What Wo(men) Want: Panzanella
I am moving out of Brooklyn Heights this week, heading west toward the Slope. Now this isn't that big of a move physically (2 miles), but it's something rather significant emotionally. I'm not moving in with a boyfriend, getting a job transfer, upgrading or downgrading. In fact, I've never made more of a lateral move; I simply prefer the neighborhood. I like the shops, the restaurants and the Park.
But I will miss one part of Brooklyn Heights more than any other, and that is my friend Melon.
Melon helped me move in 3 years ago, sweating with a violence I had never before seen. He was a new friend, someone who already lived in the neighb and was going to show me subway routes, dry cleaners, and cheap food options. He was charged with the task of helping me learn to love Brooklyn more than my fair Manhattan, from which I had long been priced out.
When NY lost it's lights, it was Melon's house to which I ran. When I was out on a particularly good date, it was Melon who had keys to my apartment and walked Special K. When I was working on a cookbook, Melon who would come, tupperware in hand, to help find homeless food a bottomless pit. In Manhattan, we had friends, not neighbors; Melon showed me how to be both.
When I first moved in, Melon could be counted on to call 2 to 3 times per week, around 6:30 as he was walking home from the subway with a, "What are we cooking tonight?" I always enjoyed his company, and I think he wins the frequency award for dining at my table.
And then Melon started dating the fair Princess Prosciutto. A friend once told me that the sign of a good partner was this: when you introduc the possibility to friends, don't ask their opinion. If they come gushing with enthusiasm on their own, you're set. If you have to ask, don't bother.
I remember meeting Princess P., getting home and being unable to sleep because I couldn't wait to call Melon the next morning and tell him how wonderful she was. I hadn't come to know her yet, but I liked the way she looked at him.
I helped them move in to their apartment, and have double dated at their house (them, me, my pup) to catch Sopranos, Apprentice, and Top Model (deny it no longer, Melon).
After they moved in, the 6:30 calls ceased; dinner became slightly more formal. Melon would shave and don a crisp shirt, Princess P. would bring a thoughtful dessert. He used to sort of roll in, eat, then TV-doze on my couch; now it was more of an event.
I gave them a set of Le Creuset for their wedding. I haven't cooked for Melon in eons, and happily so. Princess P. does sausage and peppers like nobody's business.
And as I've been learning in my Home Made Simple travels, it isn't how well you cook (though let me be clear, Princess P. can more than hold her own), what you cook, or how much you cook. When you cook with love, simply, enjoy it, and are crazy about the man you're cooking for, everybody's happy. Because it's fun to take care, and it's fun to be taken care of.
Here's a simple recipe for Panzanella (Italian Bread Salad). It's rich with basil and tomatoes, delicious olive oil, and day-old bread. It's the kind of thing I plan to make a lot in the Slope, as I'm planting my own garden, and look forward to inviting plenty of new neighbors to the table. Though there will always be room for Melon, and Princess P.
Panzanella (Tomato Bread Salad)
By Allison Fishman, The Wooden Spoon
1/2 loaf peasant bread (get a big, round, romantic boule), cut into croutons (1-inch cubes)
4 to 5 pounds best-quality tomatoes, any kind (though recently I've been playing with incredible baby tomatoes, which I highly recommend to those without a budget), cut into wedges.
1 small bunch basil, torn
1/2 cup olive oil
1/6 cup red wine vinegar
1 clove garlic, smashed
Plenty of salt, fresh ground black pepper
1. Heat oven to 300F. Place croutons on a baking sheet and cook until firm (about 15 minutes). Or simply cut and leave croutons on the counter for a day.
2. Smash a clove of garlic and remove the skin. Rub the inside of the bowl (in which you plan to serve the salad) with garlic. Add olive oil and vinegar; let sit with garlic clove.
3. Put croutons, tomato wedges and basil in the bowl. Toss well (with your hands!), and season with salt and pepper. Remove garlic just before serving.
But I will miss one part of Brooklyn Heights more than any other, and that is my friend Melon.
Melon helped me move in 3 years ago, sweating with a violence I had never before seen. He was a new friend, someone who already lived in the neighb and was going to show me subway routes, dry cleaners, and cheap food options. He was charged with the task of helping me learn to love Brooklyn more than my fair Manhattan, from which I had long been priced out.
When NY lost it's lights, it was Melon's house to which I ran. When I was out on a particularly good date, it was Melon who had keys to my apartment and walked Special K. When I was working on a cookbook, Melon who would come, tupperware in hand, to help find homeless food a bottomless pit. In Manhattan, we had friends, not neighbors; Melon showed me how to be both.
When I first moved in, Melon could be counted on to call 2 to 3 times per week, around 6:30 as he was walking home from the subway with a, "What are we cooking tonight?" I always enjoyed his company, and I think he wins the frequency award for dining at my table.
And then Melon started dating the fair Princess Prosciutto. A friend once told me that the sign of a good partner was this: when you introduc the possibility to friends, don't ask their opinion. If they come gushing with enthusiasm on their own, you're set. If you have to ask, don't bother.
I remember meeting Princess P., getting home and being unable to sleep because I couldn't wait to call Melon the next morning and tell him how wonderful she was. I hadn't come to know her yet, but I liked the way she looked at him.
I helped them move in to their apartment, and have double dated at their house (them, me, my pup) to catch Sopranos, Apprentice, and Top Model (deny it no longer, Melon).
After they moved in, the 6:30 calls ceased; dinner became slightly more formal. Melon would shave and don a crisp shirt, Princess P. would bring a thoughtful dessert. He used to sort of roll in, eat, then TV-doze on my couch; now it was more of an event.
I gave them a set of Le Creuset for their wedding. I haven't cooked for Melon in eons, and happily so. Princess P. does sausage and peppers like nobody's business.
And as I've been learning in my Home Made Simple travels, it isn't how well you cook (though let me be clear, Princess P. can more than hold her own), what you cook, or how much you cook. When you cook with love, simply, enjoy it, and are crazy about the man you're cooking for, everybody's happy. Because it's fun to take care, and it's fun to be taken care of.
Here's a simple recipe for Panzanella (Italian Bread Salad). It's rich with basil and tomatoes, delicious olive oil, and day-old bread. It's the kind of thing I plan to make a lot in the Slope, as I'm planting my own garden, and look forward to inviting plenty of new neighbors to the table. Though there will always be room for Melon, and Princess P.
Panzanella (Tomato Bread Salad)
By Allison Fishman, The Wooden Spoon
1/2 loaf peasant bread (get a big, round, romantic boule), cut into croutons (1-inch cubes)
4 to 5 pounds best-quality tomatoes, any kind (though recently I've been playing with incredible baby tomatoes, which I highly recommend to those without a budget), cut into wedges.
1 small bunch basil, torn
1/2 cup olive oil
1/6 cup red wine vinegar
1 clove garlic, smashed
Plenty of salt, fresh ground black pepper
1. Heat oven to 300F. Place croutons on a baking sheet and cook until firm (about 15 minutes). Or simply cut and leave croutons on the counter for a day.
2. Smash a clove of garlic and remove the skin. Rub the inside of the bowl (in which you plan to serve the salad) with garlic. Add olive oil and vinegar; let sit with garlic clove.
3. Put croutons, tomato wedges and basil in the bowl. Toss well (with your hands!), and season with salt and pepper. Remove garlic just before serving.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 11:42 PM
2 Comments:
Brooklyn Heights will miss you!
Soaking as Mom, I was always confortable knowing that Melon was nearby just in case. When I met his "Princess P" this fall, I liked her just as well. I'm sure you'll keep in touch following your 2 mile move.
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