer produce, decent – sometimes just shy of excellent – greenhouse-grown tomatoes are plentiful in our local farmers’ markets, and so are shelling peas. I rarely cook peas with tomatoes, except in a South Asian dish like mattar paneer, and this confluence of crops would usually go by unremarked in our house. But it was precisely because Jackie and I had recently eaten a dish akin to mattar paneer that the peas in the fridge and the tomatoes on the countertop seemed to have been made for each other.
Peas and butter are made for each other too, and so are butter and tomatoes (once you can see beyond the Mediterranean olive-oil model): a smooth, delicate tomato sauce glossed and lightly thickened with butter is a delight with almost anything.
Use the best-tasting tomatoes you can find: Mine were a mixture of two big, gnarled heirloom varieties – lots of flesh and flavor – and a couple of handfuls of extraordinarily sweet-savory, thin-fleshed cherry tomatoes (the best I know are from Stokes Farm at the Union Square Greenmarket if you are shopping in New York). Together these made a bigger batch of juicy puree than I needed for this dish; it did not go to waste.
Once you’ve processed the tomatoes and shelled the peas, both of which can be done even a day in advance, you can finish the sauce in the time it takes to boil the pasta, so this lends itself to last-minute planning. Just make sure you have a suitable short pasta shape in the house: You’ll want something that can be eaten with a spoon so that every mouthful will have its share of peas.

2 Servings

Ingredients

• 2 portions pasta – a short shape rather than spaghetti or its kin
• 2 Pounds flavorful tomatoes (see head note)
• 1 Tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
• 1 Cup peas, preferably freshly shelled
• A handful fresh mint leaves, rinsed
• 2 Tablespoons butter
• 1/4 Cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
• Salt and (possibly) black pepper

Directions

Make the tomato puree. Start by putting a pot of water on to boil. (It can be your pasta pot if you’re not planning to make the tomato puree in advance.) With a sharp knife, cut a shallow X into the smooth end of each tomato. Lower them into the furiously boiling water (in more than one batch, most likely), leave them in for 15 seconds, then remove them with a skimmer or slotted spoon and place them in a bowl of cold water to cool – or right onto your counter if you don’t mind handling hot tomatoes. Slip the skins off, then chop the tomatoes medium fine, discarding the tough area at the stem end.
Put the chopped tomatoes into a bowl, sprinkle generously with salt and stir in the olive oil. Set aside for 20 or 30 minutes to let the juices flow, then crank the tomatoes through a food mill using the finest screen, which will create a seedless puree. This will be of a thin consistency but will be full of flavor.
Shell your peas. (I won’t say that frozen peas are a good alternative, but if you are going to use them behind my back they don’t need to be defrosted, much less shelled.)
When dinner time approaches, bring a big pot of salted water to the boil for the pasta. Put 1-1/2 cups tomato puree into a shallow saucepan or so-called chef’s pan (large enough to eventually hold the pasta) along with a few fresh mint leaves; bring to the boil, lower the heat and reduce to about 1 cup.
Put the pasta in to boil. Add the peas to the reduced tomato puree and simmer until not quite done. When the pasta is about a minute from completion, drain it and stir it into the sauce; simmer, stirring repeatedly, until the pasta is as you like it, 45 to 60 seconds probably.
Stir in the butter; it will combine with the tomato puree to yield a smooth sauce – not a lot of it, but sufficient to coat the pasta and leave a little puddle at the bottom of the bowl. Finish with a few more mint leaves and the parmesan; check for salt and pepper (I used no pepper, but you may miss it). Serve in warmed bowls; you can bring additional grated cheese to the table but probably won’t need it.

Bluefish with Beets and Rhubarb: Sweet without sugar; tart without vinegar

First posted at The Daily Meal, and now reposted for readers in European Union countries, where that website is unavailable.

Bluefish with Beets and Rhubarb

Jun 28, 2018 | 10:26 am

By

Edward Schneider

Cooking Off the Cuff: sweet without sugar; tart without vinegar

Edward Schneider

Bluefish is a favorite in our house. It combines full flavor with more delicacy than it is given credit for, and it is fished in our Long Island waters. Jackie and I had our first of 2018 on the eve of the summer solstice, at a moment when our local farmers’ market also yielded abundant beets and no-longer-quite-so-abundant rhubarb. Since tart or sweet-tart accompaniments are a fine thing with tolerably fatty fishes, I wondered whether the sweetness of the beets and the tartness of the rhubarb would do the job without the use of sugar or vinegar/citrus.
I wondered too whether I’d be able to attain the texture I was imagining: rhubarb that hadn’t collapsed into a mush, and beets that retained some crunch but were tender enough to make a nice mouthful with the juicy fish. Of the latter I was confident: Years ago I learned that cut-up beets can be sautéed without prior roasting or steaming, and since then I’ve repeatedly used them, jazzed up with vinegar, alongside fish. The open question was the 3/8-inch dice of rhubarb, and a test run in a greased frying pan yielded the pleasantly surprising outcome that just over a minute on the fire would give me the crunchy but cooked rhubarb I was looking for.
A few other ingredients would be needed to round out the flavor: dill because of its Eastern European association with beets; mint as an herb that is marvelous with stronger-flavored fish; and fresh ginger for its own flavor and for heat to balance the sweetness and tartness. It worked as well as I’d hoped, and, although it was devised for fish, the beet-rhubarb mixture would be delicious with grilled or roasted chicken too.
The sauce/accompaniment should be prepared just before you cook the fish: if it sits around, the rhubarb will turn mushy in texture, though the flavor will be fine.

2 servings

Ingredients

• 2 portions fillet of bluefish, skin on (a 5 ounce portion of this substantial fish is ample), or substitute mackerel
• 1 Tablespoon extra virgin olive oil or butter
• 3 Ounces rhubarb (preferably 2 thin stalks), ends trimmed
• A small chunk of fresh ginger, peeled and finely grated (1 or 2 heaping tsp, depending on how potent the ginger is)
• 2 Tablespoons white wine
• 1/3 Cup finely chopped fresh herbs: equal parts dill and mint
• 1 Tablespoon butter
• Olive oil for cooking the fish
• Water
• Salt

Directions

Run your fingers up and down the flesh side of the fish to check for bones; use tweezers or pliers to pull out any you find. Dry the fish well and keep cold while you make the accompaniment.
Trim and peel the beets. Cut them lengthwise into quarters or sixths depending on size, then crosswise into slices a little more than 1/8 inch thick. In a shallow saucepan or a skillet over medium-low heat, warm the oil or butter, add the beets, sprinkle with salt and, stirring from time to time, cook until crisp-tender, about 4 to 6 minutes.
Meanwhile, wash the rhubarb, dry it and cut it into 3/8-inch pieces: if the stalks are slim, simply cut crosswise; if thicker, first cut in half lengthwise. Add to the pan along with the grated ginger. Stir for one minute, until the rhubarb is hot but still crunchy (it will soften as the cooking progresses).
Add the wine and boil for 20 or 30 seconds or until it no longer smells raw and harsh. Stir in the herbs and enough water, about 1/4 cup, to create an intense beet-red sauce, then stir in the butter to give it consistency and gloss. Check for salt.
In a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat, heat enough olive oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Make sure the fish is dry, salt it generously, and cook it skin side down for 4 minutes, until the skin is crisp. Lightly pressing the fish down into the pan will enhance the crispness. Flip the fish and cook for another 2 to 3 minutes (or longer if your fillets are thicker than about an inch); check for doneness by inserting a metal skewer or cake tester into the thickest part of the filet; it should enter the flesh with minimal resistance. Bluefish should be cooked through but must remain juicy.
Reheat the beet-rhubarb mixture and check once more for salt; divide it between two warmed plates and top it with a piece of fish, skin side up.
If corn has arrived in your local market, you might make a few corn pancakes as a side dish.

Don't Throw Away Those Pea Pods: Make Broth; Make Risotto

First posted at The Daily Meal, and reposted here for readers in the European Union.

Delicate Pea-Pod Broth

Jun 12, 2018 | 3:22 pm

By

Edward Schneider

Cooking Off the Cuff: Don’t Throw Away Those Pea Pods

Edward Schneider

As day follows night, our first dinner following the arrival of peas in the farmers’ market is ... peas. Lots of them. Usually cooked with bacon, spring onions, lettuce and butter in a manner nowadays called à la française (the old-fashioned recipe for petits pois à la française is somewhat different), and eaten with a spoon and a slice or two of buttered grilled bread.
This year followed the pattern: peas and grilled bread, with the summer’s first local strawberries for dessert. One of the great annual rituals.
After Jackie and I shelled the peas, I did something I do occasionally – rarely more than once or twice a season: I salvaged the emptied pods and made a light broth for cooking, say, risotto. (As best I recall, I picked up the notion of this economical practice from a late-1970s cookbook by the French chefs Jean and Pierre Troisgros.) Over time, I’ve tried several methods, including the use of a pressure cooker, and this year the result was good enough to share.
You will need a food mill and a food processor (though the latter could be replaced by a knife and a lot of patience). You will also need modest expectations: This is a lightly flavored broth perfect for risotto, to which it imparts a gentle but palpable pea flavor and does not mask the flavor of the rice. And if there is one thing you should be able to taste in a risotto it is rice. You’ll find other uses for it too, and it freezes well.
I strongly recommend the addition of a little piece of dried kombu seaweed: It enhances the pea flavor without making the broth taste oceanic.
As to that risotto, make it in the usual way, employing warmed, salted pea-pod broth and adding fresh peas (a handful? a cup? two cups? – as many as you like, up to a point) two to five minutes before the rice is done, depending on the age and size of the peas. In fact, really tiny super-fresh ones can go in just as you take the risotto off the heat and let it stand for a couple of minutes before beating in butter and parmesan.

Ingredients

• Pods from 2 pounds fresh shelling peas
• Water to cover
• 1 5-inch piece dried kombu seaweed (optional)
• Salt

Directions

From each pod remove the stem and as much of the stringy spine as comes along with it. Tedious but necessary work.
Wash the pods well, drain them and, working in batches, chop them to medium fineness in a food processor, or do it by hand with a chef’s knife.
Over high heat, bring 3 cups water to the boil in a saucepan that will hold the chopped pea pods with room to spare.
Add the pea pods, the kombu (optional but recommended) and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Add enough additional hot water to submerge the pods, but not by too much.
Bring back to the boil, lower the heat to medium, and cook at a lively simmer for 10 minutes. Remove and discard the kombu.
Set a food mill fitted with the finest screen over a bowl. Strain the contents of the saucepan through the mill (using it as a colander) and return the liquid to the pan or another bowl and set it aside so it doesn’t spill and/or burn you once you start cranking. Put the mill back over the bowl and, working in two or three batches, crank away, forcing as much of the pods’ flesh into the bowl and leaving behind the tough fibrous parts.
Combine the liquid and the yield from the food mill, being sure to scrape all the good puree from the bottom off the mill.

Three-Herb Potato-Asparagus Salad

For readers in the European Union, who were unable to see this on The Daily Meal a couple of weeks ago:

 

Three-Herb Potato-Asparagus Salad

May 30, 2018 | 5:10 pm

By

Edward Schneider

Cooking Off the Cuff: a new use for a favorite uncooked Italian sauce

Edward Schneider

A few weeks ago, Jackie and I, along with a few friends, ate boiled beef for dinner. While it’s easy to think of this as wintry, it is in fact a light dish – drizzled with nothing more than its flavorful broth and (depending on what meat you choose) low in visible fat. So, with the New York weather at the time oscillating between 80-degree swelter and 55-degree chill, it seemed a safe choice for anything the elements might treat us to.
We served our beef with condiments like those offered with boiled meats in northern Italy. One of these is salsa verde, many variations on which I’ve written about over the years. This is a versatile sludge of herbs, olive oil and acidic things such as capers, cornichons, mustard and vinegar. I smear it on sandwiches (corned beef!), mix it into the makings of fishcakes and use it as a multi-dimensional condiment/sauce with poached or roasted meat or fish. My version almost always includes dill among the herbs – not entirely traditional in Italy, but not unheard-of, and a real asset.
But I’d never thought to pour it over a salad (possibly because we rarely eat leafy salads). There were, however, leftovers from that dinner, and we had room-temperature beef, sliced thin, with assorted assertive-tasting greens dressed with the remaining salsa verde thinned with additional olive oil. It was complex and delicious in flavor, and I actually looked forward to another salad opportunity.
A few days later, we served breaded fried schnitzels of excellent chicken. Typically, I like a Germanic potato-and-cucumber salad with schnitzel – dressed with walnut oil and cider vinegar and finished with dill. But the (unrelated) fish-potato-asparagus recipe I described last time used the same blend of herbs and reminded me that potatoes and asparagus are a grand pairing with an affinity for those herbs. It was only a short leap from a handful of chopped parsley, dill and mint back to a full-fleshed salsa verde: an entirely logical leap, since its oil and its salty, vinegary ingredients add up to something very much like an elaborate vinaigrette.
It might have been too much for a potato-cucumber salad because it would have masked the cucumbers’ aroma. But the asparagus – left slightly crunchy – stood up to all those strong flavors bravely. (The same salsa verde would be excellent with potatoes alone if you wanted to pass on the asparagus.)

Four servings

Ingredients

• 1 Tablespoon capers, rinsed and drained
• 4 cornichons
• 1 small oil-packed anchovy fillet (optional but strongly recommended)
• 1 Teaspoon Dijon-style mustard
• 1 Teaspoon ne vinegar
• 1/4 Cup extra virgin olive oil, or more as and if needed
• 1-1/2 to 2 cups soft fresh herbs, moderately packed: about 25 per cent mint and the rest evenly divided between parsley and dill
• 1 Pound waxy-fleshed potatoes such as German Butterball, Nicola or a fingerling variety
• 12 Ounces medium asparagus (you can use just the stalks, reserving the tips for Sunday best)
• Salt

Directions

Make the salsa verde. In a food processor pulse the capers, cornichons, anchovy, mustard, vinegar and oil, scraping down the bowl as needed, until everything is finely chopped but not pureed.
Add the herbs and continue processing until a loose sludge forms; add additional oil if necessary.
Peel the potatoes and the asparagus stalks, rinse thoroughly, and cut both into 3/8-inch slices. If your potatoes are large, first cut them in two lengthwise then crosswise into semicircles. If using the asparagus tips, leave these whole.
Steam the potatoes until tender. Depending on the variety, this could take 8 minutes or it could take 12 or even 15 for a particularly dense breed. Transfer to a large bowl.
In the same steamer, steam the asparagus until crisp-tender, about 90 seconds to 2 minutes. Add to the bowl.
While the vegetables are still warm, but not hot, thoroughly fold in the salsa verde with a rubber spatula and check for salt (even with the capers, pickles and mustard it will almost certainly need some). You may also need to add even more oil if the salad seems too dry.
Transfer to a more presentable serving bowl if you like. Allow to sit for at least 10 minutes before serving, or it can be made 30 or 40 minutes in advance.