Summer Slaw by Alexa Arnold

Here we are again: it's mid-August, and the New York City heat is unrelenting, as if the thermometer outside is permanently stuck at "hot and sticky". A few days ago it rained, but the temperature didn't drop a bit. We're promised an afternoon rainstorm and I'm feeling hopeful, but for now, I'm parked inside with our rickety air conditioner on full blast. 

Growing up, I was never a huge fan of summer. I know, it's an unpopular sentiment, but in the midwest and the south, the humidity was unbearable, like some kind of sustained misery, and each year I found myself counting down the days until the seasons changed and we'd get a much needed break from the swampy, thick, airless heat. Simple things, like walking from the front door to the mailbox, became something to dread. And as a kid whose skin burned easily, the hot summer sun felt especially oppressive, like it was something I had to hide from. In New York, while I didn't expect the summers to be so scorching, the same has held true. I still feel the same sense of paranoia on the sunniest days (if you're a pale kid like me and have ever had a burn so bad your skin has blistered, surely you can commiserate), and I'm still not-so-patiently waiting until we can spend the days outside without breaking a sweat, and survive in this city without a big box of air conditioning pumping through our tiny apartment. 

But on the plus side: the produce. If there's anything to be thankful for during these days, it's the plentiful bounty that comes as a direct result of warmer weather. No other season makes eating well this easy. Meals in the summer feel less fussy, and when it's so hot that you can't bare to turn on the stove, dinner tends to look a bit more like assembly and less like cooking. Cherry tomatoes, sliced in half, and tossed in a bowl with mozz, basil, olive oil and crusty bread. A batch of quick-cooking quinoa, topped with whatever vegetables and herbs I have on hand. A medley of lettuces and greens, tossed in a simple garlicky-lemon dressing. These are the moments where I find myself saying a few words that rarely make it out of my mouth, "I love summer". 

Which brings me to this slaw, inspired by the corn slaw recipe in Ottolenghi's book Plenty More, and a salad (or "slawlad", as Grayson and I have been calling it) that I've been making variations of since the moment sweet corn entered the scene in early July. To say I adore Plenty More is an understatement. It's truly a manifest of love for vegetables; its pages brimming with colorful, thoughtfully placed photos, all fighting for my attention. I've dogeared so many pages at this point that the place holding system's become irrelevant: I want to make every single recipe in this book. And when the weather is this hot – the kind of weather that essentially screams for a surge of thirst-quenching greens and crunchy vegetables – Ottolenghi's slaw as it's written, or in the variation you'll see below, is like a tall, hearty, drink of water. All I can say is, this ain't your grandma's colorless slaw that you might have scooped onto your plate, and then promptly avoided with your fork, at a family potluck. This slaw has no place next to a bowl of saucy baked beans, but rather is the star of the show. It's refreshingly cool, a little crisp and crunchy, then creamy with a little bite. Take the quinoa or leave it – I liked the heartiness that it added, which made it feel like a complete meal, rather than a side dish. 

Summer Slaw

Adapted from Ottolenghi's Grilled Sweet Corn Slaw
Serves 8-10.

For the slaw:
> 5 corn cobs, lightly brushed with olive oil
> 1 large red onions, or 3 small red onions, thinly sliced
> 1/2 head white cabbage, thinly shredded
> 5 carrots, julienned
> 2 chiles (or jalepeños or serranos, depending on your heat preference)
> 1 1/2 pints cherry tomatoes, halved
> 1 bunch mint, finely chopped
> 1 bunch cilantro, finely chopped
> 2 cups quinoa, cooked
> 1 cup white wine vinegar
> 2 cups water
> Salt and pepper
For the dressing:
> 2 tablespoons mayonnaise
> 3 teaspoons grainy mustard
> 1 tablespoon olive oil
> Juice of 1 lemon
> 1 garlic clove, crushed and minced

1. Quick-pickle the cabbage, carrots and onions: Place the vinegar and water in a small saucepan with a teaspoon of salt. Bring to a boil until the salt is dissolved, then remove from the heat. Place the cabbage and carrots in a large mixing bowl, and the onions in a small bowl. Pour two-thirds of the vinegar liquid over the cabbage and carrots, and the remaining liquid over the onions. Toss until coated, then let sit for 20 minutes. Strain and rinse the vegetables and pat them dry, then place together in the large mixing bowl. 
2. Grill the corn: Place a cast-iron or ridged grill pan over high heat until it starts to smoke. Chargrill the corn for 10 minutes, or until all sides get some color. Once they're cool enough to touch, remove the kernels and place them in the bowl with the cabbage, carrots and onions. (Note: this is not exactly an air-conditioning-less-apartment friendly part of this recipe. While this step adds a smokiness to the slaw, it's also one that can be skipped if you don't have access to an outdoor grill or are avoiding turning the stove on. Raw sweet corn, in my opinion, is equally delicious.)
3. Make the dressing: Place mayonnaise, mustard, olive oil, lemon and garlic in a small bowl and whisk until combined. 
4. Mix it all together: Add the remaining vegetables, quinoa and herbs to the large bowl and toss, until thoroughly mixed. Pour the dressing over the slaw, a little at a time, and continue to toss, until completely coated. 


Macerated Berries with Vanilla Ice Cream by Alexa Arnold

With all of the heartbreak that's happening in the world right now, it almost feels wrong to sit here and write a blog post about sugar berries. I feel sick, outraged, horrified and devastated. I feel unsure of what my role in justice should be, yet responsible and desperate to do something, anything. We live in the midst of wildly atrocious events, and I know a lot of people are hurting. I'm trying to make sense of it all and I'm trying to listen. I'm trying to learn how to do more than just name my privilege – trying to understand how to use it to propel the voices of those who are least valued and most hurt by the system forward. I'm trying to move past my inclination to retreat into silence, and speak up, even though my words might be imperfect. 

The kitchen always offers solace and room for contemplation. As I sit here in the comfort of my own home, a bowl of berries on my lap, feeling entirely helpless, I can only do what I know: demand radical, structural changes; refuse to feel numb to the violence; and use food as a tool to comfort, love, connect and heal. Food breaks down barriers and grounds us. Food is learning, sharing and understanding. This recipe is not groundbreaking, or any kind of metaphor for how complicated the world feels, and is in no way an answer to the injustices that need to be addressed. It's simple, because that's the kind of food I turn to for comfort. 

Less than a week ago – before the world fell even more apart – I ruined a pie crust. I had big plans for this crust, but with the oven cranked up high on an already sweltering day, plus a heavy dose of impatience, it quickly softened, stuck to the counter, and refused to be moved onto the pie plate. I felt defeated. I tossed back several handfuls of the perfectly-ripe berries I'd picked up earlier at the market before I remembered that dessert needn't be so complicated. I set the crust aside and thought of the desserts of my childhood: Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream with Dad, and strawberries dipped in sugar with Mom. Both have remained favorites throughout all of my life, both are not complicated, but the exact opposite of complicated. And that's what I like about them. 

I piled the berries into a bowl and coated them in a thin layer of sugar. You don't need much. Stirring occasionally, I watched the berries soften and their juices start to form a puddle in the bottom of the bowl. I pulled out the ice cream and scooped a small dollop into my serving bowl, then drizzled the berries and their juices on top to serve. 

Macerated Berries with Vanilla Ice Cream

Serves 4-6.

> 4 cups mixed berries
> 3/4 cup sugar
> 2 pints vanilla ice cream

1. Rinse the berries and place in a wide bowl. Combine with sugar. Let sit for at least 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. (Softer berries, like raspberries and blackberries, won't hold up as well if you let them sit too long – though I enjoy them when they've turned to liquid, too.)
2. Serve over ice cream. (Though they wouldn't be out of place ladled over greek yogurt with a handful of granola.)

Quinoa Spinach Burgers with Radicchio Tahini Slaw by Alexa Arnold

A couple of years ago, not too long after G and I first met, I learned to cook. We were poor college students, and after exhausting all of the entertainment options that the tiny town in North Carolina, where we spent our first summer together, had to offer, we turned to the kitchen. It started innocently: G suggested we take turns cooking each night. He'd been gifted a new set of cookware from his parents when he moved away for graduate school that he was eager to use. Our culinary strategy was simple, and one that required little skill or knowledge outside of knowing what we liked: throw any assortment of vegetables into a pan or a pot, add some seasoning, and cook. We kept this up for a few days; the two of us standing over the stove, evaluating whether or not we should add an extra tablespoon of red chili flakes to reach the level of heat we desired. Or in the case of G's first attempt at making homemade chili with the fresh tomatoes and peppers we picked up at the market, whether or not he should mix in a whole bag of oyster crackers (spoiler: he went for it; huge mistake). As projects I'm excited about tend to go, I approached learning to cook with equal parts excitement and ambition, that quickly turned into borderline obsession. And then almost without meaning to, I completely took over. 

Sometime after I'd started cooking nearly every night, I got on a veggie burger kick. Red beans with chickpeas; black beans with tiny chopped peppers; quinoa with oats and cheese. I fell in love with coming up with new combinations as the seasons changed. Over that summer, we must have eaten every single combination of beans and grains and vegetables, mixed together, grilled, and stacked between two buns. 

Until this spring, it's been years since I've made veggie burgers, though over the last few months, I've been making this slaw and these patties – separately, together, always in bulk. I always forget that spring doesn't come until late April in New York, yet by February I'm already craving greens and herbs and lighter lunches. Thus began my search for the perfect surge of greens, yet still something warm, comforting and filling enough to get me through the last of the cold days. The slaw on its own is tangy and nutty, but not too sweet, and the burgers are hearty enough to enjoy sans-bun, which is how I've mostly been eating them. 

Quinoa Spinach Burgers with Radicchio Tahini Slaw

Makes 10 burgers.
Recipe inspired by Green Kitchen Stories' patties and Faring Well's slaw.

For the burgers:
> 2 cups cooked quinoa
> 3/4 cup rolled oats
> 4 cups spinach, chopped
> 1 cup parsley, chopped
> 1/2 cup feta
> 1 yellow onion, chopped finely
> 3 cloves garlic, minced
> Pinch each salt and pepper
> 3 eggs
> Coconut oil for frying
> Burger buns (I used these whole wheat buns, but feel free to substitute!)
For the slaw:
> 2 heads radicchio
> 3 tablespoons tahini
> Juice of 1 lemon
> 1 teaspoon grainy mustard
> 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
> 1 clove garlic, minced
> Pinch each salt and pepper

1. In a heavy bottomed skillet, sauté onion and garlic in coconut oil until soft and translucent in color. While it cooks, finely shop the spinach and parsley.
2. Add quinoa, oats, spinach, parsley, feta, onion, garlic, eggs, salt, pepper to a large mixing bowl. Use your hands to combine completely. Set aside in the fridge for 20 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, prepare the slaw. Using a mandolin, finely slide radicchio and place in a large mixing bowl. Combine tahini, lemon, mustard, apple cider vinegar, garlic, salt and pepper in a small jar and shake until emulsified. Pour the vinaigrette over the radicchio and mix until combined. 
4. Once the burger mixture has set, form 10 small patties with your hands. Heat the coconut oil in a heavy bottomed skillet. Add each patty to the skillet, flatten them a bit, and fry on both sides for 2-4 minutes each, or until crispy. 
5. To serve, place each patty on a toasted burger bun and top with a hearty pile of slaw. Add a smear of mustard, if you like. 

Spiced Cauliflower Couscous with Peas, Radishes, Feta and Mint by Alexa Arnold

I've come up with a lot of reasons not to cook or write lately. I could list them here, but it all kind of boils down to that I'm human and I get into a routine of making fried eggs for every meal when other parts of life feel hard and exhausting, just like the rest of us. This season turned over so fast. I feel like I've been trudging ahead at full speed, and suddenly I looked up and the naked tree I'd been staring at all winter through my kitchen window was filled with apple blossoms. A week later, and it's now full of green. I'm taking this as nature's way of telling me to slow down, get settled, and catch up with the season that I love so much. For me, that slowing down part always begins in the kitchen.

Before heading to the market, I scrolled through my Instagram feed in search of a little inspiration, and stopped at Andrea's photo of a big bowl of cauliflower 'couscous', topped with all of my spring favorites. I love her photos and her recipes, and am seriously in awe of how she somehow balances blogging and farming full time. From a single photo, I felt that familiar feeling of excitement pump through my veins – I had to make this, today, right now, as soon as possible. For some reason, I didn't want to peek at how she prepared this dish – the idea of seeing her photo, grabbing some ingredients and seeing how similar, or not, our versions ended up felt more exciting.  

As a kid, I rarely ate cauliflower. We generally only crossed paths at the kind of family gathering where someone brought one of those already prepared vegetable trays – tasteless celery, baby carrots, cold cauli florets and a tub of ranch dressing. Or sometimes it would show up steamed at dinner and I'd have to pick my way around it. But my feelings for cauliflower have come a long way, and over the past few years it's become a staple in my diet and the star of many of my favorite meals. And since I discovered that this crunchy cruciferous vegetable could be transformed into something so soft and fluffy and delicious, I'm more often than not willing to choose it over a scoop of rice. 

My version didn't turn out that differently from Andrea's. She added parsley, walnuts and pumpkin seeds, while I opted to spice the couscous with cumin, garam masala and then top it with pine nuts. I added my standard vinaigrette while she kept things simple with a squeeze of lemon. The feta adds a nice tanginess, and the peas and radishes made me feel like I hadn't missed out on spring after all. And because the fried-egg-for-every-meal rut is one I'm not ready to dig myself out of anytime soon, I added one on top for good measure. 

Spiced Cauliflower Couscous with Peas, Radishes, Feta and Mint

Serves 4.
Recipe very much inspired by Dishing Up the Dirt.

> 1 head cauliflower
> 1 bunch radishes (about 1 cup, thinly sliced)
> 1 bunch mint
> 1.5 cups peas
> 3 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
> 1 cup feta
> 1 tablespoon red pepper flakes
> 1 teaspoon cumin
> 1 teaspoon garam masala
> 2 tablespoons olive oil
> Juice of 2 lemons
> 1 teaspoon grainy mustard
> 1 teaspoon honey
> Salt and pepper to taste
> Optional fried eggs for topping

1. Chop the cauliflower into quarters, trim away the greens, and break apart the florets. Transfer the cauliflower to a food processor and pulse until it's completely broken down into rice-sized granules. Be careful not to over mix – you don't want it to be pureed. 
2. Warm 1 tablespoon olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Transfer the cauliflower couscous to the pan, add the cumin, garam masala, salt, pepper, and half of the red pepper flakes. Let cook until it's lightly browned, about 3 minutes. Stir in the pine nuts and continue to cook for another 3-5 minutes. Be careful not to over cook – you want the rice to stay light and fluffy, not mushy. 
3. While the couscous is cooking, thinly slice the radishes and mint. Transfer to a large bowl, and add in the couscous, peas, and feta, and stir until combined.
4. Prepare the dressing: add lemon juice, mustard, honey, salt, pepper, and remaining olive oil and red pepper flakes to a small jar. Shake until combined. Drizzle over the couscous and stir until coated. 
5. Serve as is, or top with a fried egg. 

Chicken Noodle Soup with Parmsan Broth and Greens by Alexa Arnold

I stood in line at the grocery last night, alongside everyone in our neighborhood, stocking up on essentials – eggs, a loaf of my favorite grainy bread, chocolate, the makings of a hearty soup – in preparation for the impending blizzard New York's been talking up for the past week. The line stretched as long as the length of the store, but moved quicker than I initially thought it would. I felt the same anxiousness to get home as the people around me, but when I finally stepped outside, it wasn't so cold, so I chose the long route home. I called my dad while I walked. We exchanged the usual updates and he mentioned he'd just finished a great book – a copy for me, already on its way. I made a couple of extra loops around my block, as Dad dove deep into the author's thesis: research is showing that the health of the brain is intrinsically related to the heath of the microbiome, the vast population of organisms that live in our bodies and evolve based on our lifestyle and food choices. Meaning what we eat plays a role in the health of our microbiome, and is connected to how we think and how we feel, and possibly even diseases or other ailments we experience. He talked about the detrimental affects of processed food, sugar and antibiotics on our microbiome, and how he's now looking at what we put in our bodies in a whole new light. Our conversation jumped all over the place, from breastfeeding, to cooking with whole foods, to the importance of probiotics, to the time I tried to grow a kombucha scoby from scratch (spoiler: 'booch farming isn't for me). He did most of the talking, which I didn't mind at all. I've been there, time and time again, and I recognized the excitement in his voice – the same fire I feel, the same rage about the political and economic forces that shape our food choices, and the same desperate desire to make a meaningful impact in my own life and in the lives of others. I felt a twinge of pride and a deep sense of connection. This book illuminated for him so much about the things I'm passionate about, and for me, our conversation underlined a quality that we both share: the need to always be learning, and an excitement about sharing what we've learned with the world. 

So here I am, attempting to share a small slice of what I know and love about food. About whole, real, nourishing food. About the joy and strength and comfort I've found in food's power to heal. 

The snow did fall on the city after all, and it's still coming down. At the sight of it this morning, I set out to make the warmest, richest, most filling, and most comforting soup that's ever come together in my kitchen, and I feel pretty pleased with where I landed. It's a snow day soup – the kind that needs to sit and simmer for hours, but still only requires two dishes. The broth's inspired by Bon Appetit's Parmesan Broth, one of my favorite broth recipes, and it will make your kitchen smell glorious. Like pure goodness.

A few things worth noting: There is chicken in this recipe, but if you're not into meat, the parmesan broth is so wonderfully fragrant and flavorful that you could go without the chicken and still have a hearty base for the soup – though I'd recommend adding some beans to give the end result a bit more girth. Second, this broth needs about two hours of simmering to get really flavorful, and the longer the better – precisely why this is the perfect snow day soup. Don't let time scare you off, though. The recipe is still fairly simple: you make the broth, while it simmers you cook the chicken and slice the carrots and set them aside. You clean your kitchen or watch Netflix or read the book you can't put down while you wait. And once the broth is nice and full, you strain it, add the noodles, carrots and chicken, and you're done. It's worth the wait. And last: wondering where to get a pound of parmesan rinds? I found mine at my neighborhood market, which has a nice fancy cheese section, but I've also seen that at Whole Foods. Basically, grocery that sells blocks of parmesan has the rinds – you might just have to ask. And they're cheap, like $2 per pound. As you buy blocks of parmesan in the future, save those rinds! They keep well in the freezer, too. Just toss them in a freezer-safe bag or jar with your other food scraps, in preparation to make your next broth. 

Chicken Noodle Soup with Parmesan Broth and Greens

Serves 6; Cook time: 2.5 hours.
Broth inspired by Bon Appétit's Parm Broth

For the broth:
> 1 head garlic, half crosswise
>1 onion, quartered
> 1 bunch each of thyme, oregano, rosemary, sage
> 2 bay leaves
> 2 tablespoons olive oil
> 1 tablespoon peppercorns
> 1 cup dry white wine
> 1 lb parmesan rinds
> 12 cups water
For the soup:
> 8 chicken thighs, bone in
> 4 large carrots, thinly sliced
> 3 cups dried bow-tie pasta
For topping:
> 1 cup basil leaves
> 3 cups arugula
> 1/2 cup bread crumbs, toasted
> 1/2 cup shaved parmesan
> Salt and pepper to taste

1. Prepare the broth: Heat the oil in a large soup pan over high heat. Add the onion, garlic and bay leaves and cook until browned. Add the wine, peppercorns and almost all of the herbs to the pot – you'll want to save a few sprigs of each for the chicken. Bring to a boil and cook until the wine has reduced by half. Add the parmesan rinds and water, reduce to a simmer and cook for 2 hours. 
2. Prepare the chicken: Set the oven to 400 degrees. Finely chop the remaining herbs and mix with salt and pepper in a small bowl. Toss the chicken in the herb mixture until evenly seasoned. Place the seasoned chicken in a baking dish, and cook for about 20 minutes, or until the meat registers at 165 degrees. Remove from the oven and let cool completely. Once the chicken is cool enough to touch, remove the meat from the bones, and shred it by hand or with a knife. Set aside. Place the bones and skin in the broth both for the remaining cook time. 
3. Finish the soup: Strain the broth through a fine sieve, and set aside in a large bowl. Place the sliced carrots in the now-empty broth, and sauté in a bit of oil for 2-3 minutes. Return the broth to the pot, bring to a boil, add the pasta and cook for around 10 minutes, or according to package instructions. Right before the pasta is cooked al dente, add the chicken. Simmer for about 3 minutes.
4. For serving: Ladle the soup into serving bowls. Top with arugula, basil, parmesan and a sprinkle of toasted bread crumbs. 

Sweet Potato, Corn and Kale Chowder by Alexa Arnold

The first frosty flakes of the year are floating around outside my kitchen window, swirling in the garden and landing, like a blanket, on top of the few hardy stems of chard and kale that still stick up out of the ground. Other crops have been covered in an attempt to fight off the freeze, and the woody remains of what once was a windy tomato vine is reminding me that this is only temporary – though I've never experienced a winter as long and cold as these past two in New York. Nevertheless, I'm ready for the long haul. I'm curled inside on the couch, Orson's leaning his little head on my lap, and there's a big batch of this sweet potato, corn and kale chowder on the stove. 

Over the last few months, I've been trying to commit to making a big batch of something – soup, curry, salad, rice – that will get Grayson and me through a week's worth of lunches at work. For some reason, committing to this is harder than it seems for me, but I'm determined to build a habit out of it that sticks. Beginning with this chowder. This chowder is pure comfort – sweet enough to remind you of summer, but grounded by the heartiness of the sweet potatoes and kale. The coconut milk gives it a luxurious, creamy texture and the whole thing comes together in under an hour. I get a real kick out of making a dish with as few ingredients, and in as uncomplicated a way, as possible, and yet the full flavor of the end result makes it seem like this recipe must be more complicated than just throwing everything in one pot. But it's really that simple.

Sweet Potato, Corn and Kale Chowder

Serves 8.

> 1 large yellow onion, chopped finely
> 2 cloves garlic, minced
> 3 large sweet potatoes, cubed
> 1 bunch kale
> 3 cups corn kernels
> 4 cups vegetable stock
> 1 can coconut milk
> 2 cups water, or more, depending on your consistency preferences
> 1 tablespoon coconut oil
> 1 tablespoon dried thyme
> Salt and pepper to taste

1. In a heavy-bottomed soup pot, sauté the onion and garlic with the coconut oil, until soft and translucent. 
2. Add the sweet potatoes, vegetable stock, thyme and corn to the pot. Cook for 5 minutes, until slightly softened. Add salt and pepper to taste. Stir in the coconut milk, raise the heat to a boil, then reduce to low and simmer for 20 minutes. 
3. Using an electric hand blender, purée some of the mixture, but be sure to keep plenty of whole sweet potatoes and corn kernels in the mix.
4. Add the kale to the pot. Stir, and add as much water as you'd like to reach your desired consistency. I found that 2 cups did the trick.