California Quinoa Salad

The paradox.
America.
So beloved, idolized, so desired, idealized, yet so vilified.
The imperialist America, the lonely, arrogant, bigot, militaristic. So contradictory, intrusive, nosy, a policeman, interventionist.
America so rude, liberistic, oppressive, insensitive and racist.
Stubborn, arrogant, capitalist; warmongering, too armed and a little fascist.
Say what you want.
But there is New York.
And there is San Francisco.
And if you put your foot in there, like a traitor lover you can forgive her everything, and love her nonetheless.





California Quinoa Salad*
for 4-5 people

quinoa 220 gr
water or vegetable stock 400 gr
red bell pepper, small 1
red onion, small 1/2
mango 1
edamame, net approx. 1 glass
sliced almonds 1 handful
cranberries 1 handful
lime 2
balsamic vinegar 4 tablespoons
cilantro, dried coconut flakes, salt, pepper to taste

Put water (or stock) and quinoa in a pot, bring to boil and cook over medium-low heat for about 15 to 20 minutes, until all the liquid has been absorbed.
Cook edamame in boiling water for 4 minutes, drain, shell and set aside. Meanwhile, finely chop the onion and cut bell pepper and mango into small cubes. Mix everything with the quinoa, adding the juice and zest of limes, almonds, cranberries (you can substitute them with raisins or dried cherries), balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, minced fresh cilantro and a generous sprinkling of coconut flakes. Serve the salad cold or at room temperature.

*I put together this recipe inspired by a similar thing that I spotted at Whole Foods. I looked at the color, peeked at the ingredient list, and voila, my serenade to California.
.
w.v.<3

Grilled Peach Panzanella

... tanto doveva prima o poi finire lì
ridevi e forse avevi un fiore
ti ho capita, non mi hai capito mai

... sooner or later it had to end there
you were laughing and maybe you had a flower
I understood you, you've never understood me
~ Roberto Vecchioni, Lights at San Siro

Do you remember? Remember when we were twenty? I know what you'll say, with that slow, misty stroke of sadness that has been hitting us for hours: you'll say that now you're feeling it as well, all that nostalgia that you didn't understand back then and yet easily blamed me for. Do you realize instead, today, the way it makes your voice shiver and your gaze drop? And the way it makes you smile a little, because this whole encounter looks like a tedious cliché, an honest déjà vu, a movie that is narrated by others, that's already been lived, suffered and sung.
And you knew, I'm sure, that our talking now would go into reverse gear. Because what you're doing now, what you did yesterday or how was your life ten months ago, that doesn't matter to me, and I already know it. I imagined it all well back then, in our time together: to you everything seemed already written, in your words, in your studies and in the clippings you were accumulating from newspapers; you, so determined to stalk reality, while, with my uncertain future, I'd waste days interrogating mirrors, looking in vain for a response at the intersections and inside the pockets of randomness.
But remember? Remember when we walked together that night at the end of summer, drunk just right? From the boredom of a party we found ourselves in a dream, holding hands, walking around those reflections amidst the scent of an unexplored lake, forever ours. And then, all those times when you kept laughing at me when I said I'd rather die like Francesca, sinful and in love, rather than find myself one day trapped in the spectrum of everyday life.
Remember? Remember when you said that's enough, and the illusion of eight years crumbling between our hands, one love slipping away and a mystery still open. We've often asked ourselves what's left of what we had, and perhaps we can grasp the answer only tonight, in a slow and silent hug, hidden in the fog of a new, far-off city.
I was walking by; I know, it's been so long, how are you? I, yes, sorry, I thought that maybe we could... dinner, a walk, only a coffee; just like that, to talk a little.
It's eight o'clock, it's still light outside of this bistro. I'll make the order, trust me for once. You go ahead, I'll listen.



Grilled Peach Panzanella
for 4 people

yellow peaches 2
rustic bread 2 thick slices
cherry tomatoes 600 gr
arugula as needed
shallot 1
lemon 1
honey 3 tablespoons
olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, basil as needed

Brush bread slices with olive oil and grill them on both sides. Mix honey with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, drizzle over sliced peaches and cook them on the grill about a minute each side. Cut bread in pieces, mix them with cherry tomatoes, cut in half, and thinly sliced shallots. Drizzle with olive oil, vinegar, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and chopped basil, and let stand at least one hour. Before serving, add arugula and grilled peach slices.

Jicama, Pineapple and Mint Salad

Longing for summer? YesYesYesYesYesYesYesSYesYesYesYesssssss!


Jicama, Pineapple & Mint Salad
for 4

jicama, medium size 2
fresh pineapple 4-5 slices, about 1/2 inch thick
shallot 1
lime 3
chili pepper, a Thai one, if possible 1
salt, fresh mint as needed

If you don't know jicama, you could:
a) read here, and here;
b) try to imagine a tuber similar in shape and color to a large, flattened potato, with the not-so-subtle difference that your jicama is best eaten raw, and what's more, it is sweet, crisp, and refreshing like an apple.
Jicama is grown widely in Mexico and Central America, where it is often consumed as an antidote to summer heat, cut into sticks and simply seasoned with chili, salt, and lime juice. Humbly good and refreshing.

Today, however, instead of sticks, I cubified it. How did that story go, about changing the order of the factors...? Or something like that, ah here, I think they say that despite everything, the result doesn't change. Sticks, fillets, cubes or parallelepipeds, who cares? Try it. Rain (worse) or shine (better), jicama won't let you down.

As for the so called recipe, simply peel the applepotato jicama and cut it into small cubes along with the slices of pineapple; mince the shallot, squeeze the limes, remove the seeds from the chili pepper and chop it fine (maybe try to remember washing your hands after touching the seeds and before rubbing your eyes), mix everything well in a pink, green or blue bowl, season with a pinch of salt and quite a bit of freshly chopped mint... and today also we can breathe a sigh of relief.

Raw Beet and Carrot Salad

I had an epiphany! One of those that (almost) hits you like a pan on the forehead: beets can be eaten raw. Olé!
Unfortunately for me, I always thought they were like potatoes, which, raw, may not be very successful. Instead I had a nice surprise, an epiphany induced by my new friend Mark Bittman, about whom I've already promised to talk a bit more in detail in the next few days.
But for now take this salad: fresh, crisp, and strictly raw. Now, tell me if this is no reason to be happy. Cheers!


Raw Beet and Carrot Salad
for 4

red beets, medium size 3
carrots 2
fresh ginger 1 piece, about 1" long
shallot 1-2
olive oil 2 tablespoons
Dijon mustard 2-3 tablespoons
lime 2
salt, pepper, fresh cilantro as needed

Peel beets and carrots and grate them into a bowl. Add grated fresh ginger, finely chopped shallots, salt and pepper. Prepare the dressing by mixing oil, mustard, and lime juice, and pour it over the vegetables. Mix well and sprinkle with a generous amount of chopped fresh coriander (mind you, make the amount truly generous...).

Octopus Salad with Citrus and Fennel

With this post I inaugurate Citrus Week (blog or not blog, you should know that behind the scenes I now have some difficulties closing the fridge, due to an undefined quantity of navel oranges, kara kara oranges, pomelos (hey, you know pomelos? they're as big as basketballs!), lemons, sweet lemons, blood oranges, yellow and pink grapefruit, tangerines, and tangelos. And I'm not kidding, which is nothing short of alarming...., but this uh .. well let's call it professional deformation would be subject for another post, and here I prefer to ignore it, even if the space for comments is always available below, in case you want to offer advices and suggestions on so-called infallible therapies, relieving mantras and/or DIY remedies.
We were saying, Citrus Week, in order to inflict oneself 7 days full of vitamins and to resign more or less happily to a winter that doesn't want to go away. To make things a little more classy (yes, I mean, I have a reputation to defend...), I went and fished out - I mean, literally - an old friend. Same fishmonger, same frozen octopus, same nightmare.
Winter is back even at these latitudes, demanding some justice. Let's surrender this way.


Octopus Salad
with Citrus and Fennel
for 4

whole octopus, cleaned 1 of about 3 lb
onion 1
carrot 1
celery 1 stalk
bay leaf 1
fennel 1 large or 2 smaller ones
mixed citrus as needed
(I've used a yellow grapefruit and 3 different types of oranges)
olive oil, salt, pepper, fennel leaves to taste

For the octopus, first I'd like to tell you that the second time around is much easier: you go to sleep and you almost forget that you left a shapeless creature to thaw in the sink. In the morning, with a little effort, it's even possible to feel the tentacles and check their tenderness while sipping coffee. And with the second cup you even get to chat, with the octopus, just like that, talking about the weather, taking the opportunity to apologize and to feel at peace with yourself. But we're digressing, this is material for another post, or even another blog (how about The Adventures of Superblogger? or The Spaghetti Chronicle? or perhaps The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?)... HELP!!

Bring to a boil a large pot of lightly salted water, season it with a bay leaf, the carrot, the onion and a stalk of celery, all cleaned and cut into large pieces, then put in the octopus perfectly thawed (btw, if you find it fresh, go ahead, and then maybe you'll tell me how to clean it while drinking coffee...). When it returns to boil, cover the pot and simmer for about an hour (cooking time varies depending on the size of the octopus; to check if it's ready and sufficiently tender, just lift it from the water and stick a tentacle with a knife, it should give up easily). Turn off the heat and let it cool in the same cooking water.
Meanwhile, clean the fennel and cut it into thin slices using a mandolin. Peel the citrus fruits , removing the white membrane, cut them into wedges, and collect the juice in a separate bowl. For the dressing, to the juice of oranges and grapefruits add few tablespoons of olive oil, salt and pepper, and some lemon juice if you'd like.
Mix fennel, citrus and octopus, cut into pieces, season with the dressing and sprinkle with a pinch of minced fennel leaves.

Arugula and Melon Salad

A shamelessly lazy post. In order not to lose my face with it, I play the universally valid card of the "With this hot weather, you don't really want to cook anything" (...and you don't need to know that here one would gladly use a wool hat).

Even more shamelessly, I even list you the ingredients:
- arugula;
- melon;
- goat cheese;
- salt, pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar.

With an act of extreme generosity, I spare you from the explanation of the difficult recipe. And if you're not convinced yet, take it as an excuse to equip yourself with the famous and super useful fruit baller.

Octopus Salad

When all of a sudden you long for the Mediterranean, but everything you have in front of you is fog, dense and damp, there are three things you can do to fix this:

1) Open that bottle of Coppertone that for centuries has been lying unused in the back of the drawer, close your eyes and inhale all the way to the bottom of your lungs;

2) Watch this for the millionth time, and be moved;

3) Pay a visit to your trusted fishmonger, he's got octopus for sure.

Yesterday number one and two. Today number three and so be it.


Octopus Salad
for 3

whole octopus, net 1, about 3 lb 5 oz
bay leaves 1
celery 1 stalk
salt, pepper, parsley, olive oil, parsley to taste

I hope you can buy an already cleaned octopus, otherwise good luck with that...
Mine was frozen, which it's not even bad per se, since freezing the octopus before cooking it helps tenderizing the meat. But if you're lucky enough to find a fresh one, but no fisherman has been so magnanimous to bang it against the rocks, you can always try to face it by yourself at the sound of a meat tenderizer. For me, nothing so romantic, I just had to wait for it to thaw. Cleaned and rinsed properly, my beautiful octopus was ready for use.
I brought a large pot of water to boil with a little salt and a bay leaf. I threw in the purple creature, and I cooked it with no mercy for about an hour and ten minutes (but you should adjust the time depending on the size of your prey). When the tentacles gently surrendered to the irreverent fork, I realized it was time to put an end to the torture. I turned off the heat and let the poor octopus cool down in its cooking water.
In the meantime I was able to forget about this whole nightmare and I perfumed my hands chopping up a bunch of parsley and squeezing the juice of two lemons. I made a very simple dressing with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, to which I added the finely chopped parsley.
I then (re)took courage, and caught the octopus from the pot, searching for it in a now dark liquid. I held it for several minutes under running water trying to eliminate the skin as much as possible (ie... I was flaying it!). At this point, I cut it into pieces and put them in a bowl. I then reached for the fridge and took one harmless celery stalk, cut into small cubes and mixed them with the octopus. I seasoned it all with the olive oil and lemon dressing, sprinkled it with another pinch of black pepper and a little more parsley, tossed it one more time and that's that!

Baby Zucchini Salad

It was better when we were worse off.
(Chinese proverb, approx. XXI century)

One day the inevitable happens: your Internet connection goes down for no reason, the world around seems to be collapsing all at once, and the meaning of life is dramatically put to test. The electromagnetic wave on which your life has been riding brave and fearless, has all of a sudden crashed against some unexpected cyberrock. You keep repeating yourself there's nothing tragic, it's only a return to prehistoric times, and yet why are you feeling so bad?

The idea of a dark, cold, and mute future starts taking shape, a slow journey into the unknown without the constant sound of your distant radio, a world where friendship cannot be confirmed or rejected by pushing a button, and where there isn't any cat playing the piano or wandering around the house on top of a vacuum cleaner. You start wondering if life will ever be the same without those embarrassing encounters on chatroulette, without feeling obligated to update your status on a thousand different places, and without the comfort of the weekly emails from Sacks, Apple and Abercrombie, who call you by name and just like old friends seem to know everyone of your weaknesses. Suddenly you start panicking 'cause you don't remember how to buy a movie ticket, flip through the pages of a newspaper, and search for a phone number.

You take heart and decide that the best cure for this anxiety is going to the farmer's market, walking of course, and letting yourself being seduced by the seasonal zucchini. Pure and simple, as nature made them. Two tomatoes, a drizzle of olive oil and few parmigiano cheese shavings, and there you go, the world starts turning in the right direction again.

Spring Salad. Asparagus, Fava Beans and Sweet Peas

...it's a sunny day today
nothing can hurt me
[...] he bought a house
painted it with the colors of the rainbow
he saw on TV that even when it rains
somewhere else the sky is clear
it's a sunny day today
(L. Cherubini, Sunny Day)

There are certain things that make you feel good, no matter what. Small gestures, colors and thoughts that cherish your mind and make you smile. Waking up on a sunny day, buying daisy flowers, crossing a stranger's cheerful eyes. Ten minutes of happiness. Just like the beginning of the weekend, like singing under the shower or wetting your feet in the sea.
Just like eating strawberries or shelling peas. For few moments you forget about the uncertainties, the stress, the gas price increase, the bills to pay and the tooth ache. Life becomes as simple as a bike ride and you realize it's finally springtime.
It's a sunny day and nothing can hurt you.

Ehm...today I felt this way, what do you want me to say?


Asparagus, Fava Beans & Sweet Peas Salad
for 3

asparagus 500 gr.
fava beans, unshelled (otherwise, where's the fun?) 500 gr.
fresh sweet peas, to be shelled (see above) 500 gr.
salt, pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, white wine q.b.
wild arugula 2 handfuls

Wash asparagus and cut the ends. Dress them with a tablespoon olive oil, salt, pepper and a splash of white wine. Place them on a baking pan and bake at 400 for about 20-30 minutes, until tender, turning them once or twice. Let them cool down, cut them in pieces about 1 inch long, keeping the tips intact. Set them aside. Meanwhile shell the peas and cook them in little boiling water for 4-5 minutes. Drain and cool them under cold water.
Shell the fava beans as well, blanch them for two minutes and then cool them under cold water. Discard the inner skin and set them aside.
Wash arugula, mix it with asparagus, fava beans and peas. Dress it with salt, pepper, olive oil and a little balsamic vinegar. If you wish, you can add some shaved pecorino cheese.

Sunday tip: don't discard the empty pea shells, but use them to make vegetable broth. Simply put them in a large pot, cover with water, add half a onion, one carrot, half celery stalk, few peppercorns and a pinch of salt. Bring to boil and let it simmer for about 30 minutes. Better than this!!!

...it's a sunny day today
nothing can hurt me.

Spinach Strawberry Salad

Not all strawberries end up in jam. And that's all I have to say for today, I think.


Spinach Strawberry Salad
for 2

baby spinach 2-3 handfuls
strawberries 8-10
goat cheese to taste
slivered almonds (you can also use walnuts, or pine nuts) to taste
orange 1
honey 1 tablespoon
shallot 1/2
olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper to taste

Wash spinach and put them in a bowl. Wash strawberries and thinly slice them. Toast almonds (or walnuts) in the oven for about ten minutes, without letting them become too dark.
Mince shallot and mix it with orange juice, honey, olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper. Let it rest for about half hour.
Right before serving, dress spinach with the vinaigrette, mix well and then add strawberries, crumbled goat cheese and nuts.

Caesar Salad

And let's give Caesar what belongs to Caesar: a couple of anchovies, garlic, Parmigiano cheese, one egg, lemon, and olive oil. And Caesar from his blender pulls us out one of the most popular, most imitated, and - sadly - most misused salads throughout California, and beyond. For me it's been a true revelation, it won me over more or less as soon as I passed through immigration control, and to this day I think I'm one of its biggest fan. Possible? Oh yes:


(Courtesy of Caesar Salad Fan Club, registered office One Girl's Kitchen)

Caesar Salad is so California, but - hear ye! - the inventor is a guy named Cesare Cardini, who was born in Italy and then immigrated to the U.S. early last century. Cesare (now known as Caesar) opened a restaurant in San Diego and one in Tijuana, Mexico, and it is said that on the evening of July 4th, 1924, tragically finding himself with an empty pantry, he decided to improvise and offer his guests the famous Chef's Special. Old bread, eggs, oil, Parmigiano cheese and lemon. Who doesn't have these ingredients readily available in their kitchen? Caesar simply combined them as best as he could, and yet what came out of his hands was a real treat. I wonder why I can never think of something that brilliant.

For the record I must say that the original recipe, the one from July 4th, 1924, had no anchovies. I'd also like to add that when I found that out, the bottom almost fell out of my world. Based on the original version, the taste of anchovy should only come from the Worcestershire sauce (which contains anchovies in its ingredients), but obviously over the years some daring chef wanted to horn in on the Caesar Salad's race to success, and decided to add some real anchovy fillets to the dressing.
Thus today the Caesar Salad Fan Club is split in two: those who Anchovies? No thanks, and those who simply can't live without. I belong to the second group.
Dear Caesar, I apologize.


Caesar Salad

For the dressing
egg 1
lemon juice 3 tablespoons
oil packed anchovy fillets 1-2 (depending on their size)
garlic 2 cloves
extra virgin olive oil 1/4 cup
Worcestershire sauce 1/2 teaspoon plus few more drops, to taste
grated Parmigiano cheese 3 tablespoons
salt, pepper to taste

For the croutons
day old country bread one large piece
olive oil, garlic

For the salad
hearts of romaine 3-4
Parmigiano cheese flakes, freshly ground black pepper

First, prepare the croutons. Cut the bread in more or less regular cubes, arrange them on a baking tray and toast them in the oven at 350 for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally until they're slightly browned on all sides. Allow them to cool down. Crash one garlic clove and work it with a pinch of salt and a little olive oil until you have a smooth paste. Heat it up in a pan with another tablespoon of olive oil, add croutons and let them season on all sides. Alternatively, you can also toss the croutons with garlic, olive oil and salt before toasting them in the oven and skip the second step of the pan. But since croutons may be kept for long time in a tin box, I'd rather have a stock of unseasoned ones, in order to use them in different ways.

For the dressing, cook the egg for one minute in boiling water and cool it immediately under cold water. Break it in a mixer bowl, add the anchovies, garlic, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, Parmigiano cheese, olive oil, salt and pepper. Blend until the dressing becomes creamy and smooth. Taste it and adjust the seasoning accordingly (easier said than done, I have to tell the truth. Although it's very simple to make, the problem of Caesar Salad dressing is finding the right balance between the ingredients; it must not taste too much of anchovy nor too much of lemon; the egg and the cheese are used to give creaminess, and the olive oil should not predominate over everything else. It's a very vague description, I admit... but, come on, at least I tried!).

To compose the salad according to Caesar's dictates, you should use only the crispy hearts of romaine lettuce, discarding the outer leaves and all the darker parts (but don't throw them away; maybe just use them for a less fundamentalist version of the Caesar Salad). Another rule would be to present the leaves whole on the plate, although to this day I know only two places where they do so, here and here (not by chance they compete for the title of Best Caesar Salad in San Francisco). It is also said that at Caesar's one would eat the salad with their hands, leaf by leaf. Yum .... I like that! In any case, whole or chopped, just toss the lettuce with the dressing, add some croutons, and sprinkle it with Parmigiano flakes and freshly ground black pepper.
If you want to join the Fan Club, give a whistle.



"This isn't the real Caesar Palace, is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did...ehm...did Caesar live here?"
"Ehm...no!"
"I didn't think so!"
(Z. Galifianakis, talking about the famous casino in Vegas, The Hangover, 2009)

P.S: The quote has little to do with the post (just like the anchovies with the Caesar Salad), but the joke made me laugh so hard I had to take this opportunity to remind you of it :)

Chicken Salad With Walnuts And Dried Apricots

Boiled meat and me have never gotten along too well. Last night, for some strange reason, I decided to make a batch of chicken stock. If you think about it, one can't stay without chicken sock, right?
I've been able to verify that one of the side effects of the aforementioned chicken stock is that all of a sudden you find yourself with an unmanageable amount of boiled chicken... : 0
And why nobody told me??? I've never liked boiled meat. UAHHHHHH! Panic.
The prospects of living from now to eternity eating bland, boiled chicken-based dinners start taking shape. Did you really have to put a whole chicken in your bag? Wouldn't have been better to go see a movie instead? Calm down, calm down, the Girl In The Kitchen inside me says everything is under control, there is a remedy for all things, even for boiled chicken. I trust her. After all, we've known each other for a long time, and even if at times she makes me act a little bit insanely, this Girl is a nice gal.
I decide to follow her advice and then, twenty-four hours later, I make peace with boiled chicken. Here's how.


Chicken Salad
with Walnuts & Dried Apricots

boiled chicken
Chioggia radicchio 1 head
walnuts
dried apricots
slivered parmigiano cheese (or crumbled goat cheese)
olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper

To make boiled chicken, just rely upon your stockinlish imagination (I've thrown the bird in a pot with one onion, one tomato, two carrots, two celery stalks, black peppercorns, few cloves, salt, parsley and rosemary, and I've let it simmer for about one hour, skimming when necessary).
When it's ready, remove chicken from the pot and cut it in small pieces. Add some chopped dried apricots (or some raisins, previously soaked in water and drained), dress with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper, cover and refrigerate overnight.
Shred a head of radicchio, add chicken and dried fruit, a handful of walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped, adjust the seasoning and sprinkle with slivered parmigiano cheese or crumbled goat cheese.

Tassajara Warm Red Cabbage Salad

Tassajara is a Buddhist monastery two hours away from San Francisco, located in a valley in Central California, off the coast of Big Sur. Aside from being a well-known zen training center, Tassajara is also famous for its mountains, the hot springs and its vegetarian cuisine.
The following recipe is taken and adapted from The Complete Tassajara Cookbook, more or less a new entry on my book shelves.
It may be a deceptive effect, but I promise you that one feels less guilty when buying a zen cooking book. And even when licking the pan at the end of the meal.

Tassajara Warm Red Cabbage Salad
for 3 people

sunflower seeds 1.2 oz or 1/4 cup
sugar 1/2 teaspoon
red onion 1/2
garlic 2 cloves
red cabbage 3/4 pound
raisins 1 oz.
feta or goat cheese, crumbled 4 oz, or to taste
salt, olive oil, rosemary, balsamic vinegar to taste

Roast the sunflower seeds in a non-stick pan for few minutes, until they're golden brown. Sprinkle with sugar and a pinch of salt, stir briefly until sugar is dissolved, then remove from heat. Get the seeds out of the pan and set aside (at the beginning, they're all stuck to each other, but as soon as they cool down, it'll be very easy to break them apart with your fingers). Soak the raisins in a little bit of warm water.
In a large skillet, heat a tablespoon of olive oil, sauté the garlic and the chopped onion until this becomes translucent, adding some water if necessary so that it won't stick to the bottom of the pan. Add the cabbage, cut into thin shreds, stir and cook for few minutes. Add some fresh rosemary, minced, drained raisins, two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar and adjust the seasoning. Cover the pan and keep cooking for 3 or 4 minutes, until the cabbage is softer. Add the sunflower seeds and the crumbled cheese, stir and serve.
If you'd like, you can also add some shredded Parmigiano cheese and fresh parsley. Instead of raisins, you can also use another kind of dried fruit, such as pears, apricots or peaches, soaked in warm water and coarsely chopped.

Beet Salad with Parmigiano and Ginger

With 26.2 miles in my legs and the fifth marathon in my pocket, we slowly go back to the old habits.

Beside the medal, new aches and an undefined number of books that I purchased with no shame, this year I bring back again the memory of the notes of New York, New York that mark the start of the run on this side of the Verrazzano Bridge, of the sound of thousands of steps on Queensboro Bridge, of the screaming crowd that welcomes you warmer than ever at the entrance in Manhattan, of that 1st Avenue, slightly uphill, so long and exhausting, that you'd think it'll never end, of the excitement of entering Central Park feeling like you were the main hero, of the last 400 meters when you run through all your energies, and of the congratulations of people while you walk home in the late afternoon, wearing the unique medal around the neck.

To feel the excitement again and to be still under the illusion of living in Manhattan, I made myself this salad, tasted and tasted again in a very cool place in the Lower East Side. A pinch of ginger and the harmless addition of a little onion give a special touch that create the atmosphere of a calm New York night.


Beet Salad
with Parmigiano and Ginger
for two people

arugula and mix greens
beet, possibly of two colors(red and golden) 2
shaved parmigiano cheese
small red onion 1/2
freshly grated ginger to taste
salt, pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar to taste

Clean the beets by cutting the leaves and pairing the edges. Put them in a small baking pan, cover with water half way through and bake at 400 for about 45 minutes or until they are tender. While they are baking, turn them around every once in a while and add more water if needed. Let them cool off, then peel and cut them in small cubes. You can also boil them in water instead, but if roasted, the flavor is more intense.
Peel the onion and mince it finely. Add it to the greens and mix well. Prepare a vinaigrette by mixing olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and freshly grated ginger, and dress the salad greens with it. Cover with beet cubes and shaved parmigiano cheese. Sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper.