This spanakopita (Greek for "spinach pie") recipe is adapted from one by my friend Rebecca Kee, mother of James and one of my closest friends. Adapted from her own mother's version, this recipe became a regular in Rebecca's house when, during her current pregnancy with the second as-yet-unnamed Kee boy, she found herself overcome by a total disinterest in vegetables. Knowing that giving up greens while eating for two was simply not an option, Bec began making this easy Mediterranean classic once (and sometimes twice) weekly. It was an assurance that she would be eating several helpings of dark, leafy greens (plus a decent amount of protein) every day--in a feta-laced, crispy phyllo vehicle. 

After a recent afternoon of spanakopita and gossip at her kitchen counter, I finally demanded the recipe. She obligingly whipped out her iPhone and emailed it to me immediately, along with a link to her post about it on her own blog, Kee Kitchen. 

While shopping for frozen chopped spinach, as per her recipe, I happened upon some very reasonably priced frozen chopped curly kale at Whole Foods, and decided to use a bag of it, plus one bag of regular frozen chopped spinach. The result was delicious--slightly nuttier than the all-spinach version.

Oh, and this fabulous green pie is huge and very filling--great for feeding a big group, or one or two people for several days in a row. It's the perfect thing to keep in the fridge during a week as busy as this one, allowing me to work all day without stopping for more than a few minutes to cut and warm up a square when hunger strikes.

 

What if I unknowingly broke a rule of kashrut, effectively tainting the whole meal and ruining the start to the holiday season?

So, a few weeks ago, Evan and I decided to host a Rosh Hashanah dinner together. 

As my ever-food-focused mind began to think about  what to serve, I couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous about the whole thing. Rosh Hashanah is, after all, a major holiday--a High Holy Day--and this meal would be the first of the High Holy Day season. Plus, many of the attendees keep kosher. This meal needed to be special. Special and kosher.

With this in mind, I began to catastrophize: what if I screwed the whole thing up? What if I unknowingly broke a rule of kashrut, effectively tainting the whole meal and ruining the start to the holiday season? What if my nervous energy yields food that, kosher or otherwise, completely sucks?

Then, we sat down to plan the menu together. "To start, how about gefilte fish, served old-school with horseradish," he said. Easy. 

"Accompanied by a crisp green salad?" I asked.

"Definitely."

"Baked tofu?" Obvs (Evan's baked tofu is awesome).

"A cooked vegetable?" I suggested.

"Sure," he agreed.

So far, so good.

"Now, as far as challah," he began, "can we do something really interesting and unconventional? Like maybe something along the lines of those pizza pinwheels you made?"

And with that, my nerves were gone. Shaking up tradition by way of food? This was my kind of dinner. We brainstormed different challah pinwheel fillings and eventually settled on the outrageous combination of a rich, eggy challah dough rolled up with apples, honey, onions and sharp cheddar, along with plenty of black pepper, salt and a whisper of cinnamon. We would do lots of individual pinwheel-shaped rolls, as opposed to a big communal challah, and serve it with the tofu and cooked veggie. The meal would be vegetarian, so the cheese and butter in the rolls would be just fine (people who keep kosher don't mix meat with dairy).

And best of all, we dreamed these up together. They combine a nod to tradition (challah, apples and honey are all traditional Rosh Hashanah foods) with other autumn flavors and a fun, unusual presentation. They're the old and the new rolled up into one. They're earthy and rich, but also simple and sweet--the perfect way to usher in a good new year.

Pasta is not supposed to be complicated. I get so cranky when I see 40-step pasta recipes with 37 ingredients, all requiring elaborate prep. To me, pasta is all about getting a hot, tasty meal onto the table and into tummies as quickly and enjoyably as possible.

Enter this outstanding arrabiata recipe. Arrabiata’s name comes from the Italian word “arrabiato,” which means “angry,” a nod to this sauce’s fiery heat. Simple crushed chilies, (available inexpensively in the spice aisle or for free when you order pizza) get toasted in extra virgin olive oil and release their own oils, creating a hot and deeply flavorful sauce, along with garlic, onions and tomatoes. The cool, creamy goat cheese works like a raita alongside a hot Indian curry, cooling the palate with each spicy bite.

I love to make this dish with fire-roasted canned tomatoes (see note in ingredients list), since their smoky, charred flavor complements this sauce’s spiciness so nicely. This sauce also works very well over nutty whole wheat pasta (like the bucatini pictured).

The idea for these was born one warm summer evening when I attempted to take a pizza to the park for a picnic. Since I didn't have an actual pizza box to carry this on, I wrapped my freshly-cooked pizza in foil, tucked napkins and plates into my bag and hoped for the best. Sadly, the result was disappointing. The pizza flavors were good, but the 2-block schlep to the park was enough to wilt the toppings and smush the crust. I needed a better plan. Calzones, of course, were an option, but, though I love eating them at home, I foresaw their saucy insides splattered all over my pretty picnic blanket if I packed them along instead.

A few weeks later, I was rolling fresh cinnamon rolls for a weekend brunch, and it hit me: why not roll pizza toppings up in fresh dough a la cinnamon rolls, and then bake them into neat, portable spirals? They would feature the dough:sauce:topping ratio I like so much about pizza, but the handy portability of calzones, without the calzone's goopy, drippy insides. I couldn't wait to finish brunch to put my new gameplan into action.

The result, as I had hoped, was superb. These pinwheel pizza rounds that reslted were a neat, easily-transported pizza option. I decided to give my pizza picnic plan another go, so this time I packed a massaged kale salad, half of a roasted Third Date Chicken and a crisp bottle of rosé. I sat talking, late into the night with a friend, nibbling on this collection of yumminess. It was one of the best meals I've eaten all summer.

This sandwich features wonderfully balanced flavors, a buttery-crisp exterior, creamy bites of just-tart-enough goat cheese and summer's sleeper-starlet, fresh figs. 

Figs, like tomatoes, remind me to live in the moment, enjoying their sensual juiciness (jeez, Gabi, 50 Shades of Grey, much?) throughout their short season while I can, since soon, it'll be back to fig jam for me. 

This sandwich features wonderfully balanced flavors, a buttery-crisp exterior, creamy bites of just-tart-enough goat cheese and summer's sleeper-starlet, fresh figs. I drizzle them with honey to really bring out their sweetness, but you could also opt for a really thick, aged balsamic vinegar. I found earthy, nutty whole grain bread to be an excellent vehicle for this sandwich's simple yet perfect filling, but sliced sourdough, sweet French or brioche/challah would be wonderful.