Fridays Are Special

Every Friday, I cook something a little special for dinner. We put our feet up and share a bottle of wine - and always have chocolate for dessert.

Sometimes, I know exactly what I will cook; the ingredients, seasonings, and final presentation all come together in a single vision. I like those days because I can relax, shop, and cook - no stress. Other days, I never do get an inspiration and we order in; it doesn't happen very often. Most Fridays, I have ingredients in mind - what's in the fridge, a craving for something - and the idea for the final dish evolves throughout the day.

Today is one of those days. I have all the ingredients I will use and some ideas, but no decisions yet.

The first ingredient is green peppers.

Roasted.

Hmmm. What to have with roasted peppers.  Of course, polenta! I have a wonderful and easy recipe for polenta from Paula Wolfert's The Slow Mediterranean Kitchen; I have modified it slightly.

To serve 2 or 3:

3 1/2 - 4 cups water (use less for firmer polenta, more for softer)

1 cup cornmeal (organic, medium or course stoneground works very well)
1 TLBSP olive oil
1 scant tsp salt

Preheat oven to 350. Lightly oil 8 x 8 baking dish. Put all ingredients into the baking dish and stir well (the cornmeal will settle almost immediately, but it's okay). Bake for 1 hour. Remove from oven and let it rest for minimum 10 minutes. It has to set up or will be a bit soft.

I find it works best if I let it cool completely, then cut into squares which can be fried or heated in the oven. I love this recipe; no endless stirring. It tastes great and has a lovely texture.

Dinner is shaping up. Polenta and roasted green peppers; so far, so good.

Some tomatoes, a little sausage and I'm almost there.

Parmesan cheese, too.

This is sounding good!

.

The annual Beaujolais nouveau release was last week. A perfect partner for these dinner ingredients, and this year is supposed to be especially good. Hope it's not sold out. Another gamay, perhaps?

Autumn Ode to Tomatoes

Summer is over for another year. And so this tribute to the tomato - best and reddest of summer.

Ode to Tomatoes

Pablo Neruda

(trans. Margaret Sayers Peden)

The street

filled with tomatoes,

midday,

summer,

light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.

In December,

unabated,
the tomato

invades

the kitchen,

it enters at lunchtime,

takes

its ease

on countertops,

among glasses,

butter dishes,

blue saltcellars.

It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera

a cool

sun,

profound,

inexhaustible,

populates the salads

of Chile,

happily, it is wed

to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,

salt, its magnetism:

it is the wedding

of the day,

parsley

hoists

its flag,

potatoes

bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of the earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,

its canals,
its remarkable amplititude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.