Sunday Feast № 22 | Aperitivo, or what to have with that Russian cousin of Negroni called Negrosky

The yearning for sunshine increases as the temperatures rise and days become longer. To while away the long afternoons drinking and eating at an outside table at you favorite watering hole is now a real possibility, and one long overdue. All that whiling means that a preamble to the dinner is called for. Since that ray of sunshine limoncello has to wait till after the dinner, being a digestivo, my mind drifted to Campari, a fine red aperitivo, a pre-dinner gem reminiscent of freshly breaking sunrise or the last smidgen of sunset, the latter yet to come if you start early enough. Now, we are civilized people; therefore, we will not sustain on Campari drinks alone (say, the titular Russian cousin of Negroni called Negrosky), but indulge the Italian art of aperitivo which calls for curbing alcoholic overindulgence with tasty sides. What a way to ease into the dinner hour!    As for that red goodness, "[Campari] is made by infusing a base of alcohol and water with a proprietary mix of herbs and fruits, including rhubarb, orange, and a variety of sour orange known as chinotto in Italian. The bitter infusion is then sweetened with sugar in the form of simple syrup and stiffened in accordance with its destination: 24% alcohol (48 proof) for American drinkers and 25% alcohol by volume (50 proof) for the Italians. Differences in taxation on alcohol are the most likely explanation, as Italians are not particularly well known for their high tolerances. Campari's signature ruby red color comes from colorants. Until recently, Campari's colorant of choice was cochineal dye, an all-natural coloring agent extracted from a beetle-like insect native to Central and South America. In 2006, the beetle juice was replaced with FD&C Red #5. Some claim the change came in response to protests of animal rights activists, but it's more likely that the artificial colorant was simply less expensive." - from Aperitivo: The Cocktail Culture of Italy by Marisa Huff, where the recipes are also from. Saluti bambini!

Fun on the side Negrosky 1 part vodka 1 part Campari 1 part sweet vermouth You know what to do. Serve on ice with a slice of an orange. Movie Cinema Paradiso (1988)

Sunday Feast № 21 | Roasted Cornish Hens with Lemon, Rosemary, Garlic, and Balsamic

Photo by Aurora Samar

Last time was Chinese. "We should do it again." "What should it be this time?" "Greek! We can do lots of salads. Stuffed peppers." "OK, what about a meat dish? Lamb?" That is roughly how it went. Fast forward. "We can do Greek, but maybe mix in Italian ..." "Mediterranean like? Well, close to." "Then I make tiramisu." "Love Tiramisu!" "Then I'll think if it is still lamb or something else." In the end, it was close to Italian. And sorry, but no, this is not tiramisu recipe blog. I have professionals for that. My mind drifted to chicken. And rosemary. The Gooey Shell    Having found a recipe for roasted chicken with rosemary in one of my trusty books, I went shopping for an approximately 3 lb/1.5 kg bird. Maybe it was laziness, but with little time to scour supermarkets within my immediate walking distance let alone any further a field, I settled for the closest and met with monster chickens. At around 6 lbs each! Whoa mama! Yes, each could feed a small army but roasting a BIG BIRD is a different game I might reserve for turkey. Luckily, the supermarket had lots of frozen Cornish hens, and those I was willing to deal with. Six of them. Yes, yes, also can feed a small army, but smaller birds mean quicker roast and greater likelihood of being cooked throughout without drying out. So I set to task finding required roasting temperature and time, as well as possible combinations of flavorings for the roast. One criteria for the latter: rosemary must be included.    The result was a lovely brood of hens for carnivores (one bird per person in one sitting) and lesser carnivores (half a bird per person in one sitting with the other half for next days). Very satiating. Mind you there were salads - "Mum" made sure, grilled octopus - we had two that not just love but LOVE octopuses (queue up Octopussy snickering and general nudge nudge wink wink behavior), there was bread, foccacia, polenta, bruschetta, tiramisu of course, and macarons with smoked salmon filling (not my recipe or mine to disclose, but a fine product, and like I said, I have professionals for that), and more. Macarons?! Well, France does boarder the Mediterranean Sea.

Sunday Feast № 20 | Cherry for Blueberry, or with Blueberry, Tart with Oat Crumble

There is nothing like late night baking. Well, there are other as exciting, if not more exciting things, to do late at night, but sometimes switching it up is called for, and honestly, if the muse strikes in the middle of the work week, late night is the only time to do it. The beauty of late night baking is that it perfumes the air for a great soporific effect while the baking goods cool overnight to welcome you in the morning with temptation. So here I was again, this time adapting a recipe by Rachel Conners of Bakerita.com. The result didn't last long when next day's visitors started tasting - a seal of universal approval.
The original recipe called for blueberries since Rachel was "having waaay too many blueberries in the house". I had leftover frozen cherries, reserving fresh ones to eat as they are, and I had some blueberries for the start of the season, which for the most part I also wanted to eat raw. Nevertheless, I "sacrificed" some. Walnuts I had on hand were a good pairing for what in my case was predominantly cherry filling.    This is the most solid coconut oil I have ever used in anything, and baking at night when it was cool meant it stayed solid rather then liquefying in the jar the way it tends to do at the height of summer. There is also something comforting yet decadent in baking with almond flour. With the addition of honey and oats, I guess this tart is borderline healthy in a way few tarts can be. Trick of the mind? Perhaps, but a very good one. Very tasty.

Sunday Feast № 19 | Radish Salad with Mint and Pumpkin Seeds

Fun on the side and after Drink Pinot Gris Movies Saint Laurent (2014) vs. Yves Saint Laurent (2014)

In the Midwest, the season for radishes starts in March, provided the weather abides. It should by May. So here I was with a bunch of radishes, and a box of raw pumpkin seeds. The latter happened to stare at me from the nuts and seed shelf at the local and jumped into my basket. A happenstance that eventually worked out as I was looking what else to do with the radishes. My usual with radishes is very simple and satisfying - slices of good or toasted bread, smeared with butter, layered with radish slices, and sprinkled with a pinch of salt - but I wanted to try something different. Recently, I had a seasonal platter that included finely sliced, shaved really, radishes with mint and dressing. Radishes and mint? Hmm. Different, and the inspiration I needed. By now, just as the Thai basil did, my hydroponic mint was in bloom and begging to be messed with in other ways than tea or mojito. And nuts or seeds are good! I have seeds!    The recipe I found called for radish wedges, which is fine, but I slice for a mellower bite, and pistachios, which is fine, but I have green pumpkin seeds. Great lunch salad with a slice of good bread (could not stray too far from my usual), sharp-ish personable cheese such a Saint Malachi (cow milk cheese from Unionville, PA) beckoning from my fridge, and a bottle of Pinot Gris to match the crisp radishes peeking through the smoothness of olive oil and the freshness of mint.    Why Saint Laurent vs. Yves Saint Laurent? By this point my brain was somehow remembering something about clean whole radishes dipped in salt as a French snack. Since I did not have a movie about the quintessential French fashion designer Coco Chanel, ladies who lunch had to do with chronologically next best thing - Yves Saint Laurent. That I had, together with enough wine to see us through almost four and half hours of indulgent viewing. This did not have to make sense, but that is what long Sunday lunches can be.