Humble Elegance

      I've not been known for my cheerful disposition in the mornings. This reputation began as I grew up in a climate with cold winters - the ache of the frosty air upon peeling off the warm blankets, the taunting manner in which the cats would stay curled up in their dream worlds, the ages upon ages it took for the shower to get hot; each morning tested my ability to be a good and gracious person. (I'm making it sound like I grew up in a barn. I'm really being quite dramatic; my parents provided exquisitely with nourishment, inspiration and safety from the elements.)

     The discovery of coffee helped enormously. Along with the caffeine jolt, it provided a purpose to move beyond my slumber, allowed space and a reason to be still, and helped to cultivate a journal-keeping practice.

     And then I became obsessed.

     If I didn't get my "morning time" I would become insufferable. I behaved in a manner which should be prohibited in the morning. Marion Cunningham, in The Breakfast Book, has a wonderful list called "Breakfast Table Civility and Deportment". Number 4 reads: "Reading the newspaper at the table is permissible but a pleasant word or salutation must be spoken to all present." Number 7 reads: "Since everyone is defenseless at breakfast, there should be no contentiousness or crossness." Number 13 reads: "Don't answer questions in a saucy manner."

      Let it suffice that I have violated all of these rules.

      I remember the worst morning that My Time was compromised was Christmas Day in Jarez de la Frontera, Spain. Because it's a predominately Catholic country, most places were closed and I couldn't slink in anywhere to get my cafe con leche(s). My poor traveling companion had to suffer through me having a near-fit (nothing hyperbolic here - I recall tears) as we roamed the streets looking for anything open.

     The place we ended up at was a cafe with a marble top bar, copious amounts of cigarette smoke, the smell of espresso wafting through the air and families chattering away in a celebratory mood while nibbling on pieces of toast with a bright orange jam.

    Well, that shut me up and stopped my tears.

     "What is it?" we asked (well, I'm almost certain I didn't do the asking since all I managed to do the whole time was ask for books in English, a plate of anchovies or a glass of red wine).

     "Ahhhh. Pan con tomate?" the man behind the bar bashfully replied.

     "Bread with tomato?" We looked at each other a bit quizzically and then looked at him and nodded. "Una, por favor."

      What followed was one of the most delightful culinary experiences I've had yet. This piece of toast proved to me what I've heard for ages: that the humblest of ingredients, when executed with care and precision, can yield flavors that are beautiful and elegant.

      Tomatoes, garlic, salt and olive oil. On a piece of toast. Pan con tomate.

Pan con Tomate

Ingredients

2 slices of good bread, toasted
1 clove of garlic, sliced lengthwise
1 large ripe tomato, sliced lengthwise
olive oil
salt

Process

      Once the bread is done toasting, rub each side of it with the juicy part of the garlic clove.

      Lie the toast on a plate and vigorously rub the cut side of the tomato onto it so that all of the seeds, pulp and juices go onto the bread. You'll be left with messy hands and some tomato skin (discard it and wash your hands).

      Drizzle at least 2 tablespoons of olive oil onto the bread and finish with at least 1/4 teaspoon of salt per slice of toast.

Serves 2, very modestly.

Prep time: 3 minutes.
Cook time: 2 minutes.

Writing by Adria Lee | Styling and Photography by Amy Pennington

Gold, Silver & Bronzed

      Anchovies! They are brilliant, gorgeous, and worthy of medals (forgive me, I really get into the Olympic spirit). I'll admit that they are utilized in peculiar manners here in the States - most often strewn haphazardly and tactlessly on pizzas. When used mindfully and with balanced intent, however, a few anchovies in a dish or sauce is simply wonderful. They are at the heartbeat of umami, the fifth flavor that gives dishes a mystical, savory-roundness.

      It wasn't until a time spent in Spain that I was introduced to these fish being available beyond their usual salty brine. One Spanish method for serving boquerones is to fillet them, poach them in vinegar and serve them drizzled with olive oil with nothing but a tiny fork. They're also available how we see them generally, as anchoas - preserved in salt/packed in oil - but so, so beautifully fresh; often they're served wrapped around olives, capers, pickled peppers, atop toast, and on soft creamy cheese with flaky salt and cracked black pepper. I came to delight in these small plates (tapas in most of Spain, pintxos in the Basque region) and felt rather blue when I just had to go to France and leave my small fish friends behind.

      I digress because I'm passionate and certain about anchovies. Today's recipe goes back to the tinned anchovies that are widely available in most grocery stores. You'll get plenty of protein from the chic peas and more flavor than you may expect with the garlic, lemon zest and anchovies. You'll only need 4-6 fillets, which is good news since you'll have some left over. As you sear the chic peas, you'll find that the anchovies break down and coat the beans - this is marvelous and to your benefit; it balances the sometimes too-pungent fish taste which cause so many to wrinkle their nose.

      I can't promise that you'll maintain friendships if you don't brush your teeth after eating this dish - but who cares: you've gone for the gold.

Pan-Fried Chic Peas w/ Lemon Zest & Garlic (And Anchovies)

Note: This is a very quick process. Since the chic peas are already cooked, your objective is to brown and give them texture. Once this is achieved, the other ingredients should be added and given a couple of minutes to mingle with each other before removing from the heat.

Ingredients

3 T olive oil

2 c cooked chic peas (canned are fine)

3 cloves garlic, minced

4 - 6 anchovy fillets, chopped * 

the juice of one lemon (about 2 T)

1/4 t sea salt

1 t freshly ground pepper

1 T freshly chopped parsley
zest of one lemon

chili flakes (optional garnish)

Process

       First, zest the lemon before you slice it to squeeze.

      In a heavy bottomed sauce pan, heat olive oil over medium high heat.  Test a chic pea once the oil is hot, you want to hear it sizzle upon contact.

      Add chic peas to the hot oil and allow at least two minutes before you shake the pan/stir them. Give them another two minutes to brown again (ultimately this will be in a different place on the bean but it's no big deal to get a few blackened ones).

      Reduce the heat to medium and add the garlic and anchovies,  stirring gently to coat the beans - leave them alone for two minutes so the garlic can cook a bit to lose its pungency. Add the salt, black pepper and lemon juice and remove from heat.

      Transfer to a serving bowl and mix in the lemon zest, herbs and chili flakes.

Serves 2, handsomely.

Prep time: 10 minutes

Cook time: 10 minutes

*Ortiz is a wonderful brand for anchovies but shop around for what suits you. And if you have a true aversion to anchovies, substitute  3 T of  rinsed, roughly chopped capers.

Writing and Styling by Adria Lee | Pictures by Amy Pennington