When this blog was young, before I bought myself a respectable camera, I took pictures with a teensy point and shoot, whose viewfinder is so small it looks like a postage stamp. I want to take it to Goodwill, but the camera is covered in sticky crumbs and has butter in all of its metallic creases, so I’ve kept it. I moved on to a fancier point and shoot for a while there–one with a ‘food’ setting–but then I started reading other food blogs and realized that my photos were an absolute embarrassment. They’re still here because I am sentimental and want my great, great grandchildren to have access to all accounts of my cookery, just in case they’re curious about what a dead relative was like. Honestly, though, I blush at the idea of anyone looking at food pictures I took before May, 2009. This will probably be funny to read in the year 2109, so laugh it up little ones, if you’re out there.

But to those of you who read other incredible blogs, like 101 Cookbooks, Orangette, or Smitten Kitchen, please don’t judge me for my bizarre recipe choices. After all, I’m only doing my best to keep up with the caliber of food photography out there–and to do so, I must shoot by day. I’ve tried to hard to make more elegant lunches, but frankly, people don’t typically come over for lunch. Cooking up a grand meal for 1 in the middle of the day is a sad idea indeed. I’d rather throw cold leftovers onto a bed of lettuce and eat in a much less depressing fashion. This is why full-out, gorgeous pieces of meat and fish are rare appearances here at Bread & Courage. I’d even venture to say that whatever recipes do involve warm proteins are remnants of my point and shoot days, before I realized that big, white flash patches are not all that appetizing.

In that respect, I guess, this post isn’t really a departure from what I’ve been up to. After all, Ceviche is cold–and as old as a leftover. But it is at least a leftover worth writing about, since its extended time in the refrigerator is what makes the dish so worthwhile. I had never made Ceviche before this week, but I will never be intimidated again.  The possibility of eating (or feeding) raw fish is pretty frightening, and I’ve always wondered if I’d botch the marinating process or buy bum fish. (Although I suppose if I fully believed that, I would stop eating at dive-y sushi joints.) But really, my own hand in it is what scares me most. It still does, I’ll have you know, but not because of the cooking process.

Ceviche takes care of itself, and is refreshingly uncomplicated–especially if you use a fork or wear rubber gloves. The only qualm I have (which is entirely preventable!) is that Ceviche can make you smell–strongly–like a fishmonger. You’ll need at least 8 limes for this recipe, and I suggest buying a couple of lemons, too, so that you can vigorously scrub your fingertips after you’ve chopped and mixed the fish. When you serve it later, please have hearty chips or forks alongside so that your guests won’t go home cursing your recipe. And DO NOT send it with your husband as a ’snack’ at the office. These warnings should by no means be a turn off: Ceviche is too delicious to shy away from either for its raw-ness or for its scent. Just marinate it for a solid 8-12 hours (I let mine sit a full day)… and be sure it’s not served as finger food.

I like Ceviche full of chopped herbs and vegetables, although you can leave out the extras and serve it as plain as you like. I also used a 1:1 ratio of scallops and shrimp, although comparably-sized pieces of white fish or calamari are also delicious.*  Either way, be sure that the fish is swimming in juice–if any pieces are exposed, squeeze more lime, or shake the bowl every few hours to ensure that all of the fish gets ‘cooked.’

Shrimp and Scallop Ceviche

Serves 2-3 as a main course

1/2 lb shrimp, peeled, deveined, chopped

1/2 lb scallops, cleaned and chopped

2 stalks celery, diced

1/4 c cilantro, finely chopped

1/4 c parsley, finely chopped

1/2 yellow bell pepper, diced

1 c  cherry tomatoes, cut in half or quarters

2 green onions, diced

1/2 Serano pepper, finely diced (about 1 T)

1/2 cup lime juice (about 8-10 limes)

salt and pepper

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Squeeze limes to render 1/2 c lime juice.

Place fish in a bowl with a lid, large enough to accommodate all of the other ingredients.

Pour lime juice over fish and let sit 8-12 hours at a minimum, although preferably longer.

1 hour before serving, drain half of the lime juice and add chopped vegetables and herbs.

Season to taste just before serving.

*It goes without saying that if you decide to add more fish to the recipe, you’ll need to add enough lime to keep the ratio of lime juice to fish the same.

For the last two years, Christopher and I have grown our own herbs and a few potted tomatoes on our stoop. In October, when we returned from our honeymoon, we decided to lay some real roots in Houston and build a garden bed in the backyard. Fortunately, this southern season makes it possible to begin planting in early October, and our first harvest was lovely: Brussels sprouts, carrots, broccoli and lots of leafy things. This spring, I was especially excited to put in the tiny melon seed—far, far away from the other plants, in a corner all its own.

When I got home from Africa, most of our plants had done remarkably well, hostile weather aside. My basil had bolted and been bored by some hungry bug, but many leaves were salvageable enough to chiffonade. There was a bright orange summer squash, a hot red pepper, a few final cherry tomatoes and two very demure melons, which contrasted starkly with their unruly vine: it had wrapped itself around the entire garden perimeter, and was actually crawling along the grass in search of greater heights. I think that before summer ends, it might find the fence and take over our neighbors’ yard.

The melons were so special to me, I wasn’t sure exactly how to put them to use. After careful consideration, I settled on a summer favorite that would showcase several of our survivors: melons, basil and a few cherry tomatoes. It’s the consistencies that make this salad special—the mozzarella is soft and rich, while the tomatoes resist the fork just a bit. The melon pulls it together, bringing out the sweetness of the cheese and tempering the gentle acid of the tomatoes. A little sea salt will draw out the melon juice, which mix nicely with some olive oil for a light, sweet dressing. Best of all, making it will only costs five minutes of summer.

Cantaloupe Caprese
Serves 2-4

1 medium-sized Cantaloupe, very ripe, cut in half and seeded

1 pint cherry tomatoes

4 large leaves fresh basil

1.5 C bocconcini cheese (or small mozzarella balls)

1 T best quality olive oil

sea salt

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Scoop melon in tiny rounds, about the size of cherry tomatoes.

(I don’t have a melon baller, but used a round teaspoon measuring spoon, which worked perfectly.)

Place melon, tomatoes and cheese in a bowl and coat with olive oil.

Toss and set aside until ready to serve (salad can be made a few hours ahead.)

Just before serving, tear basil leaves and toss into salad.

Sprinkle with sea salt and serve.

In this world of carbon counting, it turns out that the smallest feet can have the biggest footprint. The thought dawned on me recently as I watched a friend wrap up her child’s used diaper and place it in a trashcan, already half-filled with shiny, plastic lumps. Her sink brimmed with miniature glass jars she’d washed and planned to recycle. I thought about how much waste a single meal had made: the most basic elements of a baby’s life–food and poop–are generating billions of units of waste each year.

If I spent my life juggling a baby, a washcloth, a bottle, diapers and a job, I’d surely want to make things as easy as possible. In fact, disposable diapers and pre-made baby food are rightly credited with helping to liberate the modern woman. Fortunately, some of those products have advanced beyond mere convenience, making it possible to raise children and enjoy a career without leaving a heap of dirty Luvs and single-use jars or bottles in the wake of such success.

I have stumbled upon two products that can fundamentally change the ‘ins and outs’ of an infant’s environmental impact. Let’s begin with the in–food. Clearly, breastfeeding is the most natural, ecological choice for your child… up to a point. Until recently, it seemed that there were two options for mobile mothers: to puree fruits and veggies and cart them along in cumbersome containers, or to purchase pre-pureed baby food in small (but surprisingly dense) glass jars.

More likely than not, most parents won’t choose to rely on baby food of their own making at all times–Women’s Lib aside. Yet the glass-jar option seems egregious: few moms or dads I know enjoy the prospect of carrying a 10-20 pound child on one hip and an equally dense bag of baby food jars on the other. Even more incredible is that in mere minutes, each of those glass and tin bottles will end up in the garbage or recycling bin.

I did some research and discovered a company that was at once inspiring and enviable: a concept so simple, I wondered why I wasn’t the one who’d invented it. NurturMe dehydrates some of the best foods for babies and presents them in serving-sized pouches that weigh virtually nothing. In fact, a box of 8 packets weighs less than a single glass jar of baby food. All a mom or dad has to do is add water, breast milk or formula and stir. The contents become a delicious, concentrated puree of organic fruits or vegetables. How do I know this? I tried it. Yes, I actually procured some NurturMe and tasted it myself (with water) before I started recommending them to friends, or friends’ babies, as it were.

On the other end of the spectrum are recently introduced biodegradable diapers called gDiapers. Traditional disposable diapers can take up to 300 years to decompose, while these take only 50-150 days. Without getting too much into the obvious inconveniences of cloth diapers, I’ll say that their environmental impact is pretty menacing as well: the amount of water it takes to really get each one clean is enough to render them wasteful. And let’s not forget the fact that virtually no parent wants to clean refuse twice: first from the skin, then from the cloth. Disposable diapers are a quintessential part of the advancement of our society and should be embraced–as long as they dispose of themselves.

The gDiaper is a middle ground: a diaper that is part re-useable; part disposable. gDiapers come with several insert options that can be flushed down the toilet, where human waste is designed to go. The remainder of the diaper is used again and again, so that only a small piece is ever thrown away. In fact, the gDiaper inserts break down so naturally that they can be composted and used to fertilize non-edible plants. (But only when wet.) Not surprisingly, they are made without plastic, elemental chlorine, latex or perfume.

Many modern mothers and fathers have added ecological responsibility to their list of accomplishments. Unlike some industries that create convenience at a stunning ecological cost, there are baby products out there that can maximize a parent’s efficiency, while minimizing his or her impact on the environment. NurturMe and gDiaper are two businesses that set the stage for an ecologically-minded millennial generation. Hopefully they’ll figure out what to do with all of those Huggies bobbing in the sea…

Can you blame me? Have you never found a peach too fleeting? I’m not talking about the little immigrant rocks flown in from some warm place and placed on a grocer’s cold heap, September through June. I’m talking about the peaches that come to you, bursting or bruised, off a nearby tree at the height of summer. Those are the kinds of peaches that terrify and fascinate me. I just cannot resist them.  I recognize that none of this really explains why I am so timid around peaches and pate sucrée. Maybe it’s as simple as this (though I’m really not a math person):

peaches = fleeting = summer

by contrast:

pie = time

By extension, I’m not sure I want to spend an entire day of my summer inside, potentially ruining 6 perfect peaches in an amateur pie job. Time flies, and for that matter, so do the good peaches. Imagine pulsing the elements of your crust, turning around, and finding no fruit left on the counter. It might be improbable with any other fruit, or in any other season. But with peaches in July, it is highly likely. Also likely: a too-hot kitchen; a fallen crust; battered fruit and a broken heart.

But I talked myself up to the task, and set aside the better part of a gorgeous afternoon to finally commit to the ultimate summer dessert. Still, I wanted nothing to do with the cloak of a double crust. Fortunately, the problem had been solved by Martha Stewart, whose recipe called for a luxurious coating of crème fraîche , streusel topping and a single crust…it reminded me of last summer’s clafoutis, where the peaches rose to the top of the custard so that their colors and curves were very much a part of the dessert.

I can happily report that this pie was worth the wait: none of the peaches were eaten en route to the oven, by me or anybody else. I also want to say that I got some help from the witty Deb, of Smitten Kitchen, whose advice on baking a pie crust is spot-on. This pie was equally edible a day (and two) later, when stored in the fridge. In the end, I felt like a magician, extending the lives of these ephemeral fruits–if only for two days.

Peach Pie with Crème Fraîche

Make the crust:  (Adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

1 ¼ cups flour
1  tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 sticks (4 ounces) cold, unsalted butter, cubed

Set aside a cup of ice water.

In a food processor (or a large bowl) blend together flour, sugar and salt.
Add butter and pulse (or blend with a pastry blender) until pea-sized pieces emerge.
Don’t over-blend, even if dough seems uneven—the little bits of butter make the crust flaky.
Place the dough on a work surface (unless it is already in a bowl) and bring it together by adding ¼ c of ice water.
Gather dough with a spatula. If it seems dry, add water, 1 tablespoon at a time.
When dough is moist enough to cling together, knead it into a ball.
Wrap ball in plastic and press it into a disc. Refrigerate for 1 hour.

On a floured surface, roll out dough to about 1/8” thick.
Press into a regular-sized pie plate (9-10”).
Trim edges and create whatever decorative edge inspires you.
Poke bottom of crust with a fork and freeze for 30 minutes.
Just before removing crust from freezer, preheat the oven to 400°F.
Par-bake by pressing aluminum foil against frozen pie crust.
Bake for 10 minutes, then gently remove foil and press raised spots with the back of a spoon.
Return crust to oven until golden brown, approximately 5 minutes.
Transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly.
Reduce oven temperature to 375°F.

Make the Streusel

¼ cup confectioners’ sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch of salt
¼ cup cold (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces

Stir sugar, flour, baking powder, cinnamon and salt together in a small bowl.
Add butter and blend into the flour mixture with the tines of a fork, until coarse crumbs form.
Set aside.

Make the Filling

1 ¾ pounds ripe (6 medium) yellow peaches, pitted and quartered
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
Pinch of salt
5 tablespoons crème fraîche

Put peaches into a medium bowl, and sprinkle with sugar and salt; gently toss to coat and let stand 15 minutes.
Spread 2 tablespoons crème fraîche onto bottom of crust and sprinkle with 1/3 of the streusel.
Layer peaches on top and dot with remaining crème fraîche .
Sprinkle with remaining streusel.

Bake until crème fraîche bubbles and streusel is golden brown, about 50 minutes.
Cover edge of crust with foil if it begins to brown prematurely.
Let cool on a wire rack 15 minutes.
Serve warm or at room temperature and store in the refrigerator.

It started innocently enough, with a languishing bag of chocolate chips. What could be more wholesome than baking a batch for an overworked husband? It was all well and good, of course, until impudence struck and I decided to test the viability of one of my favorite nut flours.

I don’t typically substitute flours in recipes that I bake for Christopher. He can smell a whole wheat crumb from a mile away. While I love spelt and oat and quinoa flours, I wouldn’t deign to bake them into his birthday cake. These cookies were baked for comfort, as a surprise brought up to his office late at night—tempting fate with a bag of hazelnut flour was truly reckless.

Madcap baking is rarely successful, but in this case, I got lucky. These cookies spread from a scant teaspoon-sized ball, into thin, graceful spheres of caramelized lace. They melted in my mouth, crispy and chewy all at once. It felt like eating delicate burnt sugar, with a tough of Nutella throughout; the subtle flavor of hazelnut, the occasional hunk of bittersweet chocolate.

I suggest making these to accompany vanilla ice cream.

Hazelnut Chocolate Chip Cookies

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Have ready two lined cookie sheets.

In a medium sized bowl, mix:

1/2 c hazelnut flour
½ c plus 2 tbsp all purpose flour
½ tsp baking soda

In the bowl of a stand mixer (or with hand mixers and lots of patience) beat:

½ c (1 stick) unsalted butter at room temperature
½ cup sugar
½ cup packed light brown sugar

Add and beat about 5 minutes on medium to medium / high speed:

1 large egg
¼ tsp salt
1 ½ tsp vanilla

When this mixture is very white and fluffed, slowly incorporate flour mixture, stirring just to combine.

Add 1 ½ cup chopped dark chocolate, or 1 ½ c dark chocolate chips.

Place teaspoon-sized, rounded spoonfuls on your baking sheet with ample room between.
(I baked only 6 per sheet.)

Bake for 7-8 minutes.

I’ll be away for a while, and I’m sorry to leave you without posts at the ready. I thought it would be dishonest to publish remotely, speaking as if I were at home, cooking, when really I’d just canned lots of recipes. It seemed weird. So I leave you with this—because my flight flies at 3:55, and I still have a dozen errands to run before I head to Africa for three weeks.

I’ve recently left my job with Recipe for Success and will be heading back to school next year. In the interim, I’ve had a few days to entertain during the week, which is a real luxury. One of those days was spent at several farmer’s markets, collecting a few of my favorite fruits for a cheese plate. I cannot express enough my love of fruits and cheese, especially with some wine and nuts alongside.

Summer is an embarrassment of riches, especially here in Houston, where it comes so early. Sure there’s a bit of a dry spell in August, (when all we can get are zucchini, eggplant, peppers and okra) but in June we eat like kings… rather like how the North fares for July, August and September. Here are three of my favorites: small, black plumbs, blueberries and fresh figs.

I paired my first true taste of summer fruit with some Fromage d’Affinois (a soft, smooth, mild cheese) and Herve Pave du Nord (hard, buttery-sharp, and always amazing.) A good fruit plate really only needs a couple of great cheeses, at least one hard, one soft, and preferably a bleu if you can tolerate the stink, plus a few types of fruit. I tend to avoid any that are ultra-juicy or go brown quickly, such as melon and apple, although if eaten quickly, leakage or oxidizing really shouldn’t matter much.

That said, fruits that are somewhat self-contained are really preferable—grapes, berries, and, of course, figs. I also like sliced nectarines or peaches in the summer, as both can brighten an especially heavy cheese. Nectarines, kumkwats and pears are great in cooler weather. Never underestimate the impact of a finely sliced prosciutto when cheese is brought out as a first course, or some hunks of crystallized ginger and chocolate if your cheese plate reappears post-feast.

So it is with great glee and delight that I have been heating up my Houston kitchen well past the 100 degree point, if only to keep my cookie jar replete with the crunch and zing of the perfect ginger snap. An that is what they’ve got, really: loads of ginger, loads of snap. They practically crinkle in half the second they touch your lips, they’re so explosively crisp.

Mark and I have been making these cookies for a few months, for many a catered affair we’ve done at Rodriguez Elementary as part of our Recipe for Success after school program. We’ve had many occasions to cook for large crowds, including one afternoon where Secretary of Education Arne Duncan came to the Houston Department of Education. It was pretty neat, mixing batches of rosemary-infused lemonade and ginger snaps, knowing that our snack would go to someone with such clout.

The real gift, of course, was watching the kids make these (without licking the spoon!), but a close second was coming away with one of Mark’s most impressive recipes. Mark, I should say, was the head of the pastry department at Hotel Zaza’s Monarch, and is, quite possibly, the best baker I’ve ever met. But it doesn’t take a pro to make these:  even 9 year olds can whip up a professional looking batch. I even had a thought while watching Dominique roll one in sugar before gently pressing it with her thumb: if a 3rd grader can do these right, then there’s definitely hope for me after 3 eggnogs… which is often when I decide to make a few extra batches of Christmas cookies.

But I do these an injustice: they really shouldn’t be limited to cold weather holidays. In fact, I recently grilled some nectarines, drizzled them with honey, and set them beside a bit of whipped cream and crumbled ginger snap. It couldn’t have been more appropriate for the times. Another favorite: coffee ice cream with crumbled ginger snap. It sounds odd, but it’s a terrific pick me up. Oh, and let’s not forget them as the crust for a crumble or fruit pie. As with most baked goods, the only threat to success is my own anticipatory appetite. I tend to end up with about 2/3 of the recipe, because the batter just goes down so good…

The Ultimate Ginger Snap

Adapted from Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook

Makes about 5 dozen

2 c all purpose flour
2 t baking soda
½ t ground cinnamon
¼ t ground cloves
¼ t freshly ground pepper
½ t salt
¾ c unsalted butter
1 ¼ c packed, dark brown sucar
¼ c unsulfured molasses
1 ½ T finely grated fresh ginger
1 large egg
¼ c granulated sugar
½ c crystallized ginger, cut into small, even pieces

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In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, spices and salt. Set aside.
In a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat butter, brown sugar, molasses and ginger on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping down the sides when necessary.
Beat in the egg untol smooth and combined.
Add the flour mixture and beat on low speed until just combined.
Transfer dough to a bowl, wrap in plastic and refrigerate until cold, preferably overnight.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, positioning racks in the middle and lower third of the oven.
Line baking sheets with parchment paper.
Place granulated sugar in a shallow bowl.
Shape dough into balls the size of a teaspoon scoop.
Roll balls in sugar and place on baking sheet at least 2 inches apart.
Press balls with thumb, and place a piece of crystallized ginger in the center of each cookie.
Bake, rotating sheets halfway through, about 15-18 minutes, or until cookies are thoroughly brown—don’t worry if they look too dark… it means they’ll snap!

I rarely make a trip to that part of town without some kind of edible giveaway. As it turns out, the gentleman wanted nothing to do with my chips. I slowed to the red light and rolled down my window, preemptively joyful at making his day. He grinned toothlessly back: “Thanths but no thanths.” I drove away, dejected, and sheepish for my own good fortune. I am grateful for a lot of things, but not nearly grateful enough for my teeth. I now remember this gift in my prayers of thanks.

Do I sound like I’m being ironic? Because I am not. I am very serious. I am thrilled to have teeth. Thrilled that I can eat corn chips, broccoli tips, macadamia bits. All of those crunchy foods aside, my teeth have gotten a bit of a break lately. It’s Houston, it’s summer and it’s time for cold soup and ice cream. I have tried to share the wealth—driving to the corner with packed up pints of soup and a plastic spoon, but the toothless gentleman has not reappeared.

More often than not, my liquid inspirations come to me in corpse pose: just before my brain shuts down entirely, I have a vision of dinner. Lately, that has involved lots of pureed cucumbers, avocados, tomatoes—even melons. I know a lot of people like smoothies, but I’ve never taken to them. Something about soup just feels more like dinner. Even if it’s a smoothie eaten with a spoon.

But this is not that. Nobody puts red onion and jalepeños into smoothies. This is a savory, silky concoction that came to me long before savasana. I was in downward dog, one of the first of the evening, and it just happened to pop into my brain. And that was that. I knew I had to have it. And I knew I had to share it with my man from the bridge. Then my mind went blank—of course—for the remaining 86 minutes of my yoga practice.

The beauty of this soup, like so many, is that it just gets better with age. But unlike a warm soup, this takes just a minute to make. Christopher hadn’t even emerged from the shower before dinner was on the table: radiant, delicate, velvet cantaloupe gazpacho garnished with a flower from our own (yet unfruitful) melon vine. If Georgia O’Keeffe had painted soup, she’d have started with this. If I were a soup, this is what I’d like to be…sweet, salty and a with an unanticipated kick. And pink is the best color on a woman, of course. I hope the beggar at 59 finds love like this someday. I’ll keep trying.

Cantaloupe Gazpacho

1 large, ripe cantaloupe, in cubes
3 large, ripe tomatoes (not green), cored and roughly cubed
1 jalepeño pepper, diced
½ red onion, chopped
½ c fresh basil
Juice of 1 lemon
Dash of nutmeg
Salt and pepper

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Blend everything together, adding herbs, pepper and spices to taste.
(I prefer my soup with the full pepper and all of the lemon.)

Dr. Venter’s creation of life could not have come at a more appropriate moment: as a months’ worth of gushing oil begins to shore up on the gulf, an increasing number of scientists and environmentalists have touted the efficacy of bioremediation in mitigating the damage caused by the BP spill. Those who are preoccupied with Dr. Venter as an apparent God 2.0 need not take his creation of life as a sign of the apocalypse, after all, Synthetic DNA has been the norm for centuries among, “academics…biotech companies…even schoolchildren,” The Economist reminds us. What distinguishes Venter and his team–and their competitors in the field–is that they are taking the process one step further, artificially creating genomes through DNA sequencing that can lead to bacteria and algae capable of extraordinary feats including pollution cleanup, clean energy and, of course, independent reproduction.

In many cases, microbes are capable of rapidly consuming and breaking down petroleum and other toxic chemicals through nature’s own detoxification process. At present, coastal microbes–and even some at sea–have the capacity to digest toxic matter while mimicking a typical life cycle: the greater the abundance of food, the more they procreate and eat, until the resource is exhausted. When there’s nothing left to consume, inflated microbe populations return to normal.

Unfortunately, some scientists claim that onshore microbes are the best equipped at breaking down petroleum and that oil must reach the coast before bioremediation can be truly effective. A recent USA Today article quoted microbiologist Ronald Atlas of the University of Louisville as stating that, “Nature has already evolved microbes better at consuming hydrocarbons than anything we could grow, and when you go out in the ocean and dump some new organisms on a spill, it already is colonized with those better, natural microbes.” Historically, lab-produced microbes have not been as effective as those occurring naturally, and fertilizing native microbes has been the only effective measure taken to help mitigate the spill through bioremediation at sea.

Dr. Venter’s advances could mark the beginning of new, considerably effective techniques in bioremediation and beyond by creating microbes specifically designed to eat certain forms of waste. Scientists are in fact, moving out of the realm of biotechnology, where genes are manipulated independently, into making absolute changes to how living things are created. (Hence the accusations of “playing God.”) When organisms are created from scratch, the possibilities are endless. Why rely on creatures that have evolved over millions of years in conjunction with certain foods when we can build them specifically to eat pollutants or produce the energy necessary to fuel cars? In that vein, it might be possible for scientists to create a microorganism that does not emit heavy-metal waste from a toxic diet, as has been a commonly stated concern regarding some petroleum-eating bacteria.

The Wall Street Journal reported that the United States was vastly unprepared for the scale of the BP oil spill. As long as oil is drawn from the ocean and as long as it is transported across the ocean–as was the case in the Exxon Valdez spill–governments must make Research and Development of proper cleanup techniques a top priority. Nancy Kinner, professor of civil and environmental engineering at the University of New Hampshire told a congressional hearing last week that the government had put, “virtually no money,” into the investigation of chemical dispersants currently being used to target the BP spill. BP’s dispersant of choice, Corexit, is intended to dilute the slick and, consequently, make it easier for naturally occurring microbes to break it down. Unfortunately, the chemical has proved more toxic than previously understood, and is believed to be killing off marine life while pushing oil deeper into the sea.

Whether or not the United States determines that offshore drilling is excessively risky and environmentally threatening, government and private institutions should invest significant capital in understanding and mitigating catastrophes of this scale. Improved–and increased–boom must be created to isolate oil and tar balls from floating to the coast, and clearly, learning to quickly plug a leak of this magnitude is critical. But tackling the oil that rises, plumes and spreads out deep below the surface of the water can be necessary in a worst-case scenario. If Dr. Venter and his colleagues can create innocuous means of mitigating toxic waste at its current levels, they should indeed be lauded as potential saviors. Perhaps God comes in many forms.

Last Friday was especially perfect for this type of stay-at-home date, as there was record rainfall accompanied by severe thunder claps and lightening white-outs. High levels of risk were involved in braving the commute and so, naturally, there was considerable excitement. The house was our ultimate destination: we were like heroes getting home.

But once we got home, there was a penetrating lull. The world of roads and traffic lights and office printers ceased to exist, and it was just the two of us, perched in our little gray house, hoping we wouldn’t be washed away. Before Christopher got home, I listened to Steve Inskeep drone the day’s final news while doing some mise en place, when all of a sudden—MEEEDDIIIIDIIIDUUUMMMDUMP. The high-pitched storm warning reminded me that things were serious outside, but that I was safe at my counter top, chopping herbs.

Christopher called shortly thereafter, to tell me about a puddle on Richmond Avenue that went up to the doors of his truck. I waited for him to get home while Lupe tried to maintain close contact to both of my calves as I hobbled through the kitchen gathering ingredients for our salad. She’s great at scooting between the ankles and staying there, despite the risks it poses to those of us heating skillets and opening bottles of wine. Christopher’s arrival was more celebratory than usual, and rivers of wine seemed to flow through the entire night. I wish it would rain like that more often.

Generally, on these Fridays, I handle the plant parts, and Christopher deals with the animals. Last week, he used a grill pan to cook up some trout he’d blackened with a generous coating of curries, peppers and other pungent dusts. Meanwhile, I sliced a few tomatoes (yellow, orange, red) into discs about the size of a silky mozzarella ball, alternating the two between slices of prosciutto and basil. I wanted more herbs, but neither Christopher nor I could brave the moat that had developed between our back stoop and our garden bed.

I wanted more herbs for my salad, too, and indeed the original recipe called for parsley and mint, both of which I had to do without. It would have frustrated me—especially since maneuvering the refrigerator door with a dog between your feet can be quite maddening—except that such extraordinary weather was inspiring some girlish nerves… would the power go out?… would we have to eat our dinner to a dim flame?… I promptly forgot about the mint. As it turns out, our lights stayed on, which was a good thing, because my feet were eager to cut the Sisal.

The salad you see now is a reproduction: I had some leftover peas, pistachios and a bit of Pecorino, and I made this again the very next day—when the sun came out and the birds took baths in sidewalk puddles.  It was just as delicious under clear skies.

Pea, Pecorino and Pistachio Salad

Adapted from Food and Wine

Serves 4-6

1 T freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 T honey
1 large egg yolk
3 T cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
5 ounces baby arugula
1 large head frisée, chopped
1 tablespoon chopped mint
1 tablespoon chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 cup frozen baby peas, thawed
½ cup pistachios, roasted in a skillet and salted (or pre-roasted)
1 cup shaved Pecorino Romano cheese (3 ounces)
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In the bottom of your salad bowl, whisk lemon juice, honey and egg yolk.
Drizzle in olive oil until emulsified, adding more if you prefer an oilier dressing.
Season with salt and pepper and place arugula, frisée and herbs over the dressing—do not coat.
In the meantime, prepare your other ingredients.
Just before serving, toss the leaves then gently add remaining ingredients.
(You can toss to incorporate, although I preferred to serve mine with the nuts and cheese on top.)