Some things in life are better in theory than in reality. Street fairs, for instance. And exercising.  And beets. I buy beets because they’re shapely, and silky. They look like runway models, with those flouncy greens perched atop long, sleek stalks.  And that lurid pink is impressive, lurking beneath such unassuming skin. They’re probably even good for you, right? So what’s not to like?

Well, it’s just the taste. They’re borderline cloying. Thick, dark, and purple-tasting. Please don’t dispute me on this, dear beet-boosters. I never said my “better-in-theory” list would match yours. Besides, I’m removing beets from the list as of today.

I finally found a recipe that won me over to the taste of beets. No longer must I endure beets because they lured me into buying them under false pretenses. This salad has me sincerely gobbling them up and coming back for seconds. Seconds! Of beets!  Imagine if you actually liked beets to begin with.

These beets can add some dazzle to any plate. But it’s the taste, not the color, that brings them into better-than-theory territory. Vinegar and shallots rein in the sweetness, while bright bolts of orange lighten the mood. It’s made to order for a potluck. How many side dishes travel well and are best eaten at room temperature?  I’m not saying you’ll win as much love as the guy who brings brownies to the potluck. We’re not talking miracles here. But sometimes you’re ASKED to bring a side dish, right? So, go ahead, impress your friends. See if you can convert some beet-bashers. I’m here to tell you it’s possible.

There were garden-variety pinkish-purple beets in the faultless cookbook photo that inspired this recipe. They contrasted festively with the orange slices. But I had to go and buy varietal beets. I was seduced by those hues. They were obligingly stunning when I cut them up.  Even the scraps had something to say.

But when they were cooked, and cut, and tossed with orange slices, they looked, unfortunately, a lot like the orange slices. What should’ve been a dashing feast of color ended up looking like a mysterious orange stew.  But don’t let that dissuade you. Make this recipe. Just stick with magenta beets if you want splashy contrast.

This recipe was adapted from Ina Garten’s Beets with Orange Vinaigrette. If you believe Ina (and I do…I always do), it tastes even better the second day, after marinating overnight in the dressing. Ours didn’t last long enough to test that theory.

BEETS WITH ORANGE VINAIGRETTE

2 pounds of beets, trimmed
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup small-diced shallots
2 seedless oranges

Place the beets in a large pot with water deep enough to cover them. Bring water to a boil and simmer beets uncovered for about 50 minutes, until they are tender enough to stick a fork into. Drain.

When the beets are cool enough to handle, peel off the skins. They’ll slide right off in your hands. No tools necessary.

Slice beets about 1/3 inch thick, then cut across the slices to make ½ inch-wide slabs.

Put the sliced beets into a large bowl.

Zest the oranges. Then cut the ends and pith off the now-zested oranges, and separate the segments.

Add orange segments, zest, vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper and shallots to the beets. Toss gently.

Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Serve at room temperature.

Simple ingredients command respect. No showing off with fancy footwork or cheap accessories. A simple recipe stands on its own merit, cool and confident. In that less-is-more spirit, I bring you my all-time favorite way to eat a steak. You may be thinking “For this I need a recipe?” But this one will knock your socks off, I promise. Not because there are any surprising ingredients or culinary twists, but because every element is perfectly balanced against all the others.

The first time I made this, it was an answer to not having much in the fridge.  That was in 2002. For SEVEN YEARS this one has held its own as a family favorite.  That’s quite a feat, with so many new recipes clamoring for attention.

This meal calls for stuff we almost always have on hand (well, except for the steak).  Garlic, pepper, olive oil, lemon, parmesan, salt, greens.  Most days, those items are just hanging out in the kitchen, resigned to their humble status as staples. Marry them in this way, though, and I’m telling you, you will wonder if you’ve ever truly appreciated lemon, or pepper, or parmesan before.

No recipe is sacred in our house. I’m all for substitutions.  I also happen to think lettuce is underrated. But part of the magic of this salad springs from using bitter greens. Arugula is great, or a greens mixture that has a little bite. Not just lettuce. You’ll thank me.

This recipe was inspired by one on epicurious.com. Theirs is much meatier.  I like to give the greens (and the garlic/pepper paste) more of a starring role. Adapt it to your own tastes. Just make more garlic paste for more meat, if you know what’s good for you.

P.S. Meat poses a challenge to this fledgling food photographer.  For my money, meat never pulls off a good picture. It suffers from a certain….ugliness. Is there a closet vegetarian heart beating in this chest? Maybe, but it won’t trump my carnivorous taste buds anytime soon.

GRILLED STEAK WITH GREENS AND PARMESAN
serves four

5 garlic cloves, minced, mashed or pushed through a garlic press.
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus one tablespoon for drizzling at the end
1 tablespoon fresh ground black pepper
1 ½ – 2 pounds New York strip steak, about one inch thick
8 cups loosely packed arugula or other greens
2 ounce piece of Parmesan cheese
1 lemon
salt to taste

Mash garlic, one tablespoon olive oil, and pepper into a paste.

Coat steaks with paste and let stand at least 30 minutes at room temperature.

Grill to desired doneness (about six minutes a side for medium rare on our grill).

Let steak stand for five minutes. Slice into ¼ inch slices and arrange on greens.

Pour accumulated juices onto salad.

Shave parmesan onto salads with a vegetable peeler.

Sprinkle with salt. Drizzle salads with the remaining one tablespoon olive oil.

Serve with lemon wedges. Don’t forget that squeeze of lemon! It matters.

It started as a quest for cherry pie. Tomatoes weren’t even on my radar. I’d been pondering that pie for weeks. I did a cartoonish double-take when my favorite cherry stand at the farmer’s market was GONE. Someone was selling artichokes there. “Cherries are done,” said the friendly artichoke guy in reply to my accusatory “Where are the cherries?” And that was that. Cherries just up and called it a season, without so much as a nod to me or my pie-making procrastination.

I tried to be zen about it. For everything there is a season, etc. But I was not zen. I was petulant. I wanted cherries.  In mid-pout it hit me: If the cherries are gone, then soon raspberries will be done. Then blueberries. And then tomatoes! Oh no, not the tomatoes!

I forgot all about dessert. After rocketing through the stages of grief, I frantically combed the farmers’ market for heirloom tomatoes. I found half a dozen varieties piled in a box at an unassuming little stand. No long lines or artfully stacked produce here, just some grubby boxes set on a folding table. The farmer called out the variety of each tomato I picked up like a proud father.

With their uneven curves and motley hues, I just knew these tomatoes would have personality. And they did. You might say it’s wrong to put such a rich dressing on a perfect slice of tomato, when a sprinkle of salt will do. But tomatoes and mayo are a match made in heaven. Ask any BLT. Throw in the kick of Roquefort and a hint of vinegar, and your tomatoes and mayo will sing in perfect, high-cholesterol harmony.

Use a light hand when dressing the tomatoes. Not for your health (although there is that to consider), but for your taste buds. The dressing is so irresistible you’ll be tempted to pour it on with wild abandon, obliterating your innocent heirlooms. Eat the dressing with a spoon if you must, but go easy on those tomatoes if you want to taste them.

Carpe diem. Let the cherry pie tragedy of 2009 serve as a reminder. Tomato season has come, and it will go. I adapted this recipe from one I found in Barefoot Contessa at Home by Ina Garten.  It makes a fine spread for the world’s best BLT, too.

HEIRLOOM TOMATOES WITH BLUE CHEESE DRESSING
serves 6

3 pounds heirloom tomatoes, plus some assorted cherry tomatoes
3 ounces Roquefort or other blue cheese
½ cup mayonnaise
1 ½ teaspoons red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1 tablespoon chopped fresh tarragon
salt and pepper

Slice the tomatoes and arrange them on a platter. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.

Stir blue cheese, mayo, vinegar, and cream together in a bowl. Smash the cheese with the back of the spoon as you mix, to blend it in. You want the dressing to be chunky, so leave some lumps of cheese.

Drizzle the dressing over the tomatoes, and sprinkle with chopped tarragon.

Cherry tomatoes are the essence of summer, but do they have to be so prolific? I’m a little embarrassed for them. It’s like they had one too many drinks at a party and started singing. We have three kinds of cherry tomatoes in our garden. I suppose they have varietal names, but I call them greenish-yellow, bright orange, and greenish-red. You can use any of the pretty little tomatoes that are cluttering your life right now.

What is farro, you ask? It’s some sort of wheat grown in Italy. If you’re like me, you skip right over recipes that call for ingredients you’ve never heard of.  I get that. I do. But humor me just this once. You have to do SOMETHING with all those tomatoes, right? Aren’t you sick of your go-to grains? Branch out! You won’t regret it.  I had to go to my very earnest, locally-owned, kind-of-expensive grocery store to find farro. The one that would be my regular grocery store if I were a better person.

(Word to the wise: Do not believe the kind employee of your local earnest grocery when she tells you that farro and spelt are the same thing. Look! You can buy spelt in bulk for a dollar a pound! Avoid evil packaging! Banish the massive carbon footprint of imported food! I fell for it. I felt pretty smug and green until I read in this New York Times article that farro and spelt are not the same thing. Not at all. So I DROVE BACK to the earnest grocery just to buy farro, at which point the carbon footprint of this meal was up to a size 18-EEE. If anyone wants a big bag of spelt, it’s all yours.)

This salad is summer in a dish. With so few ingredients, the flavors have enough room assert themselves as the lovely individuals they are. Farro is the perfect foil. It is just chewy enough, and just nutty enough to offset the bright acid tomato flavor-bombs. When you add chunks of manchego for richness, slivered basil, and a splash of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, you’ve got yourself a taste sensation. It makes a hearty lunch by itself. We’ve also eaten it as a dinner side dish, with grilled Italian sausages.

Cherry Tomato and Farro Salad (serves four as a side dish)

• 1 cup farro
• 2 pints cherry tomatoes
• ¼ cup basil leaves, packed
• ½ pound manchego (or some other nutty but not-to-pungent cheese)
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar (or more to taste)
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt (or more to taste…Don’t skimp. Salt is the magic ingredient here.)
• Fresh ground black pepper to taste

In a medium saucepan, cover the farro in water and soak for thirty minutes. Pour off the soaking water and add six cups of fresh water.

Bring water to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Simmer uncovered for about 25 minutes. Taste as you go to determine when it’s done. Crunchy isn’t done yet. Mushy is overcooked. You want slightly chewy. Don’t worry, it’s very forgiving stuff.

While your farro is cooking, slice the tomatoes in half, and cut the basil leaves into thin slivers.

Cut the manchego into half-inch dice.

Drain the farro. Rinse with cold water and drain again.

Toss drained farro with tomatoes, basil, cheese, olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper.

Serve at room temperature.