Israeli Couscous Salad

My husband has off from work today in observance of Memorial Day so he rose early to trek into the city with me. The man that rises at 7:00 on weekends to frequent the farmers markets before a crowd, as I grasp my iced coffee, sporting a baseball cap to cover my unkempt hair and leggings because I don't do zippers on Saturday morning.  Right about now he is off wandering the museums and if I know my James, consuming Pure Leaf Iced Teas in quick succession. After my half day schedule, we will do some exploring and eating of course. More on that later.

During our train ride, he told me about the first time he laid eyes on New York City, a young Marine on ship, during this very week, Fleet Week. He came over from Camp Lejeune on the USS WASP and had by that time in his life seen much of the world, but hadn't yet seen New York. I am thankful for the sacrifices of those in uniform throughout the generations who have secured for me the opportunity to sit in the sun and munch on some couscous salad this weekend. You have my eternal gratitude. 

If you're hosting a gathering this weekend and are short on time, sternos or patience, pasta salad is a reliable go to. Food52 shared a genius collection of not quite recipes to make a series of appealing salads, sure to please. Basically combine a pasta or grain, something seasonal, something crunchy, something sweet and a solid vinaigrette. Here we are using Botticelli Foods Extra Virgin Olive Oil and Balsamic Vinegar. 

You'll need:

• 1 ⅓  cups Israeli Couscous
• 2 cups Baby Spinach Leaves
• ⅔ cup Sliced Pears
• 1 ounce Goat Cheese, crumbled
• 3 tablespoons Dried Cranberries
• 1 ½ tablespoons Sliced Almonds, toasted
• 1 tablespoon Botticelli Extra Virgin Olive Oil
• Kosher Salt and Black Pepper

For the dressing:

• 2 tablespoons Botticelli Balsamic Vinegar
• 1 ½  teaspoon Honey Mustard
• 2 tablespoons Botticelli Extra Virgin Olive Oil
• Kosher Salt and Black Pepper

To Prepare:

1. In a 2 quart saucepan, sauté 1 ⅓ cups couscous with 1 tablespoon Botticelli Olive Oil over medium heat until couscous is lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Slowly add 1 ¾ cups boiling water and return to a boil. Reduce heat to medium low and cover. Simmer for 10-12 minutes or until liquid is absorbed.
2. Let the couscous cool to room temperature.
3. Meanwhile, make the balsamic dressing. Whisk together balsamic vinegar and honey mustard in a small bowl. Slowly pour in olive oil as you continue to whisk. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
4. Place the couscous in a salad bowl along with the spinach, pears, goat cheese, cranberries and almonds. Reserve some almonds, cranberries and cheese to garnish. Add the dressing and toss to combine.

Commuter: Best Laid Plans

It was late in the evening. I could have gone home. I was fatigued in the way a woman of reasonable privilege could be fatigued. I have one job, no mouths yet to feed and a low-stress life in the traditional sense, if you discount my subsurface anxieties. My husband encouraged me to stop by the event I was invited to. He said "see all that you can see."

Waiting.  

I took the F by myself, in the right direction and didn't miss my stop. The memory of my train blunders from a few weeks prior still etched into my memory. I missed my transfer to the Path, had to backtrack to get to it, missed my train home by a minute, waited an additional hour in Hoboken, and finally missed my stop in Clifton, half asleep mindlessly scrolling, ending up in Paterson with no cash for a cab, at midnight no less. My mom's nervous words, always have a key in your hand if you have to use it at the top of my mind. She was robbed as a young woman in the city years ago, so I understand her reservations. Our parents and loved ones bring with them a set of life circumstances and do their best to prepare us, while letting go enough so we can see and feel on our own. Thank you ma.

Commuter South Carolina Coconut cake from Porter House Bar and Grill. 

Back to Paterson: The kind Lyft driver welcomed me into his warm car and I made it home to a snoring husband and cats begging for food, vowing not to get lost in the palm of my hand  again, as I sit here writing, not paying attention to my surroundings. But situations lead us to unintended destinations, better than we could have envisioned. A Wharton waitlisted high school student that found home on the hilltop at Georgetown. Nursery school assistant reject turned hostess, that found a partner in the last month of my college career. A fearful commuter that the big city beckoned. 

Commuter: Space and Time

Children converged on the train from all directions, their worried parents speaking in declarative tones to find a seat, keep their hands off the people in front of them, and their voices toggled to inside mode. I knew my mama was coming to work for a reception later in the afternoon, but it had slipped my mind this was a national observance: Take your children to work day. 

The sweat on the brow of one gentleman gave him away. His home colliding with his work, his work colliding with his home. His little aliens that he bore imposing on his work planet with sticky fingers, running noses, and joyful gazes. I could see the ruminating in his eyes. Will the singleton sitting in the end inward facing seats allow me to sit with my two children? How long until we are off this train? Why did I agree to this... A subtle smile and resignation to let go of the reigns of his control. I am glad I did this. 

Being a commuter has gifted me for better or worse a new relationship with space and time. Minutes have become more important as I wait at a red light with three minutes to my train's tentative departure. Seconds, even, have heightened significance. I am incessantly running to conform to a schedule that determines if I have enough time to walk two blocks out of my way to bask in the glory of Eataly before work, and it determines when I will see my husband and eat supper in the evening. I must confess though, running towards something beats running away from something. 

And space. On the train you are bound to a reasonably confined space with oftentimes perfect strangers. If you move over when they sit down so your legs don't awkwardly graze one another, will you offend them? These are the deliberations I make in my head. Will they perceive I am recoiling from them as people? I would hate to send a message of intolerance to basic proximity. Conversely letting your arm, or hip or leg linger sends a very different message, to some. 

Just when I thought I was beyond mathematics class, enter commuter math.  This takes place below the folds of our consciousness. Can I walk 12 blocks, in these shoes, in 9 minutes? What is the probability the Path will arrive, as scheduled? Trying to judge how quickly to cut through the crowds in order to safely exit to the platform when stuck on the wrong side of a packed train, is its own stressful calculation. I feel unsettled at having to elbow and knee my way though so I graciously apologize. Some people are flat and don't utter a word. I'm thankful for the one off who says "don't worry dear, have a nice day."  Proof that one passing phrase can set the stage for a better day. Isn't it wild we have that privilege and power? Anyway, getting in my stance to make it off the train in time. Have a nice day, dear. 

Commuter: Volume 1

I got a job in New York City. Previously, I avoided visiting friends in the city because I had an inordinate fear of public transportation. Faring just fine in the underground of Washington DC, I was convinced that the New York City subway was different. Growing up, we saw plays as a family in the city and shared fancy meals sporadically.  Blue collar, we indulged in the majesty of the big city for birthdays and holidays predominately, or some fridays to get scungili at a hole in the wall in Little Italy. We always drove, piling in to the car with snacks and the latest traveling companion, be it a doll which evolved into a puzzle, which evolved into a smart phone. I had never ridden the subway alone and can count on one hand the number of times I rode with a friend. I was afraid of it perhaps because I hadn't experienced it enough. 

The first three weeks of my position as a Community Manager at Bullfrog+Baum, a place I had longed to work since graduation, I took three different routes. My second day of work there was a blizzard, and in two weeks, two derailments at Penn Station. Strong start, I know.  Needless to say I have adopted the Hoboken route and file into the Path each morning with the other worker bees. My dear friend Doug helped me navigate the first day, coaching me where to get on and where to get off. My brother Mike is a commuter too so I screenshot his patient instructions and cling to them. A month in, it finally feels smooth and rhythmic. I've taken the subway alone a few times now to different client meetings around the city, my colleagues all exceedingly helpful and tolerant of my travel neurosis. I know people desire to stand out, but when it comes to travel, I want to fit in. I don't want to look lost, or nervous. I want to earn the badge of a proper commuter.

There is something inexplicably romantic about a train. We are sharing a confined space for a brief moment in time, heading in the same direction to very different destinations.  Whose brow is furrowed with concern over financial hardship, who came from a fight with a loved one, who had to peel themselves away from the arms of their partner? I wonder if anyone is running away. Or fleeing for the comfort of home. 

Most people keep their heads down or in a device. This dance is the routine and there is no need for human connection. This is the means to earn a living. I'm still bright eyed and amazed by the crunch of the metal in the vestibules, the patience of the conductors, and the passing scenery in the clouded window. I have this peculiar fixation with eye contact. I like to smile at strangers but oddly enough only if they seem open to that type of exchange. Some are not and stonewall the attempt. Others like the mother struggling to keep her child's Johnny Rocket balloon contained in a crowded train, is more than happy to engage. 

More soon, this is my stop.  

The Stratasphere

I've realized of late, or maybe I have always known but it feels more profound because the winter adds an extra layer of comfort seeking to the daily repertoire, that I love the robust goodness that is strata. Beyond the comfort factor, it brings textures together from different worlds to coexist: crusty breads, tender vegetables, sharp cheeses. It also enables us to waste not. Stale bread or sad slightly wilted escarole is no longer beyond salvaging. 

My very first Staub piece came from Molly Yeh, as part of her book launch giveaway so it's especially dear because I love her work and her willingness to build up other home cooks and invite them into her narrative. 

Thus far I have used this beauty for mains where bread/cake is the protagonist- Panettone French Toast and this Vegetable, Egg, and Cheddar Strata. But next up I am definitely making Molly's Tater Tot Hot Dish, from "Molly on the Range."  

I hope you'll join me on a trip to the stratasphere.  

You'll need:  

• Cooking spray  
• 2 tablespoons olive oil  
• 1 cup sliced bell peppers
• 1 cup sliced zucchini
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/2 pepper, divided
• 8 cups cubed day old, crusty bakery bread
• 1 1/2 cups shredded sharp cheddar or jack cheese
• 3 cups milk
• 6 large eggs 

To prepare: 

1. Coat 9-by-13-inch baking dish with cooking spray and set aside.
2. Heat oil in large skillet over medium heat; add peppers zucchini or your desired combination of crunchy vegetables and cook, stirring often, until soft, about 8 minutes.  
3. Stir in thyme, and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper; remove from heat and set aside.
4. Place half of bread cubes in even layer in baking dish, then top with half of vegetable mixture and half of cheese. Add remaining bread cubes, then remaining vegetables and cheese.
5. In large bowl, whisk together milk, eggs and remaining 1/4 teaspoon each salt and pepper. Pour egg mixture evenly over bread, vegetables and cheese in baking dish. 
6. Here you can refrigerate  for several hours or overnight. I was hungry. I put it right in the oven and it turned out beautifully. 
7. Preheat oven to 350°F. Bake uncovered for 45 to 60 minutes or until golden brown on top and toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.

Adapted from Cabot Cheddar