Celery & Fennel Salad, Cantaloupe & Arugula Salad, and a Baked Potato Bar by Alison Roman

“IT’S THE FI-NAL SAL-LAAAAADS!” (And some baked potatoes!) 

The ones I waited longest to enjoy. Eating these two salads revealed two new discoveries: 1) Hard blue cheese actually isn’t so bad. 2) Black olives are the most inferior kind of olive. Those two ingredients are the sole reasons I waited so long to make these salads. They also confirmed one fact that I already knew by heart: 1) olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper are all you need to dress a fantastic salad. 

I just spent the last few days celebrating a dear college friend who’s getting married soon. A small group of us drove or flew to Sawyer, Michigan where several inches of snow and a cozy cabin by Lake Michigan awaited. Weekends like these remind me just how blessed by community I am. I’ve been gifted friendships with some of the most authentic, kind, goofy, thoughtful women. Perhaps what’s most impressive about them is that they are the same kind of people in friendship as they are in the world every day, towards friends and strangers alike. We don’t see one another more than maybe once a year, which makes our time together all the richer. 

Those who flew, came in through Chicago airports, so they needed a ride to the cabin and back. We had some time to spend before their flights home, so I decided to involve them in making three of my final six recipes for a fancier-than-usual lunch. 

We gathered around my kitchen island and assumed our positions…

Megan: She owns Dining In, and thus has cooked a good number of Alison’s recipes herself. So she took charge of making Alison’s Skillet Chicken with Crushed Olives and Sumac. We’ve both made this several times in the last year because it’s that good. (It’s also the recipe used for the cover of the book). 

Molly: Standing at the corner of the counter, she expertly sliced and seeded a cantaloupe into half-inch thick rounds, then removed the outer skin. Alison says nothing about removing the rind, but we figured it’d be easier to eat that way (duh). Molly also took charge of thinly slicing the celery stalks — like a boss. 

Anne: Standing in the middle, Anne eagerly volunteered to stab the russet potatoes all over with a fork to prep them for the oven. Post-oil, she sprinkled them with salt and pepper. She helped Molly remove the cantaloupe rinds. She coarsely chopped the walnuts and pistachios. She tossed the cantaloupe and arugula together and squeezed a whole lemon all over it. She topped the bowl with the chopped black olives and a handful of chopped chives. 

Caroline: God bless her. At the far end of the counter, she oiled the potatoes by hand. After, she expertly sliced a fennel bulb into thin strips and a shallot into thin rings. She tossed the celery, fennel, lemon juice, shallot, toasted nuts, salt, pepper, and olive oil together. She crumbled the hard blue cheese on top and sprinkled the bowl with celery leaves. Anne and Molly helped with the celery leaves too. She finely chopped the black olives (I used a tiny can of pitted ones from Whole Foods.) 

Yours truly: I played quarterback -- giving each teammate instructions at regular intervals. My few tasks included toasting the nuts in a skillet (I didn’t have enough walnuts to fill half a cup so I added pistachio meats into the mix— a great call), testing each dish and adding salt and pepper to taste, and setting out the baked potato toppings - sour cream, Greek yogurt, butter, flaky salt, pepper, and chopped chives. 

This meal obviously consisted of dishes chosen by necessity. I didn’t consider a cantaloupe and black olive salad to be the first choice pairing for a baked potato bar. But much to my surprise, all four dishes felt surprisingly cohesive as a meal, with the celery and fennel salad as the strongest outlier.

Someone recently asked me what my favorite part has been about this project. My answer? The people I enjoyed the meals with. Every dish created an opportunity to invite people into my home, or bring the food to them, and commune together. Share an experience, talk about what we’re eating, the flavors we’re tasting. A chance to encourage and nourish the people I love. Yes, that is what brings me the most joy. 

221, 222, and 223 recipes cooked, 2 to go.

Vinegar-Roasted Beets with Spring Onions by Alison Roman

The summer after I graduated college, I lived in a friend’s basement for a month while trying to find my own place. Kate and her husband and two children, had a local farmer’s produce subscription box that she picked up at the local farmer’s market every other Saturday morning. That box was our entertainment all week long. Kate made it an activity to find creative ways to use up all of the vegetables in the box before they went bad. Every night I came from work and she’d be chopping up a rutabaga or slicing a yellow squash for the third night that week, and we’d talk about her strategy for that night’s veggie variation. One of the most common vegetables included were beets. I knew practically nothing about them at the start, but over that  month, I helped chop, peel, roast, boil, and slice more beets than I thought possible. And I fell in love with them.

Alison has two beet recipes and both are great. The first is her Beets with Buttermilk and Walnuts, which my friends still talk about as “life-changing.” The second are her vinegar-roasted beets which I think I like even more.

The first step is to roast the beets whole and unpeeled in tin foil packets, doused in white distilled vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper. Once a fork can easily pierce them, they’re ready to cool. After letting them lose their too-hot-to-handle status, it’s safe to grab a paper towel and shrug the outer skin off. The skin on my beets clung a little more tightly, so I used a paring knife to shave off the stubborn parts.

Since these beets were planned as a side dish to a larger meal that required lots of oven time, I chose to roast these first and let them cool completely while I prepared the other dishes. Alison doesn’t mention anything about serving the beets cold, but I can tell you that it worked wonderfully.

Closer to dinner time, I seared the scallions in my cast iron and mixed the yogurt and lime juice at the bottom of my serving bowl. I placed the quartered beats onto the yogurt and scattered the scallions and lots of dill over everything.

The beets were a hit! They were the only dish to be finished completely on the table. I served them with Alison’s Sour Cream Flatbreads, and most people chose to dip their breads into the yogurt mixture at the bottom of the beet bowl after the beets were all served. I enjoyed it so much that I decided to buy more beets for this coming week to repeat the dish. And that’s saying something.

217 recipes cooked, 8 to go.

Four-Bean Salad with Green Romesco by Alison Roman

I had several plans to make this bean salad throughout the course of this past summer. Every time I went to make it, something distracted me or set me on a different course. Maybe I couldn’t find a can of butter beans in the store that day. Maybe that gathering we were supposed to attend got canceled. Maybe the last thing I felt like doing was pulling out my food processor. This salad is, no doubt, a dish meant for the summertime — warmer weather, perhaps an outdoor setting to eat it in. But I finally found myself, in the middle of snowy January making a four bean salad for a group of people in need of some summertime cheer. 

I threw together this salad on Wednesday night. I started by rinsing and draining the three canned bean varieties: butter, cannellini, and black eyed. I try to drain beans as far in advance of using them as I can so they don’t bring extra water/moisture with them. Though a bit harder to find, particularly the black eyed and butter beans, this combination works really well together — especially with their different sizes. 

While the beans dried out, I put together the romesco in my food processor, which eliminated much of the required chopping. I first wrote about this romesco when I made Alison’s Crispy Skinned Salmon (a top recipe from the project). Last time, I used almonds. This time, I tried walnuts, and didn’t notice a major difference. 

I then cut up the fresh green beans and lemon slices and tossed them in a gallon-sized Ziploc bag with salt and pepper. Using the bottom of my non-stick skillet, I set about bruising the beans and lemons by whacking the skillet over them with force (but not too much — last time I used this method for a recipe, the bag broke and it made a whole mess.) I didn’t aim for mashed beans, but mildly dented. 

I tossed all of these ingredients together with more lemon juice, salt, pepper, and dill, and put the bowl in the fridge. 

On Thursday, January 13, my parents, two siblings, and husband, gathered in the cold to commemorate my grandmother’s beautiful life by her graveside. She lived 93 years packed with authentic joy, weathered loss, and radical authenticity. I loved my grandmother so much. She was and still will be a lifelong role model for me. Her funeral was an intimate and meaningful time of sharing stories and remembering her life. We went to lunch at her favorite restaurant afterward and I ordered salmon, just like she always did. 

That night, my family came to my apartment to unwind from the long, emotional day. I served them this salad. It was perfect. They each remarked how fresh and lemony it tasted. They liked the crunchy texture of the beans and pops of dill. Each person dressed it up differently, adding Cholula or tortilla chips or feta cheese. The bowl was pretty much gone by the end of the night. I’m glad I inadvertently waited so long to make this salad. 

211 recipes cooked, 14 to go.

A Better Garlic Bread by Alison Roman

I’ve eaten a lot of garlic bread in my life. I enjoy it, but it doesn’t make or break a meal for me. I can’t remember a great garlic bread or a bad garlic bread I’ve had. Garlic bread is ancillary to me. 

Which is probably why I waited so long to make this recipe. Any time I meal-planned, I honestly forgot it was there. (I know this might sound odd given how much some people love garlic bread. I truly don’t know why I’m so ambivalent.) 

Garlic bread is an old staple. And I mean old. According to good ole Wikipedia, its origins can be traced back to Ancient Rome! It’s traditionally a combination of garlic, butter and/or olive oil, and toasted bread. Simple. So what makes Alison’s garlic bread better? Caramelized, confit garlic and anchovies. 

I peeled an entire head of garlic, and sizzled the cloves in a small bath of olive oil. The key is not to let the oil get so hot that the garlic burns, but hot enough to soften the garlic and turn it slightly brown. Once the garlic is ready, about 20 minutes, you’re ready to smash it with anchovies, softened butter and the garlicky olive oil. Spread the umami-filled mixture all over the sliced ciabatta and stick ‘em in the oven for 15 minutes at 425. I could have left mine in longer to get an even toastier bread, but our roast chicken was threatening to go cold, and I couldn’t stand simply smelling the bread any longer. I had to see if it was truly better than other garlic bread. 

It was pretty good. I mean, given my ambivalence about garlic bread, I can’t claim it changed my life. But the flavor was definitively garlicky without overpowering. The anchovies got rid of any bitterness from the garlic. The bread was still soft enough to sop up juices but toasted enough to hold structure. We topped the bread with the buttered tomatoes from Alison’s Slow-Roasted Oregano Chicken. I love that chicken recipe, so it’s a high compliment when I say that I’ll likely start serving this bread with it every time I make it in the future. The best way I can say it is, it really is a *better* garlic bread.

188 recipes cooked, 37 to go.

Just-Cooked Cabbage with Anchovy and Lemon by Alison Roman

Every Monday morning, I lead a quick check-in meeting with my team at work. We all stand up in the conference room and say something about our weekend. Then we each share one thing we need to accomplish that week. A pseudo-scrum meeting, if you will. This week, as I sat on the train to work, I considered what question I’d ask the team to answer about their weekend. I landed on “tell us one yummy thing you ate or drank” and “tell us a color that best represents your weekend.” 

We went around the table and people shared about gimlets, chocolate tortes, and pizza. When it was my turn, I said the best thing I ate was a seared cabbage with anchovies and lemon. Everyone stared. A what? I went on to explain this recipe and what made it so tasty, but they remained largely skeptical. And I don’t blame them. 

This is one of those recipes I didn’t look forward to making and put it off to the end. I can tolerate cabbage when it’s mixed with other things (soup), or when it’s fermented (kimchi, sauerkraut). But a regular, cooked cabbage? That did not sound appetizing. It seems that Alison knew it was a stretch, too. She said this recipe barely made it in the book, but at the final hour, she decided it was too good to exclude. I think she knew just-cooked cabbage could be a hard sell for many cooks. 

I chose to cook a small, sweet cabbage, knowing Jordan and I couldn’t finish off an entire large bulb on our own. I quartered the cabbage and seared it in my cast iron skillet, roughly 6 minutes per side on medium-high heat. Alison says to salt and pepper the cabbage beforehand, but the salt just rolled right off onto the cutting board. I recommend waiting until it's cooked to season it. I melted the butter until foamy and slightly browned, then added the anchovies and let them shrink into tiny bits. I poured the buttery, salty liquid over the cabbage, squeezed half a lemon over the plate, and added flaky sea salt. 

I guess it’s hard to dislike melted butter with anchovies, no matter what you drizzle it over. Even a softened cabbage. And the lemon really takes it to another level. 

187 recipes cooked, 38 to go.