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.

You know how some foods hold you hostage? You eat bite after bite, all the while wondering:  What is that flavor? What makes this so irresistible? Why am I taking yet another serving? Well this is one of those recipes. I hate to ruin the surprise, but the hostage-taker is preserved lemon. It looks innocent enough, all slumped and yellow in the jar, floating in its pool of lemony brine. But preserved lemon takes what would be an ordinary pasta salad (yawn) and makes into one of those stellar, memorable, “I can’t stop eating this” dishes.

Sure, there are other great things going on in this mix. Israeli couscous and toasted nuts. Roasted butternut squash and sautéed onion.  But the hostage drama all hinges on the lemon. If you haven’t tried preserved lemon, now’s the time. You don’t have to make your own. You can buy some. But don’t miss out. How often do you get to welcome a whole new hostage-taking, non-negotiating ingredient into the fold? Preserving lemons takes their sourness away, leaving a sweet, flowery and salty bit of heaven behind. I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for this transformation, but I prefer to think of it as magic.

The only thing that gave me pause about trying this recipe was the number of pans involved. (Three.) But it’s worth it. I wouldn’t steer you wrong on such a substantive matter. The fact that this recipe makes the unfussy cut despite the high pan count is a true testament to its tastiness.

We ate this as a side dish with grilled pork chops. But it would make an impressive vegetarian main course. It’s also a notable potluck dish, as its served room at temperature. Hey, it’s even vegan! How about that?

ISRAELI COUSCOUS WITH BUTTERNUT SQUASH AND PRESERVED LEMON 
adapted from this recipe in Gourmet, makes eight generous servings

1 preserved lemon (available at Whole Foods, gourmet shops, and middle-eastern markets)
1 ½ pound butternut squash, peeled and seeded, and cut into 1/4-inch dice*
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
1 pound Israeli couscous
1 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 cup roasted salted pecans, chopped**
¾  cup golden raisins
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 475 degrees.

Toss squash with one tablespoon olive oil on a large, rimmed baking sheet. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and roast for about twelve minutes, stirring once. Put roasted squash in a large bowl.

Heat two tablespoons olive oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Saute onions in oil until they are just golden, about seven minutes. Add onions to large bowl with squash.

Cook Israeli couscous in a large pan of boiling water until tender, about ten minutes. Drain but don’t rinse. Add couscous to squash and onion mixture. Salt generously, add a tablespoon of olive oil, and toss.

Scrape the pulp out of the preserved lemon and dice the peel finely. Add diced peel to the couscous and vegetables. Add a tablespoon of the brine from the jar of lemons.

Add nuts, parsley, raisins, and cinnamon to the bowl. Toss. Taste for seasoning and add more salt, cinnamon, or lemon to taste.

*Butternut squash poses a challenge to the lazy cook. The peel is thick and hard, making a vegetable peeler too slow for my money. So here’s my speedier method: With a big knife, I cut the long skinny neck from the bulbous, seed-filled end of the squash. I cut off the stem end, leaving a big cylinder of squash. Then I stand it on a cut end, and cut the peel off from top to bottom using my big knife. I lose some meat, since the knife is straight and the squash is round. But I gain precious serenity not wrestling the squash peel. Once I have a big skinned length of squash neck, I turn it on its side and cut across it forming “rounds.” (They look more like stop signs.) Then I chop them. Unless I need more squash, I don’t even use the bulbous seeded part. I’m not proud of this wasteful practice. I’m just not a patient person.

**The recipe called for pine nuts. But have you heard of “pine mouth?” It’s a weird affliction caused by eating some pine nuts. I don’t think it’s been determined exactly which pine nuts. It makes everything you eat taste like metal, and it can last for weeks. My husband suffered a bout of it, making us a little gun-shy about pine nuts for the time being. The pecans were delicious, but next time around I think I’ll take my chances and try toasted pine nuts.

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.