Skillet Chicken with Crushed Olives and Sumac by Alison Roman

I bet my mother-in-law, Michelle, is on the edge of her seat, waiting to hear what I thought of this dish. Michelle is an avid olive lover. On multiple afternoons, I’ve witnessed her spontaneously glance at the oven clock and, regardless of the actual time, announce to the room that it was “Olive Hour” before marching to the refrigerator to collect her jars of olives for a snack. She can consume a whole bowl of olives and not bat an eye. She always has multiple olive varieties on hand, stored in large glass jars in her fridge. I actually accompanied her on a trip to IKEA to buy these large jars for storing her olives (& her pickles, because priorities). Her love of olives is exceeded only by her love of really good pasta and her family, whom she loves really well, I might add. 

For all of her enthusiasm, Michelle has been disheartened by my inability to enjoy an olive. My distaste for olives confuses me. I love salty, briney food like pickles, mustard, and sauerkraut. What is it about an olive that makes me instinctually scrunch up my face when I bite into it? I know that no one in my nuclear family likes olives. Is it a genetic predisposition? 

When I learned that Alison is on par with Michelle’s olive love, I dreaded the implications. But like so many other times that I’ve already had to face my skepticism in these past months, I knew I couldn’t cater to my olive aversion forever. So I chose to start with the recipe on the cover of Alison’s book, Dining In. 

A brief note about my first olive-buying experience. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around buying a room-temperature jar of olives. The way the little round guys sit in that still liquid makes me think of a biology class experiment that is never meant to be eaten. Jordan once took a completely candid picture of me while we were in Costa Rica, and the expression on my face in this picture probably mirrors what my face looks like when I see jars of olives at the grocery store. To avoid this reaction, I went to the olive bar at Whole Foods. Somehow that was a slightly more pleasant experience. 

The first step of this recipe is thinly slicing half a red onion and marinating the slices in lime juice, salt and pepper. Doing this step first allows time for the onions to soften in the acid and pickle ever so slightly. 

Onions aside, the bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs get a good coating of salt and pepper before cooking in a skillet, skin-side down. It takes about 15 minutes or so on high heat to get the meat cooked though and the skin a golden, crispy brown. (Allow me a moment to say that it’s a time like this when owning a digital meat thermometer is so crucial. All I had to do was stick the tip of the thermometer into the thickest part of each thigh to know if it was cooked through to a safe temperature (165 for chicken). No need to slice the thigh open to look at signs of rawness, thus ruining the skin and mangling the meat in the process. My meat thermometer has made cooking chicken less stressful, and it was only $18!) Thanks for indulging my digression. Now back to regularly scheduled programming. 

Once the chicken is ready to go, it’s removed from the skillet, which by now is super hot. Throw in the crushed Castelvetrano olives, ground sumac, and a half cup of water, and allow it all to heat up. Then place the chicken back in the skillet, skin-side up to keep it crispy, and allow the water to reduce. This helps infuse the chicken with more flavor and, I imagine, reduce some of the olives’ bitterness. At the very end, the lime-y onions, which by now are much softer, are added to the skillet to barely warm through. Just until the red skin has turned a bright fuschia, about 2 minutes.  

Now for the moment of truth. Just before plating the chicken, I reached into the pan and picked out an olive bit. Without much thought, I popped it into my mouth. And it was really… good. Really good. “Jordan!” I yelled. He turned around from his work desk. “I just tasted an olive and liked it!” 

Two theories about why I liked these olives: 1. The olives lost some of their funk and bitterness from being heated through. 2. Castelvetrano olives are supposedly very mild. That’s all I got. I’m open to any other ideas. 

Jordan loved this meal, and proclaimed for the fourth time that THIS was the best chicken recipe from Alison Roman. Really, he’s said this about four different recipes. I honestly loved it, too. So I will be making this one again. 

37 recipes cooked, 188 to go.

served with Alison’s Frizzled Chickpeas and an herby kale salad

Strawberry Shortcake Cobbler by Alison Roman

“Real love baby.” — That’s the name of the playlist that underscored our baking adventure. It could also be the subtitle to this recipe. And it absolutely is what I have for the two ladies who baked this recipe with me. 

Over the past three and a half years, my husband Jordan and I have lived in four different states. California, Illinois, Texas, and Minnesota. Each stint in the journey has been full of both adventure and challenge. It goes without saying that moving is really hard. Not living in a given place for very long can complicate relationship building. It’s difficult to invest in new friendships when you know the day you’re leaving. It’s hard for others to want to invest in you, too. Moving across the country can also be disorienting. No matter how much I look forward to the next destination, I’ve always felt a deep sadness for leaving the old place behind. I’d gotten used to calling it “home.” 

Of course, there are incredible benefits to moving around. We’ve seen beautiful parts of the country, tried new foods, and met really interesting people. We’ve also grown incredibly close to one another, because on many nights, we were all the other had. Especially during the pandemic when lockdowns were in place. 

We came here to Minneapolis in August 2020, during a particularly difficult season of our lives. My health was in disarray and I was recovering from stomach surgery. Jordan was struggling with stresses of his own. We were both exhausted from the toll of living in lockdown and all of the effort it takes to drive your stuff 2,000 miles in a 20-foot truck. During those early days, we found ourselves nearly passing out in bed each night and together asking how we would find energy to get up in the morning. 

By some miracle, the move to Minneapolis was unlike any of our previous moves, because the moment we pulled up, there were people waiting to welcome us.

Those people include Jordan’s incredible parents, Tom and Michelle. They not only flew to Texas last minute to help us pack up while I was recovering in bed, but they helped us unpack on the other side and let us stay with them. We simply would not have made it here without their help. And living close to them has been a true gift. 

Madeline and Sam, two of our dearest couple friends who had only moved to Minneapolis a few weeks prior, showed up on our second night here to unpack boxes and bring us homemade sweet potato enchiladas. Their willingness to help us spoke volumes of love and care. And their friendship, weekly dinners and walks with their dog Piper, have made this town feel like home so much quicker than before. Madeline and I were once roommates in Chicago, we’ve stood in each other’s wedding, and are true kindred spirits. It’s dreamy to be back in the same city. 

Kailey and I went on a very long walk shortly after we arrived. I was still taking very small steps, trying to ease the pain of moving around, and she patiently inched her way around a lake park with me. We were in the same friendship circle in college, but it wasn’t until moving here that our kinship totally solidified. It has been a pure delight to know her on a deeper level. She too is a kindred spirit — it feels like I’ve known her for a much longer time. We have uncanny similarities and can talk for hours and hours without realizing how much time has past. She is pure joy.  

The occasion for this strawberry shortcake cobbler was to have both Madeline and Kailey officially meet. Jordan and I will be making yet another move in September to go back to Chicago. It is a dream of mine that these two women, who I think of so highly, would become friends. And what better way to get to know someone than make a dessert with them! (And drink a glass of rosé.) 

We divided and conquered. Kailey took charge of making the shortcake dough, which consisted of flour, sugar, butter, baking powder, and heavy cream. She also graciously purchased some cookie dough cutters for me on her way over — I had none! 

Madeline commandeered the three cartons of strawberries, washing and slicing them over the sink. Both of these women are excellent cooks, so I just acted as finder-of-ingredients and available sub. The strawberries are mixed with some cornstarch, sugar, and lime juice to liven things up. 

Once assembled, the cobbler is supposed to take about 25-30 minutes to bake. However, we found that it took about 35-40 minutes to achieve the results that we’re told to look for (strawberry juices bubbling and golden-topped shortcakes). Kailey made the astute point that generally speaking, “Alison is optimistic about time.” 

The afternoon flew by as we chatted about our lives, funny stories from our weddings, and our visions for the future. These women have made this home so very special. The cobbler was really good, but not as good as these pals. 

Note, there were a few bites leftover so I saved them for the next day. The shortcakes became way too dry and the strawberries seemed to lose some of their flavor. Therefore, this cobbler is best eaten right out of the oven. 

36 recipes cooked, 189 to go.

Raw and Roasted Carrots and Fennel with Feta and Pistachios by Alison Roman

I’m not the kind of person who can casually snack on carrots without a dip. Something about a mouthful of raw carrot makes me contemplate gagging. I have to actively fight that reflux, and search for a glass of water

I don’t remember when I first had a roasted carrot, but I know it was a game changing experience. I’ve been known to roast a whole bag of carrots for lunch and eat any leftovers for dinner. Something about the softened, charred texture of a roasted carrot, with oily spices soaked into the carrot’s flesh. Sometimes I sprinkle crumbled feta cheese over them, or some lime juice. 

The genius of this admittedly simple recipe is carrots in TWO ways. Roasted, warm, tender carrots with ribbons of their raw selves - fresh and crunchy. Feta, cilantro, and lemon juice tie this all together. Oh, and scallions two ways, too. Some raw and sliced, and a few roasted with the carrots. It’s really that uncomplicated. 

The recipe calls for a fennel bulb to be roasted along with the carrots. I planned to do this, but when I reached for my fennel, I found that it had gone rancid. So I skipped the fennel, and actually didn’t miss it. Pistachios are also called for here, but I didn’t feel like shelling out for more nuts when I already have lots of perfectly good pepitas on hand. I toasted about a quarter cup of pepitas in a skillet to top this dish. It added just enough nutty crunch to contrast the brighter crunch of the raw carrots.  

This dish will go well with most anything, and it’s season agnostic. So go on, get yourself a bag of carrots and eat them two ways!

35 recipes cooked, 190 to go.

Pot of Pasta with Broccoli Rabe and Chorizo Breadcrumbs by Alison Roman

Making this dish was a bonafide relay race that I was not prepared for. It’s silly, really. I glanced at the ingredients and the overall process (which is like a lot of other pasta+veggie dishes) and figured this would be one of the most simple recipes I’d attempt in this project. In one sense, it was easy - no new techniques, no crazy ingredients. 

On the other hand, everything happens so fast. Because I didn’t prep most of the ingredients ahead of time, the assembly had me flying around the kitchen at a stress-inducing pace. When one thing needed to be added to this pan, something else had to be stirred in the other, or chopped, or drained. At one point, I didn’t have enough hands to keep it all going, so I yelled at Jordan to come stir some tomato paste so it didn’t burn. (Yelled at? Politely asked? You can ask him.) 

My lowest moment was while cooking the chorizo, a drop of oil splattered and hit me right above my eye. A close call, and quite painful. I had to laugh though. I was so sure it’d be a breeze! 

There are five separate elements that all happen on their own and come together at the end. 1. Tomato paste/garlic/spices, all sautéed in a pan until nice n’ toasty. 2. Baby broccoli, trimmed, chopped and coated by the tomato paste mixture. 3. Chorizo (or spicy Italian sausage), cases removed and cooked until fully browned. 4. Breadcrumbs, sautéed in a pan with oil, salt and pepper, until golden and crunchy. 5. Pasta with some saved cooking water.

For all of the hullabaloo, it was a nice meal. I like that I didn’t feel the need to make anything else to go with it, too. My only request would be for more tomato flavor. Though a full ¼ cup of tomato paste is used, it seemed to be lost by the time everything else was added. 

The next day, Jordan sheepishly asked if I would ever be willing to make this dish again. I asked why he seemed so hesitant. He said “because you seemed pretty upset while you were making it.” We both laughed. It’s true, I was flustered. Next time, I’ll just be a little more prepared. 

34 recipes cooked, 191 recipes to go.

Perfect Steak with Buttered Radish Toast by Alison Roman

What does a “perfect steak” mean to you? I’m not sure the word “perfect” is ubiquitous when it comes to describing food.  I think it’s more subjective. A perfect steak could be a lot of things to a lot of people. The more I think about it, the more I think that a steak is only truly perfect when it’s both excellently cooked and associated with a good memory. A steak, to me, is a celebratory food. Something I eat at a dinner party, a graduation, a wedding, an anniversary. Steaks are usually bound up in important events. The most perfect steak I’ve ever had was on my honeymoon. 

This particular “perfect steak” is a bone-in ribeye, seared in a sizzling hot cast iron, and topped with foaming butter, Gordon Ramsay style. I made this steak on a casual Friday for just Jordan and I.

And there were a few mishaps…

1. Alison politely warns that it may be prudent to temporarily disable one’s smoke alarm prior to making this recipe. Admittedly, I’m not sure how to disable my smoke alarm, so it stayed on. But oddly the alarm never went off, even though there was a LOT of smoke. This produced lots of coughing and some general concern about the effectiveness of our smoke alarm.

2. I followed Alison’s directions (6-8 minutes on each side on high heat), but I still got a solid burnt crust on one side of the meat. Thankfully we could easily cut the burnt bits off, but it was disappointing. I was so alarmed by the burnt crust, that I removed the steak from the pan to rest, and subsequently… 

3. Forgot the butter. The best part! I sat on the couch for about 5 minutes, letting the meat rest, when I suddenly sprang up and ran to the kitchen whilst shouting, “BUTTER!!!” Jordan was both concerned and confused. The pan was still super hot, so I was able to melt the butter and spoon it over the meat. What a close call! The meat went back on the cutting board to rest for yet another 10 minutes. 

Was this steak perfect to me? No. Could it be perfect to you? Absolutely. 

A note about Buttered Radish Toast. It was really nice! Something I would never have thought to combine - bread, radishes, butter, anchovies, capers, parsley. What a fun, funky side to a buttery piece of meat! That’s really all I have to say about it - such fun! 

Do you have a perfect steak? I’d love to know all about it. 

33 recipes cooked, 192 to go.