Pork and Red Chile Stew with Tomatillos by Alison Roman

In the best way, this stew was divisive in our home. I’ve now firmly decided that posole (which is basically what this stew is) is not my thing. There’s a lot I appreciate about it, particularly the chewy hominy. But one bowl is more than enough for my palate. J, on the other hand, asked if I could make this every week. So I thought, who better to write about this stew, than the man who loves it?

Without further ado, it is my distinguished honor to introduce to you, my beloved partner in life and love, J…

Greetings, reader.  I am the person to whom this blog sometimes refers as “J”: Annie’s husband, or the person who is, in legal parlance, the “intended beneficiary” of her cooking exploits.  You can call me a grateful beneficiary too, because my, oh my, have my culinary sides been satisfied from the minute Annie opened Dining In.

 The recipe of the day is “Pork and Red Chile Stew with Tomatillos.”  I’ll get straight to the chase: this dish is a treat.  If you’re anything like me, then you enjoy a hot stew in the cold of winter.  This stew delivers the goods.

Start with the pork itself.  One thing that eternally frustrates me about many soups and stews is that a chef will often neglect the meat itself and assume that as long as the stew—the broth, vegetables, spices, and so on—is in gear, the whole meal will sing.  With respect, I dissent.  A good meat is the foundation of any good stew; give it attention, love, and concern.  I will take notice.  And this dish does just that.  By the time this stew is ready, the meat is sufficiently salty, sufficiently tender, and delightfully spiced.  Frankly, the pork itself would serve as a meal unto its own.  So far, in other words, so good.

Let’s talk about the stew.  Suddenly you arrive at one of the best darn stews you’ve ever had the pleasure of slurping.  As with pretty much every one of Alison Roman’s recipes, the flavor hits the palate instantly, and it sticks around for a while too.  The acidity and lightness of the tomatillo contrasts nicely with the generous doses of salt, garlic, and other spices.  Then the eminently bitable hominy kicks in, adding texture and creativity to a dish that barely needed more.

The result?  This dish can lay claim to an accomplishment that few dishes ever will: I can eat it five meals in a row (as I did this past week).  Alison Roman, with a major assist from Annie’s cooking execution, delivers again.

17 recipes cooked, 208 to go.

Fennel and Grapefruit Salad with Honey and Mint by Alison Roman

This salad pleasantly surprised me, but it’s not a keeper. I like grapefruit and fennel, but I’d never think to eat them in the same bite. What makes them work together is, ironically, their juxtaposition. Grapefruit with the pith removed is bitter and sweet. It’s acidity is more overpowering than that of an orange, which delivers a sharpness unlike most other fruits. A fennel bulb offers a more subtle taste, akin to black licorice, or a salty star anise. The soft, juicy grapefruit pulp contrasts from the fennel bulb’s watery crunch, like a piece of celery. 

Even my memories and associations with each ingredient differ. When I think of a fennel bulb, I think of Thanksgiving dinner. My mom makes a wonderful fennel and sausage stuffing that uses the fennel bulb, seeds, and its leafy fronds. Our Thanksgivings were always spent at my Oma’s house in Pasadena, and each family was in charge of a different dish. Also, I firmly believe stuffing is the best part of a Thanksgiving meal, and no one can persuade me otherwise. I realize that is a controversial statement. Stuffing is polarizing. But it’s #mytruth.

Grapefruit makes me think of coming home from college on winter break and laying out in my parent’s backyard. After a cold semester in Chicago, the 70-degrees-and-sunny weather of southern California always felt like a warm hug. I would spend my whole break sitting in the backyard, thawing out and eating citrus fruits: tangerines, mandarins with the stem and leaves still on, and big halved grapefruits with sugar sprinkled on top. 

This backyard is my favorite place to be when I go home.

These two opposite ingredients need something to unite them, and Alison does so with a tangy vinaigrette. The dressing is made of lime juice, toasted fennel seeds, shallot, honey and sumac. In my opinion, this vinaigrette is the best part of the dish. I would even consider putting it on a different salad, perhaps a bowl of arugula. But while the flavors do work on the salad, they weren’t cohesive enough to make me want more than a small portion. I served this salad at a dinner with my in-laws, and noticed that no one wanted seconds. Important information!

This salad must be consumed fresh. As I’ve mentioned before, I hate to waste food. However, this salad does not keep well at all into the second day. The juices run completely out of the grapefruit with time, and you’re left with chunks of bitter pulp mixed with softened, soggy fennel. Not a fun combination. So, if I make this salad again, it’ll be for a large gathering, so everyone can have a few bites, but doesn’t feel the need to eat a whole bowl. And hopefully, there won’t be leftovers to waste. 

16 recipes cooked, 209 to go.

Bacon-Roasted Pork Tenderloin with Caraway’d Cabbage and Apples by Alison Roman

Imagine you’re in a grocery store, and you’re tasked with selecting the most average, inconsequential ingredient for every type of food. I know it’s a strange hypothetical but stick with me here. 

Snacks: saltines, Cheese: swiss, Cookies: Fig Newtons, Meat: ground turkey OR pork tenderloin, Veggies: definitely cabbage

Apples and bacon are excellent, but still, I was quite skeptical. Oh me of little faith. Leave it to Alison to turn dull foods like pork tenderloin and cabbage into something so fantastic. I ate seconds and thirds. I’ve never enjoyed cabbage so much. Unless finely shredded, raw cabbage doesn’t do anything for me. Sauteed cabbage is limpy and sad. But a roasted cabbage head gets tender in the middle and crispy on the outside, now that’s the kind of cabbage I’ll eat weekly! Okay, monthly. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. 

There’s not much more to this dish outside of the ingredients in the title, except for two that really pull it all together: caraway seeds and red wine vinegar. 

I must confess, I don’t remember ever cooking with caraway seeds, and I couldn’t have told you, even remotely, what they taste like. So I did a bit of a deep dive. According to Wikipedia, caraway is “also known as meridian fennel and Persian cumin” and “is similar in appearance to other members of the carrot family.” Another site says it has a bit of an anise flavor. Based on those descriptions, I was even more confused. But when I finally got ahold of the seeds, I saw that they are practically identical to fennel seeds, just a darker brown and a bit finer. And as odd as it sounded on the internet, they did add a slightly cumin-y, licorice-y, anise-y flavor that complemented the salty pork, tangy apples, and bland cabbage. 

The final finish with vinegar, something Alison calls for a lot, made all of the dish’s elements feel lighter and brighter. It’s also what gave the cabbage the final flavor push it needed. (Small confession. In my old advertising job, I worked exclusively on a client that made vinegar. Their ads always talked about how vinegar could “brighten any dish,” and I thought it sounded like hokey advertising-speak, a little ridiculous. How could you actually “brighten” a dish, besides shining a flashlight on your food? But now, as I attempt to write about vinegar myself, I honestly can’t come up with a better word for how it transforms food. If salt makes flavors taste more like themselves, then vinegar brightens them. Fine, I was wrong!) 

This meal was the simplest main dish to assemble so far. Which served me well, since I needed to put it together quickly and transport it to a dear friend’s apartment to roast. Kailey and I spent the evening talking about how much this meal surprised and delighted us, among other fun topics like popular 90’s Christian rock bands. Jars of Clay, anyone?

15 recipes cooked, 210 to go.

Crispy Chickpeas and Lamb with Greens and Garlicky Yogurt by Alison Roman

Yes, this was my first time EVER cooking lamb. Yes, I’m now shocked that I waited so long. I’ll break this mouth-watering dish down by the five unique and totally necessary elements that make it up: ground lamb, crispy chickpeas, sauteed greens, fresh tomatoes, and garlicky yogurt. 

Ground lamb. It took a little time, but I eventually found some at Holy Land. The meat is cooked in a skillet with spices, just how I’d cook any other ground meat. So simple, yet I felt some exhilaration while pushing the meat around in the pan. Already this project has forced me to cook with so many new (to me) ingredients. Every time I use one, I feel a spark of inner joy, knowing that I’m choosing to risk a small failure and courageously choosing to do the thing anyway. For someone who is as afraid of failure as I am, (hello, Enneagram 3), this kind of daily exercise has been good for me. 

Crispy chickpeas. I’ve tried making crispy chickpeas in the past by way of oven-roasting. They can take a while and it’s hard to strike the right balance between too soft and too hard. Alison’s method took less time and less work. She has you crisp up the chickpeas in the same pan used to cook the lamb with a good bit of vegetable oil. You know they’re done when they appear golden on all sides. The chickpeas gave a great salty crunch to the dish, counterbalanced by the briefly warmed greens. 

I chose a fresh bunch of swiss chard for my greens. There’s something so appealing about their bright pink stems! I loved the way she has you cook them: stems and leaves separated, stems thinly sliced and sauteed until just tender but still crisp on the inside, and leaves until just wilting but not totally limp. After eating a ton of soggy swiss chard in my college cafeteria, this cooking method gave me hope for more chard in my future. 

Fresh tomatoes are not something I would have thought to include, and I almost didn’t. I’m so glad I kept them in. They brought a brightness and element of refreshment that counterbalanced the rather oily nature of the lamb, chickpeas and greens. 

At the base of the plate is a simple garlicky yogurt with lemon juice. This creamy, slightly acidic spread brought everything together really nicely. 

J asked that I add this recipe to “our rotation.” I told him yes, but first, I need to make 212 other Alison Roman recipes ;). 

14 recipes cooked, 211 recipes to go.

Crispy Vinegared Potatoes with Dried Chile by Alison Roman

Salt & vinegar chips are no doubt in my top 5 favorite foods, and this recipe is the closest I may ever get to a homemade version. 

The idea is quite simple: thinly sliced potatoes tossed in oil, vinegar, and spices, then laid on baking sheets to roast in the oven until crispy. For a dish this spectacularly straightforward, I’ll just provide a few anecdotes that speak to my cooking and eating experience, and how I’ll improve them next time (there will be many next times). 

I believe that not all potatoes are created equal. Moisture level, skin texture, circumference, starch levels -- all of these factors can have an impact on the cooking temp and time in a recipe. Therefore, it’s important to follow Alison’s specification for Yukon Gold potatoes, which can be found in most grocery stores. 

Alison says to aim for 1/4th inch when it comes to slicing the potatoes, but I disagree. My slices were a bit all over the place - ranging from 1/4th inch to less than 1/8th. The thinnest slices became a little too burnt (we still ate them, but not ideal). The 1/4th inch slices were a little too soft and under-crisped. I noticed they were the last potatoes to be taken off of the baking sheet, so clearly I’m not alone. It was the 1/8th inch slices that were gone first - perfectly crunchy and crispy. They made Sam ask for the recipe after eating his first one. 

Like in so many of her recipes, Alison’s combination of smoked paprika, red pepper flakes, and garlic is dynamite here. The heat of the spices is perfectly counterbalanced with the acidity of the vinegar. 

Finally, this recipe warranted what I’m calling a “Make Alison Proud” moment. Sometimes I imagine Alison observing me while I cook or host dinner parties, kind of like a teacher, kind of like a cool friend. Every once in a while she gives me a thumbs up or a look that says “are you sure you want to do that?” Here was my MAP moment for the day: 

I intended for these potatoes to serve as a side dish for J’s birthday dinner (served with Slow Salmon, Garlicky Broccoli, & Butter-Tossed Radishes). When our guests arrived, everything was ready to eat, except for the salmon. I should have guessed that Slow Salmon would cook slowly. We stood in a semicircle around our oven waiting for the fish to be ready. On top of the stove sat these crispy vinegared potatoes on their baking sheets, still barely sizzling in their oil and newly topped with fresh parsley and chives. My stomach growled and I found myself staring at the potatoes as the minutes creeped by. Eventually I noticed that everyone was staring at them, too. Then it occurred to me, why not serve them as an appetizer instead? In a split second pivot, I handed out tiny bowls and told everyone to dig in. We ate all of the potatoes in 10 minutes, holding and biting into them like real potato chips as we stood in the kitchen. The whole experience was quite delightful, though not my original intention. I felt like Alison, being the “nothing fancy” host that she is, would have smiled and approved of this move. 

13 recipes cooked, 212 recipes to go.