Eternal Summer

Inspiration isn’t a commodity that can be bought and sold, nor is it a punctual visitor dutifully keeping an appointment on the calendar. Untamed, fickle thing that it is, it may show up late, early, or not at all, and there’s no way of knowing which. I can never begrudge it, frustrating as the dance may be, because eventually, albeit sometimes painstakingly, it does always grace me with its presence. I’m not sure if that completely explains why I was dispatching a whole summer’s harvest of fresh produce in the dead of winter, but I can be equally unpredictable, too.

This recipe has been a long time coming. Suggesting that others defy seasonality as carelessly as I did would seem irresponsible. I was simply following my muse, you see, and in a dearth of color and warmth, all it wanted was to paint the kitchen in the vibrant, sun-soaked hues of July. Just picturing the juicy tomatoes hanging heavily on their vines began to thaw my imagination.

All it took was one extra eggplant, leftover from another project, to light the creative spark. Channeling my future self, I made a one-pan meal I knew would be just the ticket in a few months. Simple, fresh, bright, and balanced, it’s exactly the sort of thing I would make with peak summer produce. Aside from slicing and dicing, the oven does all the work. 

The cherry tomatoes collapse and burst into a rich, sweet jam that acts as a built-in sauce. The eggplant softens into a downright velvety texture, soaking up the olive oil and garlic like a sponge, while the fennel mellows into something deeply caramelized and sweet. Once pulled from the heat, the warm, jammy vegetables are tossed directly on the sheet pan with plump butter beans for substance, briny olives for a sharp pop of contrast, and a generous handful of fresh basil to wake everything up.

There’s no shame in eating it right off the sheet, provided you have a trusted trivet underneath. I found it even more gratifying, however, to spoon it over a big bowlful of soft polenta, letting the corn grits soak in all the juices. Of course, that may owe a lot to the urge for comfort and warming dishes when I made it, which is why I’m very happy to report that it’s just as compelling when tossed with pasta, hot or cold. In fact, you can chill the whole thing and take it outside for a picnic; something I could only dream of in that moment.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that you should never expect inspiration to simply land on your doorstep. If it does, though, you should always answer the door, no matter the time or season.

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Bide Your Thyme

Time is the greatest commodity, far more valuable than any currency. Always in short supply, even when it seems to stretch on forever, we end up realizing it’s never enough. Thyme, however… I may have found the limit.

Thyme’s Up

Thyme grows like a weed in the right conditions, which are apparently perfectly aligned with a neglected little corner of my yard. I don’t remember planting it, and certainly not tending to it, and still it proliferates with a vaguely threatening tenacity. It throws its leaves back and laughs at the coddled tomato vines that wither right alongside their thriving stems. Any bounty is worth celebrating, but like the equally vivacious sage that would take over the whole garden, and possibly move right into my house if I left the door open too long, it’s challenging to use up massive quantities of such a potent herb.

Perfect Thyme-ing

Most recipes call for a few sprigs of thyme at most, later instructing the obedient cook to remove them before serving, like spent bay leaves that have overstayed their welcome. Scrolling through my mental Rolodex of the most thyme-laden dishes possible, I came up with only one possible solution: za’atar. Dried herbs and spices typically make up this Middle Eastern seasoning blend, used to brighten everything from hummus to flatbread, but why can’t we take a fresher approach?

It’s About Thyme

Za’atar pesto is the ideal solution to a profusion of fresh thyme. Softened by the addition of spinach, it’s every bit as bright, zingy, earthy, and herbaceous without punching you in the face with every bite. You can double or triple the recipe for an especially exuberant garden and freeze it to keep all winter, and beyond. That may not be necessary, though, when you can use it like traditional basil pesto in or on top of:

  • Pizza and focaccia
  • Pasta and gnocchi
  • Toast
  • Salad dressing
  • Roasted vegetables
  • Bean dip
  • Sandwiches and wraps
  • Grilled plant proteins
  • Tofu scramble
  • Just about everything edible, short of dessert

Thyme-ly Reminder

Never take time, nor thyme, for granted. Both are precious, when you know what to do with them.

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Garden Variety Tartare

I love a beet tartare, for the obvious pun of course, and because I have a certain penchant for beets in all forms. The closest a beet can come to emulating beef, however, is that one letter difference in name. For that, we need to call in the tomatoes.

Tartare’d Up

Tomato tartare is a perennial favorite for highlighting peak summer produce in its own rights. Juicy heirlooms bursting from their skins, meaty and umami, have never been shy about stealing the show. Taken a step further, they’ve been used to create remarkably successful facsimiles for tuna, often infused with sake, miso, and nori, transformed into convincingly oceanic sashimi and sushi. Even I started getting sidetracked by luminous tuna towers with layers of buttery avocado, but there’s something different I was after. What I haven’t seen, amidst all that tomato ephemera, is a tartare where they’re treated like proper raw beef.

Yes, We Can

Turn up your nose at canned tomatoes if you’d like, but they’re exactly the shortcut we need here. Quality counts, especially with so few ingredients, so don’t skimp on the bargain brand and expect a gourmet experience. Proper peeled, whole San Marzano tomatoes are ripe with natural savory flavor, never mealy, and downright buttery on the tongue. Slowly roasting them further concentrates their flavor and removes any watery excess that might shatter the illusion. Then, it’s as simple as folding in the traditional accoutrements of shallots, capers, and Dijon mustard, though a dab of sharp horseradish would be most welcome, too.

Raise a Toast to Tomatoes

Make it fancy by using a ring mold, or cookie or biscuit cutter, to make a perfect round on the plate, or pile it just as elegantly into a dish. What really seals the deal, though it’s entirely aesthetic, is the peeled yellow cherry tomato, looking for all the world like a gleaming egg yolk sitting delicately on top. Who thought tartare could be totally made from tomatoes, while still carrying the same beefy swagger, rich decadence, and undeniable air of a special occasion? You will, the moment you dip in your toast.

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Playing Favarites

Why would a dip called “fava” not be made from fava beans? Language is a funny thing, especially when trying to transpose a different one with your own. Quite simply, the Greek word fava refers to what we know as yellow split peas in English. If you wanted the broad, flat legumes instead, those would be koukia; another beloved staple across the Greek islands.

Peas and Thank You

After my initial confusion, the attraction was immediate. Yellow split peas have long been a favorite for cozy soups and stews, and I’m certainly no stranger to creamy bean dips the world over. Continuing life without a suitable recipe under my belt was unthinkable.

Certified Inauthentic

Don’t call the authenticity police on me. I’m well aware that this is far from a “legitimate” fava dip, as the genuine legumes are highly regulated to maintain their distinctive terroir. As a Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) food, only yellow split peas that are grow in Santorini can legally be labeled as such. I’ve heard tales that Santorini fava are sweeter and have a smoother texture than other split peas thanks to the mineral-rich volcanic soil of the island, though I’m not fortunate enough to personally confirm nor deny such a statement. I can promise you, however, than regular old, unprestigious split peas make a damn fine dip. You could really rock the boat and use green split peas, too. Just don’t blame me if officials find out and you’re banned from entering Greece at a later date.

Split Decision

Maybe the golden color is playing tricks on my mind, but I swear each velvety dollop, dip, and spoonful has an almost buttery finish. Topping with capers and diced red onion is essential to create the perfect bite, lending a briny, salt, and sharp highlight to what might otherwise fall a little flat. Wrapped in soft, warm pita bread or scooped up with crisp veggies, even this large batch will go fast. It could definitely give the average hummus a run for its money.

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Goji À Go-Go

Goji berries bear a heavy burden. Always a “superfood” first, their natural charm beyond the realm of health and wellness is all too often overlooked. Antioxidants, vitamins, and minerals are the headlining features, as if the tiny red berries were merely pills found growing in shrubs. Set all that hype aside and they become far more interesting.

Without the nutritional resume leading the conversation, goji berries become a worthy staple for any recipe where you would reach for dried fruit. Gently sweet with a faint herbal edge and punchy, tart finish, cranberries would be the closest comparison, though that gap is considerable. Chewy and dense, a bit of baking helps reveal their softer side.

Folded into biscotti, they create small pockets of toothsome tartness that punctuate the crunchy cookie at random. That element of surprise is part of the appeal; for such a restrained, understated treat, anything to shake up the status quo is a welcome change of pace. Threads of fresh orange zest weave through the dough, playing off those tangy nightshades in a higher, harmonious pitch. Finally, each biscotto is dipped lightly, just enough to barely coat the bottom with a thin, crisp shell of dark chocolate. It doesn’t carry far enough to overwhelm, only introducing a hint of contrasting richness.

Goji berries, freed from their usual medicinal trappings, fit easily into a sweeter framing. Doing the steady work that good dried fruit is meant to do, cutting through sugar with a measured tartness, and lending texture where it counts, they’re remarkably unremarkable, given all the buzz they generate. In a cookie that’s equally humble and structurally straightforward, those small contrasts matter. That’s more than enough to justify keeping them in regular rotation.

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Bespoke Beoseot

Believe it or not, it’s almost impossible to overcook mushrooms. Aside from burning them, because anything is flammable if you try hard enough, hours-long braises won’t make fungi tough nor mushy. Their unique structural properties are unlike either vegetables or protein. While meat toughens and vegetables disintegrate, mushrooms contain chitin, a heat-stable polymer in their cell walls that maintains their toothsome, bouncy bite, no matter how long they’re in the hot seat.

Such resiliency makes them ideal candidates for heavy-duty braises the world over. Korean cuisine especially has perfected this technique, designed to coax deep, robust flavors into every fiber of any given ingredient.

The Art of the Jjim

Jjim are dishes simmered in a potent sauce until the liquid reduces into a glossy, concentrated glaze. Usually, this method is reserved for the tough cuts of short ribs or bone-in poultry which demand exceptional time and patience to tenderize.

However, the uncanny ability of mushrooms to withstand heat while acting as a literal flavor sponges opens the door to innovation. You get all the depth of a slow-simmered stew without having to babysit a pot for hours, only to have your dinner turn into savory dental floss.

Inspired by jjimdak, or dak jjim, depending on who you ask, we’re keeping the braise (jjim) and losing the chicken (dak) in favor of mushrooms (beoseot).

Braise without the Baggage

Beyond the fact that it’s a one-pot, “set it and forget it” dream, Beoseot Jjim has become a fast favorite because it solves the fundamental problem of the braise. Usually, a braise is a trade-off: to achieve a rich, layered, and nuanced sauce, you have to sacrifice the integrity of the ingredients. Using mushrooms means making no compromises.

  • Umami Synergy: Simmering mushrooms in a soy-based glaze sets the stage for a high-level meeting of savory molecules. The glutamates in the fungi shake hands with the fermented soybeans, creating a flavor that tastes unbelievably meaty despite its plant-based origins.
  • Chickened Out: Shredded oyster mushrooms, torn into long, irregular strips, mimic the fibrous grain of pulled chicken so effectively you might find yourself checking for bones.
  • Send Noodz: Although it’s not technically considered a conventional noodle dish, it wouldn’t be a jjim without dangmyeon (sweet potato starch noodles). These translucent threads are a remarkably efficient delivery system, soaking up the spicy, syrupy reduction, not a drop left behind.

Fungi are the Future

Perfectly exemplifying the iconic Korean sweet-salty-spicy trifecta, every bite punches above its weight. You get a dark, glossy glaze that clings to every shred of mushroom, punctuated by the sharp, clean heat of chilies. Without animal fat clouding the palate, the aromatics of ginger and garlic hit even harder.

It’s the kind of meal that feels indulgent and hearty, but since you’re eating a mountain of fungi instead of gristle and grease, you won’t leave the table immediately needing a nap. Get all the soul of the original dish, with none of the high-maintenance drama. In the face of fungi, chicken never stood a chance.

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