Category Archives: vegetarian

EAT THIS: Asparagus, Scallion & Ricotta Tartine

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Asparagus Scallion and Ricotta Tartine

Top toasted whole grain bread with ricotta cheese, pan-grilled scallions and asparagus, lemon zest, salt and pepper for a quick and delicious breakfast when you’re eager to get out and smell the roses (literally if, like me, you’re lucky enough to live five minutes from the Brooklyn Botanic Garden).

Out with the Old (Potato Salad)

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This week was one of the toughest I have ever experienced. What little time I wasn’t working I devoted to psyching myself up for the next day. With help from my truly amazing network of friends, I crawled across the finish line around 7:00pm on Friday–just in time to suck down a comically large flaming cocktail (with my buddy Justin, though I assure you I could have gone it alone) before catching the Loser’s Lounge tribute to Talking Heads.

Scorpion Bowl

I awoke Saturday with a determination to move forward with positivity. I brushed my teeth, threw on a pair of overalls and headed out to the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket. It seems that mother nature is also looking for a fresh start. Ramps, rhubarb and the last of the winter root vegetable stockpiles are finally giving way to all manners of green things. Despite the fact that CSA season starts back up this week and I am leaving the country next Sunday, I loaded my bag with cucumbers, garlic scapes, kale, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, parsley, scallions and a head of red leaf lettuce twice as large as my own uncommonly large head. Oona was just as titillated as I was by this bounty.

Oona and Veggies

Given my commitment to renewal, it seemed fitting that Saturday would be the day I finally cleared out the dregs of my winter CSA share from the crisper bin. While good quality vegetables grown sustainably and distributed in a community-minded manner are always welcome, I will confess that this year’s crop was a bit overwhelming for me. I’ve learned that people welcome an offering of apples, but look askance when you show up at a dinner party with a bottle of wine and five pounds of dirt-coated potatoes.

Poatoes

As luck would have it, I’d been invited to a barbecue and assured that potato salad would be most welcome. Ken is a Louisiana boy with a couple of books under his belt and takes his food seriously. For three days, Ken had filled my Facebook feed with photos of giant slabs of meat in various stages of preparation. And so I set about concocting a classic American potato salad with just a bit of Cajun flair.

“I’m Horrified by How Much I Want More Potato Salad” Potato Salad

  1. Bring a large pot of well salted water to a boil. Scrub a mess of potatoes, chop them into large pieces and drop into the boiling water. Boil until the potatoes are fork tender (maybe 20 minutes), then pour into a colander. Return the potatoes to the hot pot, dump in some vinegar (white, apple cider, red wine, or whatever else you have on hand) and stir to cook off any excess water and allow the vinegar to soak into the hot potatoes.
  2. Prepare five hard-boiled eggs using your own preferred technique or my loose interpretation of Betty Crocker’s instructions. 
  3. Chop half a jar of gherkins (yes, the sweet ones) into very small pieces. Do the same with the light green and white portions of a bunch of scallions and a pile of flat leaf parsley. Peel the eggs, thinly slice whichever one came out the prettiest and roughly chop the rest.
  4. When the potatoes are mostly cool, stir in a few very large dollops of mayonnaise, a large dollop of the prepared mustard(s) of your choice, a good dose of mustard powder, a quarter cup or so of the gherkin brine, some additional vinegar, plenty of salt and pepper, a little cayenne and paprika, and whatever else strikes your fancy. (Diced Vidalia onion, celery, and red bell pepper come to mind, but I did not have any of these on hand.) Gently fold in the scallions, parsley, chopped egg and gherkins. Taste and adjust the seasoning with additional mustard, vinegar, brine, salt, pepper, etc. I like a potato salad with a sharp mustard bite and just a little sweetness from the gherkins.
  5. Spoon the mixture into a bowl, garnish with paprika and sliced egg, and let sit in the refrigerator for a couple of hours before serving.

Potato Salad

Somehow I had it in my head that the barbecue started at 2:00 rather than 3:00pm. Ken and his family were gracious enough to welcome me at 2:45 while the rest of the guests rolled in at more appropriate hours. There was much beer drinking and meat eating. Peter and I fell out a few hours later to meet friends in Prospect Park for some New Orleans music thanks to Celebrate Brooklyn. I strolled home around 10:00pm sated by beer, meat and dancing. Summer is (finally) upon us.

EAT THIS: Fig, Avocado & Spinach Salad

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Fig Avocado Spinach Salad

Figs, avocado, scallions and baby spinach in a mustard, honey, safflower oil and apple cider vinaigrette can be prepared and consumed in the 20 minutes between your arrival home from a board meeting and your 9:00pm conference call–though you may find yourself in need of a square of Jacques Torres’ Gingerette Bar to help everything settle.

Field Peas & Broccoli Rabe

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I spent the latter half of the week upstate on a staff retreat. I knew the food at Omega Institute would be healthy and restorative after the previous weekend’s barbecue and boozefest. But I had no clue how delicious it would be. Each meal featured a bounty of cooked and raw vegetables, whole grains, legumes and some of the best tofu and seitan dishes I’d had since my hippie childhood amidst the Illinois cornfields. Ordinarily, despite my best intentions, I max out at a single plate of food. At Omega, I found myself going back for a second round of fresh, locally grown pea shoots with an addictive mustard miso dressing. Aside from the fifth of Bulleit Bourbon that I smuggled in for a little late night unwinding back in my cabin, it was three days of clean living.

The trip back to the city was gruesome. It took us about three hours to travel the 20 miles from the Northern Bronx to Downtown Brooklyn. You can spend three days on a staff retreat in the woods, but the true team building comes when you’re stuck in a minivan during summer Friday traffic. The rental wasn’t due back until the next day and I had high hopes of using it for a little adventure dining and perhaps an errand or two. But by the time I dropped everyone at their various subways stops and made it back to my neighborhood, I had resolved to ditch the van back at its garage. My friend Molly, who had flown in from San Francisco for a work conference earlier in the week, was waiting at the bar around the corner from my house. I texted her that I’d be there in five minutes. Being a true friend, her reply was simple: “red or white?” Three glasses of a lovely Sauvignon Blanc and a terrine of chicken liver mousse were a fine reintroduction to urban living.

Yesterday we bummed around Brooklyn, as I showed Molly the radical changes that have transpired since we first met here 17 years ago. We grabbed coffee at one of the ten or so coffee shops that now dot the neighborhood. We hit up the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket, where I picked up asparagus, scallions, shiitake mushrooms, eggs, spinach, fresh thyme, bacon ends and some whole wheat sourdough. We walked over to Clinton Hill for a little flea market browsing followed by white sangria and a snack of lamb meatballs and spicy goat cheese croquettes. Later that night we dined on fiddlehead ferns, orecchiette with flowering mustard greens, and pork shoulder infused with rosemary at a place I’m pretty sure used to serve chicken wings and General Tso’s chicken from behind bulletproof glass. Today’s portion of the neighborhood tour focused on gardens of both the botanic and beer varieties.

Two hours ago I loaded Molly and her suitcases into a Town Car with the requisite cracked leather seats and pine tree-shaped air freshener. (Not everything about Brooklyn has changed.) I am now indulging in a little Sunday night melancholia–and this delicious bean salad, which was inspired by a dish that my neighbor and fellow blogger whipped up for a potluck a few months back. Check him out at Brooklyn Roof Garden.

Field Peas & Broccoli Rabe

  • 1/2 pound dried field peas
  • 2 tablespoons butter (skip this or substitute coconut oil to make this dish vegan)
  • 1 bunch broccoli rabe, roughly chopped
  • 2 stalks celery, finely minced
  • 1 bunch scallions, white and light green portions thinly sliced (greens reserved for some other purpose–a spinach, scallion and shiitake frittata, say)
  • 1/4 cup sherry vinegar
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1-2 teaspoons hot paprika
  • salt and pepper
  1. Add the peas to a medium pot and run water until it comes up a couple of inches above the peas. Add the butter, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook for 40 minutes or so until they are just tender. Add a teaspoon of salt and simmer another 10-20 minutes until the beans are nice and soft but not yet falling apart. Turn off the heat and let sit. 
  2. Add 1/2 inch of water and a large pinch of salt to a large pot. Bring to a boil and then add the broccoli rabe. Cook with the lid on, stirring occasionally, for 3-8 minutes depending on the thickness of your stalks. You’re going for an ever-so-slightly al dente texture. Pour into a strainer and rinse with cold water to stop the cooking process.
  3. Stir the celery, scallions, vinegar, oil, paprika and a good bit of black pepper into the beans. Squeeze any excess water from the broccoli rabe and mix this in as well. Taste and adjust the seasoning with additional salt, pepper, paprika or vinegar as you see fit.

Field Peas and Broccoli Rabe

As you can see, my field peas got a little mushy. They were still quite tasty but, if you have the time, I recommend soaking the dried beans the night before. This will help them to retain their shape and also cut down on cooking time. I used this technique a few weeks ago and the resulting dish was a bit more photogenic, particularly when served alongside marinated and grilled flank steak. Tonight I went for a more humble approach to dinner.

Asparagus & Ramp Remoulade

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Spring is finally here in New York City. The birds are chirping. The trees are in bloom. My toenails are painted (and, more importantly, trimmed). And ramps have returned to the farmers market.

I’ve previously reported on the ramp craze. While some might argue that we have reached the tipping point, after a long winter of turnips, potatoes and more turnips, the sight of anything green is cause for celebration. Plus, ramps are damn tasty.

Asparagus & Ramp Remoulade

  • 3 pounds asparagus
  • 4 good quality eggs
  • 1 large bunch ramps
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 3/4 cup mayonnaise
  • 2 tablespoons Creole or other whole-grained mustard
  • 1/2 tablespoon tomato paste
  • 1 celery stalk, finely minced
  • 1/4 cup thinly sliced scallion greens
  • 2 tablespoons finely minced parsley
  • 1 tablespoon prepared horseradish
  • 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
  • 1 small clove garlic, finely minced
  • juice of 1/2 lemon
  • 2 teaspoons sweet paprika
  • 1 teaspoon hot paprika (or to taste)
  • salt, pepper and (if you think it needs it) a pinch of sugar
  1. Blanch your asparagus in batches in a pot of boiling water. When the stalks are just tender but still al dente, plunge them into a large bowl of very cold ice water. (Do not skimp on the ice–even if it means that you will likely come up a bit short when it’s time to whip up a round of Sazeracs for the evening’s festivities.) Spread the asparagus on dish towels to dry. Then roll bunches in paper towels and stick in the refrigerator until just before serving.
  2. Boil the eggs. If you don’t have your own method, check out the technique I’ve been using since I was seven years old. It has yet to fail me.
  3. Now it’s time to prep the ramps. Rinse them thoroughly, giving them a soak if you see dirt in the folds, and trim the very tip. Bring the oil up to medium low heat in a cast iron skillet. Working in a couple of batches, place the ramps in the skillet so that the white parts are in the oil and the leaves are draped over the edge of the skillet. When one side has browned nicely, use the leaves as a handle to flip. When they’re nice and brown all over, shove them all the way in and allow the green portion to wilt and crisp up a bit. Sprinkle these with salt and set aside.
  4. Combine the rest of the ingredients and let chill for at least an hour.
  5. Just before serving, peel and roughly chop the eggs. Lay the asparagus onto a large serving platter and strew with the ramps. Spoon the remoulade over the top and then sprinkle on the chopped egg. 

This dish made for a lovely presentation as a first course at last night’s dinner party for eight people. While I failed to get a picture of the beautifully arranged platter, I did manage to capture a shot of the leftovers right before I devoured them with my fingers while taking a break from doing the dishes.

Asparagus and Ramp Remoulade

The Morning After Savory Bread Pudding

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Last night I hosted seven strangers for dinner in my home as part of a project for the Food and Performance class I am taking this semester. The menu had a distinct New Orleans flavor:

Sazeracs

Creole Fromage Fort, Mushroom Pâté, Olives & Cornichons

Asparagus & Ramp Remoulade

Duck, Oyster & Andouille Gumbo over Rice

 Vanilla Gelato Topped with Goat Milk Cajeta & Spicy Pralined Pecans

While it is going to take me a while to piece the evening together, I’m willing to call A Strange Dinner Party a success. The conversation flowed. Food and drink were consumed. Connections were discovered and forged. The highlight may have been after dessert when everyone pitched in to change a lightbulb–a task I don’t do when alone because it requires standing literally on top of the sticker on the ladder that says “Do Not Stand at or above this level. The Sazeracs and stimulating conversation left me so amped up that I managed to plow through nearly all of the dishes before collapsing into bed.

I woke up inexplicably early, having slept a sum total of 10 hours over the past two nights. Sleep deprivation and weekend cocktailing had me feeling a little worse for the wear. I needed a hearty breakfast to fortify me for this afternoon’s New York Abortion Access Fund Bowl-a-Thon. My bleary eyes scanned the kitchen and alit on the now stale bread that my guests had apparently refrained from using to soak up their gumbo.

Stale Bread

The Morning After Savory Bread Pudding

  1. Pour yourself a big glass of water and set the oven to 350.
  2. Grab those stale baguette slices and roughly cut them into 1″ chunks. Spread them on a baking sheet and pop them in the oven to toast until just turning golden.
  3. If you’ve got some leftover cooked veggies on hand, you’re almost home free. If, on the other hand, you polished off the last of the asparagus while doing the dishes last night, heat a cast iron skillet up to medium-low with a little olive oil. Add some sliced garlic (or onions or whatever) and a nice pinch of red pepper flakes. When the garlic starts to turn golden, add a big pile of broccoli rabe (or mushrooms or spinach or whatever vegetable(s) you have on hand). Season with salt and pepper and sauté until cooked through. If you happen to have a bunch of scallions you forgot to serve with last night’s gumbo, throw these in toward the end.
  4. Crack four eggs into a medium mixing bowl. Add a cup or so of milk or cream, salt, pepper and a pinch of two of nutmeg. Now stir in that cheese that you hastily packed up at the end of the night. This is a particularly nice way to recycle your already recycled fromage fort.
  5. Mix your toasted bread cubes in with the sautéed veggies and scoop this into a small baking dish. Pour the egg mixture over the top and pop your bread pudding in the oven.
  6. Cook until the eggs are set and the bread on top is nicely toasted–about 25 minutes, which should be ample time to fix yourself a much-needed cup of coffee. 

Savory Bread Pudding

Matzo Brei Duxelles

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New York City is a seductive lover who is bound and determined to make sure you don’t get attached.

On Saturday, I left my house at 11:00am and got back twelve hours later. Temperatures soared into the 70s. Outdoor bunch turned into pedicures turned into a trip to the flea market (where, naturally, I found the perfect dress) turned into a bike ride turned into a delicious home cooked meal and a boatload of rosé with good friends.

Three days later, at the end of a long day of work followed by school, I headed home under a steady rain. The cranky passengers disembarking en masse at Astor Place almost obscured the wads of bloody napkins inexplicably strewn about the wet subway platform. But nothing could mask the sound of the man in yellow leggings and large headphones wailing as he took up an entire row of seats on my car. A strange smell (on which I’d prefer not to dwell) hung in the air. Fifteen minutes and two transfers later, without so much as an announcement, my train went express. Having overshot my stop, I trudged back clutching my heavy bags with fingers that longed for a pair of gloves. I made it upstairs and flicked the radio on just in time to hear the WNYC newscaster blithely announce that we’re under a freeze warning, with lows around 28 overnight. It is April 15th.

There are a raft of tasks that I could–in fact, should–be focusing on tonight. Instead, having failed to score a seder invitation for the second night in a row, I set my sights on converting the matzo left over from last night’s salmon into a fancified version of the ultimate Passover comfort food. In keeping with the woe is me theme of this post, the recipe I present is for one. Scale up as you see fit.

Matzo Brei Duxelle

  • 1 tablespoon butter
  • 1 shallot, finely minced
  • 1 garlic clove, finely minced
  • 6 large baby bella mushrooms, diced into very small cubes
  • small pinch red pepper flakes (not traditional, but you’ll thank me)
  • 1/4 teaspoon fresh thyme (also not traditional, but it was in the crisper)
  • 3 tablespoons finely minced parsley (Italian flatleaf would be traditional but, this being Passover, who doesn’t have the curly variety on hand?)
  • 2 sheets matzo
  • 2 large eggs
  • salt and pepper
  1. Melt 1/2 tablespoon of butter in a small nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add the shallot and garlic and sauté for 4 minutes or so until soft. Add the mushrooms, thyme and red pepper flakes along with a pinch of salt. Continue cooking for about ten minutes, during which time the butter will be absorbed by the mushrooms, the mushrooms will release liquid, and the liquid will simmer off. Remove from the heat and stir in the parsley plus a healthy dose of black pepper. Congratulations, you made mushroom duxelles! Now spoon this into a small bowl.
  2. Return the pan to the stove, add 1/4 tablespoon of butter, and reduce the heat to medium-low. Crack the eggs into a small bowl, add some salt and pepper, and blend vigorously with a fork. Break the matzo into pieces approximately 1″ square. Place these in a shallow bowl and run hot water over the top. Stir for 30 seconds or so, scoop them out, and add them to your eggs.
  3. Pour half of your egg and matzo mixture into the pan. Spread your duxelles in a thin even layer and then top with the remaining egg and matzo. Cook until set and browned on the bottom (7 minutes or so). Flip the matzo brei onto a small plate, add your last 1/4 tablespoon of butter to the pan, and then slide the brei back into the pan. Let cook until that side is also golden brown and turn onto a large plate.

Matzo Brei Duxelle

I ate this with a simple salad of arugula dressed with olive oil and lemon juice and topped with a little shaved parmesan. I paired it with a beer, which is decidedly not kosher for Passover, but made me feel better about the sad state of affairs.

Masoor Dal with Kale

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Temperatures in New York City soared above 70 today, inducing a collective giddiness. Unfortunately, save for a quick dash outside to pick up lunch and some specialty lightbulbs (good lighting being a bit of an obsession for me), I spent the day at my desk. It is the end of a very long week. By the time 6:00 rolled around, it was all I could do to swing by the health food store for some red lentils and cilantro before heading home. I was craving something spicy that would make use of the kale I picked up last weekend at the Union Square Greenmarket. (It’s tough to use up your vegetables when you get home after 10:00 each night.)

Masoor Dal with Kale

  • 1 cup red lentils
  • 1 knob ginger (about the size of the last joint of your thumb)
  • 1 tablespoon turmeric powder
  • 1 tablespoon ghee (substitute coconut oil if you’re going for a vegan dish)
  • 1/2 tablespoon whole cumin seeds
  • 1/2 tablespoon whole coriander, ground
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne (or to taste)
  • 1 medium onion, diced
  • 3 cloves garlic, finely minced
  • 1 bunch kale, roughly chopped
  • zest of 1 small lime
  • 2 tablespoons finely minced cilantro
  • salt
  1. Add your lentils, ginger, turmeric and four cups of water to a medium-sized heavy bottomed pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a very low simmer and place lid on top, leaving open a crack. If you suddenly realize that you need beer, now is the time. Your lentils need to simmer for an hour-plus, so walk those extra five blocks to the good place–and feel free to sample. A growler of Great South Bay Brewery‘s Misfit Toy Black IPA? Don’t mind if I do.
  2. When you get home (about 30 minutes later), give the lentils a stir. (They will have turned to mush; do not be alarmed). By the time you put on some music and pour yourself a beer, it should be time to start the rice. Basmati would be ideal, but I went with Thai Jasmine because that’s what I had on hand. You can follow the instructions on the package, but I’d recommend sautéing the rice in half a tablespoon of ghee or coconut oil for a couple of minutes before adding your water. A good pinch of salt is also key.
  3. Bring a tablespoon of ghee or coconut oil up to medium heat in a small skillet. Add the cumin, coriander and cayenne and cook stirring continuously until the spices are nice and toasty but not burnt (2-3 minutes). Add the onions and the garlic and cook stirring frequently until your onions are crisp and brown at the edges. 
  4. Add the onion and spice mixture to your lentils along with the kale and a couple of healthy pinches of salt and cook for 10 minutes or more, depending on how toothsome your greens are. Taste and adjust your seasoning with additional salt and/or cayenne as needed. Add the lime zest and cilantro off the heat.
  5. Damn, that was easy. But wait, you ask, wouldn’t it be a good idea to remove the giant hunk of ginger before you bite into it? Yes, yes it would.

Masoor Dal with Kale

This dish is best consumed with a second beer, in your underwear, trusty cat by your side, while watching 8 Mile (which you’ve been meaning to see for years).

Curried Black Lentils and Sweet Potato

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I’m coming off of back-to-back 60-hour workweeks. In the middle of it all, I threw my back out necessitating a trip to urgent care and a cocktail of controlled substances that I’ve had to meter our carefully so as to remain functional for Tuesday’s fundraising gala and its aftermath.

By Saturday I was off duty and officially on Spring Break. I celebrated by purchasing a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon for my train ride down to Baltimore. That plus some Percocet and a little Zeppelin momentarily had me pain-free for the first time in over a week.

The plan was (and, I think, still is) a road trip down to Nahunta, Georgia to pick up a grill (well, technically a smoker cooker) that the good folk at Lang BBQ Smokers are building to spec for my friend Don. Between my back problems, a death in Don’s family, and a freak mid-March snowstorm over the mid-Atlantic, we’re getting a slow start.

Don flew home from Wisconsin last night via Atlanta (which, incidentally, put him within a four-hour drive of his new grill). His father-in-law had passed away in the wee hours of the morning and he’d had an arduous daylong journey, so I had resolved to cook him a nice meal. My instructions were to make something low in cholesterol and high in fiber, as Don had to swing by the lab for some blood work before we left town.

Rooting through the pantry, I found some black lentils and long-grain pecan rice. The hanging basket under the stairs held an onion and a large sweet potato. In the back of the fridge were parsley and a knob of fresh ginger. This plus an ample spice cabinet would make for a warm, flavorful meal and provide us both with enough fiber to kick off five days of barbeque for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Curried Black Lentils and Sweet Potato

  • 1 cup black lentils
  • 4 cups water and/or chicken stock
  • 2 tablespoons grapeseed or other neutral cooking oil
  • 1 large onion, diced
  • 1 thumb-sized knob of ginger, peeled and minced
  • 1 tablespoon turmeric
  • 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
  • 1 teaspoon whole cumin seed
  • 2 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 2 African bird chilis (or cayenne paper to taste)
  • 1 whole black cardamom pod (optional)
  • 1 teaspoon asafetida (optional, but recommended if you are making the vegan version, as it will lend the dish a richness)
  • 1 large sweet potato, peeled and cut into small cubes
  • 2 tablespoon red wine vinegar
  • 4 tablespoons finely chopped parsley and/or cilantro
  • salt and pepper
  1. Bring the lentils and water/stock to boil in a medium pot, reduce heat, and let simmer for 25 minutes or until tender but still toothsome, seasoning with salt as needed. If you’re making rice to accompany the dish, now is a good time to start that process.
  2. Strain the lentils, reserving the cooking liquid. Add oil to your pot and bring up to medium heat. Add the onions and stir frequently until softened and starting to brown. Add ginger and stir constantly for one minute. Add all of the spices, stirring constantly for another minute. Add the reserved cooking liquid and the sweet potato. Simmer until potato has softened, adding water if the mixture gets too thick.
  3. Pour the lentils back into the pan along with the vinegar and a good dose of freshly ground pepper. Let simmer for a few more minutes, taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Add fresh herbs off the heat.

Curried Black Lentils and Sweet Potato

This recipe makes about four servings. I reheated the leftovers for breakfast. Don had his with rice. I simmered an egg in mine. Imagine this should get us through the first few hours of our snowy spring break road trip.

Pea Shoot & Radish Spring Salad

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It’s 55 degrees in Brooklyn this afternoon. After a week in which we dipped back into the single digits, there is a giddiness in the air. By noon people were spilling out of the ice cream shop around the corner and the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket was full of eager shoppers. The farmers seemed happy to be standing in the sunshine, even as they answered endless questions about what was on offer besides root vegetables and apples. (Not much.) It seems that our appetite for spring isn’t quite in step with the realities of the growing season.

The good folks at Evolutionary Organics in New Paltz had fresh pea shoots and some wickedly spicy, not to mention beautiful, radishes on offer. I selected a medium watermelon radish and a long thin one that had a rich purple skin.

Watermelon Radish

Pea Shoot & Radish Spring Salad

  • 1 tablespoon dark sesame oil
  • 2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
  • 1 teaspoon honey
  • 1/2 tablespoon soy sauce
  • salt and pepper
  • 2 handfuls pea shoots, rinsed and dried thoroughly
  • 2 medium radishes (the prettier, the better)
  • 2 scallions
  • 1 tablespoon sesame seeds
  1. Whisk the first four ingredients in a medium bowl along with a pinch of salt and some freshly ground pepper.
  2. Thinly slice your scallions and then your radishes. If you’ve got a mandoline gathering dust in the cupboard, this is the time to bust it out. Or, if your radishes are narrow enough, a vegetable peeler can work wonders.
  3. Add your vegetables and the sesame seeds to your bowl and toss gently so as not to bruise the tender shoots. Grab a fork and dig in to the taste of spring.

Pea Shoot and Radish Salad