Sorry I’m late. My discipline went on vacation, then missed its train, then slept through the alarm, then called in sick. Can you believe it? Yeah, me neither. All that aside, I missed sharing recipes with you, kind readers. What better outlet for my glaring food-talk issue than this little blog? Where else can I recall last night’s dinner in excruciating detail without clearing the room? My friends, family, neighbors, and colleagues have suffered enough. So I’m back. Thanks for sticking with me.

I’ve got a recipe for you. I’m weary of wintery braises and stews. I want something fresh and bright to remind me of warmer days. This recipe deserves a drum roll, or maybe a symphonic theme song, heavy on the strings. It’s a favorite around here. Let me list some reasons that you should run right out and buy some tuna post-haste.

Reason #1: Jewel-like beauty. The deep pink tuna and serene green avocado recall a half-open peony, batting its riotous eyelashes with the promise of Spring.  

Reason #2:  Texture. Ooh, la la. Each bite offers a nuanced nudge to the tongue. It’s melting, soft, and smooth. Tuna and avocado are already plenty sultry on thier own. Put them together, and they’re practically too luscious for primetime.  Add some zing, crunch and kick (lime, shallots, and wasabi), and you’ve got a one-dish meal that satisfies every sense.  Which brings me to

Reason #3: Flavor. This is a dish where tastes unfurl in rich and subtle layers, each more satisfying than the last. The interplay is everything.  And last, but certainly not least

Reason #4: It’s quick.  What more can you ask for? Fifteen minutes, folks. Fifteen minutes to a bowl of blushing fulfillment. Can you beat that?

This recipe is adapted from Ina Garten’s. I have four of Ina’s books, and I am here to tell you they are worth every penny of their hefty hardcover prices. You should all go out and buy one. You won’t be sorry. There. That’s my public service announcement. (And no, I don’t work for her publisher. I’ve never met her, despite the fact that I consider us on a first-name basis. I’ve never even seen her TV show, which is weird, right?)

TUNA & AVOCADO SALAD WITH WASABI-LIME DRESSING

2 pounds fresh tuna steaks, about an inch thick
4 tablespoons olive oil, plus extra for brushing
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
zest of two limes, chopped fine
1 teaspoon wasabi powder
6 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
2 teaspoons soy sauce
10 dashes Tabasco
2 large ripe avocados, large diced
1 shallot, sliced thinly
2 sliced green onions
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds

Brush room-temperature tuna steaks with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill (or sear in a hot sauté pan) for one and a half minutes on each side. Allow steaks to cool for a few minutes before chopping.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, combine the olive oil, salt, pepper, lime zest, wasabi powder, lime juice, soy sauce and Tabasco.

Cut the tuna into chunks and place them in a large bowl. Add the shallots and dressing and mix gently. Add the avocado and mix gently again. Sprinkle each serving with green onion and sesame seeds.

Tis the season for Dungeness crab in these parts. I got caught up in the excitment and bought four crabs on sale. My idea was to toss them on the table for our guests that night, and let the adults have at them with an assortment of pliers and nutcrackers and such. I’d provide melted butter and lemon juice. Easy, right? I thought it sounded novel and fun. My husband thought it sounded tedious and messy. He felt so strongly that he volunteered to pick the meat.  I jumped in for the novelty and fun…

Turns out it takes a long time to pick the meat out of four recalcitrant crabs. We didn’t have the right tools, or the right attitude. But after a spate of cracking and cussing and stabbing and picking, we ended up with a spectacular mountain of crab. (For the record, two crabs are more than enough for this recipe. You can also buy already-picked crab meat, if you promise not to complain about the cost. Picking crab is hard work.) Once I finished admiring our handiwork, I realized I had to come up with something crabbish to serve our friends, who were arriving imminently.

I’ve never even heard of crab risotto. But once I got the idea in my head, I couldn’t let it go. I pondered adding all sorts of other ingredients, but I ended up discarding most of them in the interest of simplicity. I didn’t want to get in the crab’s face with too much stuff. Crab has a subtle flavor that wants a delicate touch.

Never before have I made risotto without parmesan, but crab and parmesan don’t jibe to my way of thinking.  So I relied on butter for richness, because crab and butter are pretty much soul mates.  Lemon got an invitation to the rather exclusive party, too, because lemon is just that cool. Other than that, it was a mighty basic risotto, mostly just designed to build a suitable stage for the crab. Which it did beautifully, if I do say so.

My friend Sarah called in the midst of my “What exactly would a crab risotto look like?” moment. She suggested putting big bites of crab right on top of each serving. This made for a lovely presentation and a sumptuous first bite. She also had the bright idea to boil the shells for the risotto stock. But alas, I had already tossed them in a fit of pique. Next time I’ll do that. This time I used half chicken stock and half water and a few extra glugs of white wine. You could try fish stock or clam juice. Just taste as you go and don’t be afraid. You can switch to water if the flavor of your liquid is getting too strong. Risotto is very forgiving.

CRAB RISOTTO
serves four

3 tablespoons olive oil
2 shallots, chopped fine (about 1/2 cup)
1 cup Arborio rice
1 cup white wine
4 cups  of stock made from boiling the crab shells (or substitute 2 cups of chicken stock and 2 cups of water…see last paragraph above)
3 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon lemon zest
¼ cup lemon juice
salt and pepper to taste
2 cups crab meat at room temperature, divided (one cup of the bigger bits, one cup of the smaller shreds)
¼ cup chopped parsley
¼ chopped green onion
4 lemon wedges

Heat olive oil over medium-high heat in a large pan.

Add rice and stir to coat it with oil. Saute rice for about two minutes.

Add shallots and sauté until soft, about three more minutes.

Add white wine and reduce heat to medium. Cook at a gentle simmer, stirring frequently, until the wine is almost completely absorbed.

Add stock a half-cup at a time. With each addition, stir occasionally until the liquid is almost absorbed. Then add another half cup. (You may not need the whole four cups. Taste the rice as you go. You want the grains to remain separate from one another and not get gloppy. Cook it just long enough that the rice no longer crunches when you bite it.) This process will take about 25 or 30 minutes.

Add the butter, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Stir until they are incorporated.

Remove the pan from the heat. Add the cup of small crab bits and stir gently. Taste for seasoning and add more salt, pepper, or lemon as needed.

Divide the risotto between four plates. Put a quarter cup of big crab bits atop each serving.

Sprinkle parsley and green onion on top, and serve with a lemon wedge.

If you try one recipe from this blog, let it be this Provencal Seafood Stew. It’s a wonder of elegant simplicity. The deep fragrance and perfectly balanced flavors deliver the goods with every mouthful. So frenchy and fabulous is this stew that one bite magically transports me to a sidewalk table at a French bistro, where my understated outfit is offset by the perfect scarf, earrings, and heels. (I have a rich fantasy life. I’ve never had a talent for accessorizing. How do Parisian women do it?)

Not only is this soup drop-dead delicious, it’s also a blue-ribbon work-night recipe. By this I mean your soup is done fifteen minutes from the time you start chopping the onion. I do not exaggerate. The stew is sort of a simple riff on bouillabaisse. (Bouillabaisse purists can just relax. I’m not saying it IS bouillabaisse, I’m just saying it borrows some of the complicated flavors to truly excellent effect.)

The only remotely fussy thing about this recipe is that it calls for two things you may not have on hand. Since I discovered this recipe many years ago, I am never without them. They keep. One is saffron. (It’s cheap at Trader Joe’s.) The other is Pernod, which is an anise-flavored liqueur.

Pernod is the key ingredient that elevates this soup into something really special. If you buy Pernod and don’t like this soup, I will personally refund your money. I’m kidding. But I am truly confident that you won’t regret your purchase, even if you’re not a fan of anise, and even if it seems excessive to buy a whole bottle of booze when the recipe calls for two tablespoons. This is one of those times in life when you must make a leap of faith. Trust me. Your taste buds will thank you. Your loved ones will thank you. Your neighbor who gets a whiff of the soup out the kitchen window will thank you.

I think this stew is best served with a baguette, a flowery French white wine, and a soft, smelly French cheese. And maybe a suave French waiter, if you’ve got one of those handy. You can substitute any kind of fish and shellfish you like. Mussels are a nice addition.

PROVENCAL SEAFOOD STEW – serves four
adapted from a recipe in Cuisine Rapide by Pierre Franey

3 tablespoons olive oil
½ cup finely chopped onion
½ cup finely chopped celery
2 teaspoons minced garlic
½ teaspoon saffron threads, crumbled
1 cup dry white wine
3 cups canned diced tomatoes, with their juice
½ teaspoon dried thyme
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 bay leaf
¾ pound snapper or other fish filet, cut into one-inch cubes
½ pound sea scallops, quartered or bay scallops, whole
2 tablespoons Pernod (or Ricard)
¼ cup chopped parsley
salt and pepper to taste

Heat olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion, celery, garlic and saffron and sauté for about three minutes.

Add wine, tomatoes, thyme, pepper flakes, and bay leaf. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a gentle simmer and cook for five minutes.

Add seafood. Cover and cook for five minutes.

Add Pernod and parsley. Add salt and pepper to taste.

We shrugged off late-summer produce on Saturday.  Crazy.  I know.  Summer is nearly over. But it was pouring rain, and it didn’t feel much like summer. There were no tomatoes in our dinner. Not even one. No zucchini, pepper, or eggplant. A few months from now, I’ll wonder what I was thinking. But that day I just wondered: How can I indulge my craving for salty and sweet together?

For reasons I can’t explain, I landed on peas, harbinger of spring. And cured pork, harbinger of overeating. And scallops, harbinger of….I don’t know what. Omega fatty acids? Global warming? Scallops are billed as the main attraction here, but they were really just a vehicle for the peas and pork I couldn’t live without.

Scallops. Peas. Prosciutto. You could make this in any season (if your peas and scallops come to you frozen, as mine did). It requires little time and no finesse. Unless you’re also trying to cook a hot-dog (sigh) for your child, and feed your dog so she’ll stop staring at you, and answer the phone, and engage in the sundry mundane tasks which always seem to crop up at two-minute intervals during the dinner hour.

 I burned TWO pans of pinenuts. I also dropped a hot scallop on my bare foot. Nice trick. Oh, and dinner got stone cold in the time I spent trying to take a picture of it. (I got a new tripod. There are many adjustments.) By the time we ate I was sweating, and cursing, and stabbing my scallops vindictively with a fork. Bet you’re sorry you missed it.

Regardless, it was a nice presentation, if I do say so.  The minted peas pranced and cheered sporting their zany green, while the scallops presided, subtle and dignified in classic white and brown.  The confetti of prosciutto and pinenuts lent just-right toasty and smoky notes. Not bad, all in all. I don’t expect you to forego the September tomato and zucchini bounty in favor of this. I recommend you set the recipe aside for a rainy day. They’ll be here soon enough. And if, say, you’re eating with a crazy fork-wielding maniac who bumbles and futzes furiously with her tripod in order to photograph your dinner: it reheats pretty well in the microwave.

SCALLOPS ON MINTED PEA PUREE WITH PROSCUITTO

4 cups peas, fresh, or frozen and thawed
8 large mint leaves
4 tablespoons butter, melted
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½  cup pine nuts
4 slices prosciutto (I used speck, which is smoked and delicious. You could also use pancetta. Yum.)
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 ½  pounds sea scallops, rinsed and patted dry, sprinkled with salt and pepper
salt and pepper
lemon wedges

Puree peas, mint, melted butter, and salt in food processor.

Spread pea puree on four plates.

In a large skillet on medium high heat, toast pine nuts, shaking pan occasionally, until browned, about three minutes. Set pine nuts aside.

In the same skillet, place prosciutto in a single layer. Turn slices over after one minute. Cook until it starts to crisp, about two minutes more. Chop prosciutto and set it aside.

In the same skillet, still over medium-high heat, heat one tablespoon of butter with one tablespoon olive oil. When the oil is hot brown the scallops in one layer for two to three minutes per side.  This will likely require two batches. Keep the first pan-load warm, and add the second tablespoons of butter and oil to the pan before sautéing the second half of the scallops.

Place scallops on pea puree.

Sprinkle with chopped prosciutto and pine nuts.

Serve with lemon wedges.