Pea

Beans and rice create an unassuming but essential backdrop for the quintessential Tex-Mex meal—leave them out and you’ll probably hear about it. Rosa Albiter Espinoza, who has worked for more than seven years in the Rather Sweet kitchen, makes her Mexican rice regularly for our lunch specials. She prefers Adolphus rice, a long-grain variety native to Texas. When I’m preparing a Tex-Mex spread for a party, I make sure to serve a pot of rice and plenty of refried black beans.

Peas are so perfect on their own, it’s a wonder it ever occurred to anyone to cook them in the first place. But fortunately someone did. A trillion peas later, after endless refinements on the art of making a pea more perfect than a pea, the French Laundry created its cold pea soup, a spring rain cloud of viridian sugars skimming a truffled forest. But before Thomas Keller could make his soup, we had to grow up watching Julia Child chiding us about making the blanching water incredibly hot, and salting it, and treating the pea with the utmost love and care. It was Julia Child who rescued cooked peas from the ignominy of creamed cafeteria concoctions, restored their preciousness, and gave them back to us like so many incandescent pearls rolled from the fair hand of nature. A drop of saffron cream shot through with a taut bolt of salt cradles and charges this blanched pea with its own electricity.

A good soup for a spring day, bright green and not too filling.

I ate this rather soothing way with lettuce twice last week, once for lunch, accompanied by a piece of salmon, the second time for supper, with nothing but a hunk of soft farmhouse bread, the sort with a dusting of white flour on top. Light, juicy, and clean tasting.

Anyone who has shelled a bag of peas will know how good they are raw. Far too little is made of their scrunchy sweetness, and I put forward the pod-fresh raw pea as an idea to throw into salads of pale yellow butterhead lettuce, cracked wheat, or dishes of cooked fava beans. They work in their uncooked state only when very young and small. Old peas are mealy and sour. One rainy lunchtime in June, I put them into a simple salad of Peter Rabbit lettuce, crisply cooked smoked bacon, and hand-torn ciabatta. The result—restrained, refreshing, and somehow quintessentially English.

It’s mid-June and I have returned home with four lamb steaks. It’s the sort of thing I buy when my mind is elsewhere. I think I was after a “nothing-special” lunch of ease and straightforwardness, yet once the steaks and their fine frame of white fat had been brushed with olive oil and the leaves and flowers of thyme, and were sizzling on the blackened garden grill, I realized I had an extraordinary treat on my hands. Instead of a mound of petits pois at the lamb’s side, I blitzed the peas to a smooth purée with mint and melted butter.

Midsummer is a time of extraordinary activity in my garden. Every day brings with it a new shoot, a newly opened rose, a froth of lettuce seedlings. At this point I make a soup of the older lettuces and peas, and yet there is no reason why I shouldn’t make it throughout the year with frozen peas and produce-market lettuce.

Among the charcoal and garlic of midsummer’s more robust cooking, a quiet salad of palest green can come as a breath of calm. Last June, as thousands joined hands around Stonehenge in celebration of the summer solstice, I put together a salad of cool notes: mint, fava beans, and young peas—a bowl of appropriate gentility and quiet harmony.

With baking, the texture of tofu turns satisfyingly dense and chewy. In many cities, you can find fresh and creamy locally-made tofu at farmers’ markets, food co-ops, and in Asian markets. Tender spring snap peas are quick to cook; here they are simply placed in a colander and cooked with the hot water from the soba noodles.

Enoki mushrooms are also known as “snowpuffs” or “golden needle” mushrooms because of their long, stretched stems and white caps. They come to us from Japan, where they are served raw or lightly cooked. Enoki are usually sold refrigerated in sealed plastic packets of 3.5 to 7 ounces. Despite their delicate appearance, they have a surprisingly meaty texture, especially when roasted. Mirin, or rice wine, is a sweet Japanese cooking wine that has a low alcohol content. If you can’t find mirin, substitute a tablespoon of honey mixed with a drop of white wine.

Although technically an appetizer, these stuffed wings are also a convenient main course at lunch—down two of them and I guarantee you’ll be happily full for at least 4 hours. The technique here takes a little practice; don’t forget to use a very sharp knife. I promise you, your efforts will be worthwhile: this dish never fails to impress. If you have any leftover rice, you can eat it on its own as a side dish, stuff it into grape leaves for a Mediterranean twist, or steam inside a corn husk for a delicious Japanese-style “tamale.”

Grilled squid, the Japanese version of fried calamari, is extremely popular in Japan’s neighborhood izakaya, or eating pubs. Whenever I order this dish I always think of my mother, who once warned me against eating squid from street vendors. My mom, always looking out for me! Using nice, fresh squid, this dish is simple to prepare and perfect with a cold glass of sake. Try to buy the largest calamari-style squid you can find.

Sea urchin, or uni in Japanese, is a favorite delicacy back home, one that can be enjoyed raw or mixed as a dressing for seafood. I love the creamy, rich texture and sweet flavor of sea urchin combined with the lemony butter sauce of this gnocchi dish. You can prepare the gnocchi ahead of time, if you’d like. Just toss it with 1 tablespoon olive oil and refrigerate for up to 5 days or freeze for up to 1 month.

Loaded with nutrients, wakame has been an important part of the Japanese diet for centuries. And besides being good for you, it has a wonderful flavor that’s both briny and sweet. I love this seaweed and eat a ton of it. Wakame is also very convenient: because it’s dried, it can be stored for months, but it takes only minutes to reconstitute. This quick and easy soba dish is a delicious way to introduce this versatile ingredient to American cooks, especially when paired with fresh snow peas and tangy onions. Give it a try; I know you’ll love wakame as much as I do.

This recipe departs from the traditional pastry crust potpie, using instead a layer of herb and garlic mashed potatoes. The topping is so delicious it can just as easily be served alone as a side dish. If you want to be true to your slow cooker and use it for both steps, the potatoes need to be made first and set aside, or, if you’re lucky enough to have two slow cookers, at the same time as the filling. They can, however, be made just as easily on a stovetop.

Ham with redeye gravy is a southern classic. A cuppa coffee is used to deglaze the pan, and the resulting slurry is poured over the ham slices. I’d bet my buttons that somebody has thrown coffee into the stew for added flavor!

This is another dish that you can easily adjust to suit your tastes. You can use any vegetables you like. When your budget is squeaking tight, make it with just peas and carrots. But when you have a little more wiggle room, try it with red peppers, zucchini, and sugar snap peas.