slow-roasted salmon and pink potato salad

Truth be told, I haven’t been writing here as of late for a few reasons:

1. I had a baby (who is going to be 3 in a couple of months, good lord). And she is a fierce, fiery force of nature, which has been so so so fun and so so so exhausting. Whenever I’ve had the energy to make something that is not grilled cheese, I have been so famished that waiting to eat it so I can take pictures has felt agonizing.

2. I have been riding a wave of postpartum emotions that has felt very confusing and very private. I have talked to some friends who have found themselves in similar places, and from what I can gather, if you find yourself being the primary parent of a small child while you’re living hundreds (or thousands) of miles away from family in a country that doesn’t value family leave (‘merica, fuck yeah), you’re not going to feel 100% great all of the time. In the next post, I’ll take some time to write about some things that have been helpful for me with navigating my feelings following parenthood in case you’re there, too (welcome to the club).

3. So many things have been going on in the news, in our country, even here in Utah, that have felt immensely important, and I have been struggling to feel like my voice and my interests in food have mattered in the midst of it all. I would get a flash of inspiration and hop in the kitchen and pick up my phone to turn on some music, and some clickbait about the climate crisis or another shooting would pop up on the screen and suddenly I would be consumed by feelings of hopelessness and sadness and wonder where the greater value lay in my work.

And at the same time, food became an immensely important component of both self-care and connecting with people while I navigated my own emotions surrounding parenthood. I began to notice how having nutritious prepared ingredients made constructing a quick, wholesome meal so much easier, and how easily my spirits were raised by eating something full of vegetables and textures and flavor. I noticed how sweets generally didn’t make me feel emotionally great, and at the same time, there was nothing better than eating a gigantic chocolate chip cookie when what I was craving was a gigantic chocolate chip cookie. Sauces like romesco and tahini-lemon dressing could take a simple plate of scrambled eggs, a handful of arugula, and toast into the stratosphere. Braised meats and stews waiting patiently in the fridge felt like the equivalent of a bear hug each time I portioned some out to be reheated.

I have also been finding immense joy in having dinner with friends during the week, even if dinner looks much different than it used to. My days are usually unpredictable in terms of sleep, food, exercise, and work, and sharing food with others at the end of the day has proved to be a powerful reset button. It additionally has helped my daughter feel a greater sense of community and belonging, and has allowed her to bond with good friends who have become our Utah family over the years. We have made some basic AF dinners at times, let’s be honest, but even mac and cheese can feel soul-quenching when you’re sharing it with other grateful and hungry parents.

This is not mac and cheese, can you tell? ;) That said, it is more basic than it seems. The potatoes may be cooked ahead of time, arugula can be grabbed out of the clamshell and plunked straight into a salad bowl, and the slow-roasted salmon is cooked gently enough that it will weather a potty-training mishap distracting you from the kitchen (plus it can be cooked in advance, too).

From a nutrition and flavor standpoint, this recipe ticks so many of my favorite boxes. Lots of protein and complex carbs fill you up, but the arugula and bright dressing liven up the dish and keep the flavors interesting and more-ish. And it is the kind of recipe that can handle additions (avocado! green beans! eggs!) and changes (no tarragon in the dressing! red wine vinegar instead of lemon juice!) gracefully.

This is the point in the post where I try to wrap up all of the thoughts in a neat package, and my brain on 4 hours of sleep. just. does. not. want. to. do. it. today. So many thoughts! So many feelings! But where I was trying to go at the beginning of this whole thing was to say that good food has proved to be meaningful in that it helps me to be more present and grateful and happy and charismatic and a better parent and a better friend and a better partner and a better family member and a better person. The best version of myself.

Imagine, if we were all the best versions of ourselves… oh man, wouldn’t it be FANTASTIC.

slow-roasted salmon and pink potato salad

Do your potatoes need to be pink for this salad? No way. Does your salmon need to be wild, or should it be farmed? Up to you. Even the ingredients list for the dressing is fudge-able. I like an herby, heavy on the mustard dressing, but you can adjust amounts to your liking. The thing that makes or breaks this salad the most is how robust and lively your arugula happens to be, so be picky; if all of the arugula is wilty and sad looking, baby spinach will work in a pinch.

In classic busy-parent form, this recipe is brief and rather general in instruction. I’ll come back and adjust it when I have time. Or I won’t! We shall see. If you can boil potatoes and mix things with a whisk, you’ll be fine. <3

Dressing:

• 1 small shallot, thinly sliced

• juice and zest of 1 lemon, preferably Meyer

• 1 large pinch salt

• 1 dollop (2 teaspoons-ish) dijon mustard

• 1 dollop (2 teaspoons-ish) whole-grain mustard

• 1-2 tablespoons chopped soft herbs (such as tarragon, chives, chervil, and/or parsley)

• olive oil (2-3 tablespoons)

Salad:

• 1 pound fingerling or other small potatoes, sliced, and boiled in salted water until tender; drain and cool.

• 3-4 good handfuls arugula

• 1/2 pound slow roasted salmon (rub uncooked filets with a generous amount of olive oil, sprinkle with kosher salt, and roast in a pre-heated 250˚F oven until just cooked through but still moist, checking after 20 minutes; for me, thick filets can take upwards of 30 minutes).

• Freshly ground black pepper (optional)

1. Make the dressing by whisking together everything but the olive oil in a small bowl (or, if making the salad immediately, directly in a salad bowl). Slowly add in the olive oil, whisking until well-combined and emulsified.

2. Combine the cooked and cooled potatoes and the dressing and mix well to combine.

3. Using your hands or a fork, gently break the salmon into bite-sized chunks or flakes.

4. Just before you are ready to serve the salad, add the arugula and toss gently with your hands. Scatter the salmon over the top of the salad, and toss once or twice with your hands to somewhat combine without breaking up the salmon chunks. Serve immediately (with the option for ground black pepper, if you wish), though if you don’t mind wilted arugula, the salad can sit for up to an hour.

roasted cauliflower and figs with burrata, mizuna, and almonds

OMG I'M ALIVE.

Cue blogger apologizing to readers about how sorry she is that she took a break from blogging and that she didn't mean to be away so long blah blah blah.

I am sorry not sorry about being away for so long. There is a good reason, I promise, and all will be revealed (dramatically waves hands) in the next post. I just popped back in because my email let me know that my readership exploded last weekend, and I wanted to say hello to all of you folks old and new. Hello! I'm still figuring out how you all found me, but in spite of how infrequently Field and Forest has been updated as of late, I'm here! I still like talking about/writing about/photographing/eating food! And I appreciate you being here, too!

Here's a present from the archives of recipes and photographs on my computer in the form of a fall salad. I have been a little perturbed by the way in which people have been talking about salads on some food websites as of late, like how "you shouldn't balk at this salad, I promise it is delicious!" Stop. Talking. About. Salads. Like. They. Are. Not. Amazing. And like you think people won't believe you if you talk about how amazing salads are. SALADS ARE AWESOME. Always have been. Always will be.

And full disclosure: the photo of this salad is of a salad with mozzarella, not burrata. Burrata is noticeably creamier (and messier), and I think this recipe came from a time when life was messy and I needed to photograph something neat and reliable. But, if you can get it, burrata is a knock-your-socks-off luxurious addition to this salad and very much worth the mess.

ROASTED CAULIFLOWER AND FRESH FIGS WITH
BURRATA, MIZUNA, AND ALMONDS
serves 4 for a light meal or hearty side salad

Preheat your oven to 425˚F. Spread the cauliflower florets in a single layer on a baking sheet, drizzle generously with olive oil, and toss with your hands to evenly coat the florets. Roast in the oven, stirring once or twice, until crispy and evenly golden (10-20 minutes depending on the size of your florets). Set aside to cool.

Toast the almonds in a dry skillet over medium heat until golden brown, stirring frequently so that they don't burn. Set aside to cool.

Wash and slice figs into whatever shapes you prefer (wedges, halves, rounds). Slice mozzarella or burrata into enough slices that everyone has an equal amount of cheese on their plate (I've been using 6 slices for 2 people, and 8 slices for 4 people); if you are using especially creamy burrata, you may have an easier time cutting it in half, then in half again to make 4 quarters.

To plate: place the cheese on 4 plates, then divide your mizuna or arugula evenly over the cheese. Top with the cauliflower florets and sliced figs. Scatter the toasted almonds over the vegetables, fruit, and cheese. Drizzle with more extra virgin olive oil, some balsamic vinegar, and top each salad with a generous pinch of flaky sea salt and a grind or two of black pepper. Serve immediately.

1 head of cauliflower, cut into florets
Extra virgin olive oil (for roasting the cauliflower and dressing the salad)
1/2 cup almonds, coarsely chopped
1 pound ripe figs
1 pound burrata or buffalo milk mozzarella
a couple of handfuls of mizuna, arugula, or other peppery salad green
aged balsamic vinegar
flaky salt
freshly ground black pepper

mixed citrus salad with champagne vinaigrette and pistachios

(Yeah, not a photo of SLC in January... but more depictive of how I feel today than the dreary/smoggy/old-snow reality!)

I woke up this morning before everyone else (ish, Lucca woke up when I moved in bed and sneezed in my face before falling back asleep... Happy New Year!) and got up and walked into a clean kitchen and had this weird sense of deja-vu and warm fuzzies that I remember feeling when we put our first set of matching dishes into our cabinets shortly after we got married, where I would frequently open the cabinets and stand with my hands on my hips and look at the neat stacks of plates and bowls and think "this is very nice."

There is something so welcoming and calm about a clean kitchen in the morning. Richard and I hosted friends for dinner two nights in a row this past week, and in spite of the late evenings and multiple dishes, we've made a considerable effort to not leave anything to clean up the morning after (major props to Richard for pulling some serious dish-washing weight, and also for convincing me months ago that a mechanical dishwasher was a worthy investment - holy cow, was he right). And so instead of waking up in a post-gathering malaise and having to do more dishes first thing in the morning, we wake up, walk into a sparkling kitchen, make coffee, read, listen to podcasts, and then get to work/projects/Lucca-wearing-out. It has been lovely.

I realize the Gregorian calendar is a human construct and in geological time, the world doesn't really give two figs whether it is 2016 or 2017, but there is something that feels similarly fresh and new when we move from one year to the next. It is like shedding a skin or the feeling you get when you brush your teeth after eating corn-on-the-cob. An "oooh yes, I needed that, now I can get on with things" kind of feeling.

There were some very high highs and some rather low lows this year. I cannot lie and say that I'm looking at 2017 without some considerable concern for our country and our planet. I don't think that you can have a food blog or think/write/talk about food without considering greater issues at hand. I think about Syria each time I use Aleppo pepper flakes. I wonder about the speed/progression of climate change when I buy avocados at the grocery store. I consider the connections between some synthetic pesticides and Parkinson's disease, which afflicted my grandmother later in life, when I look at the costs of conventionally grown v. organically grown cane sugar. I think I look very frowny when I go food shopping. What can I say! I have a lot of serious thoughts in the grocery store.

But I also like to think that when we grab the minty-fresh feelings of a new year by the nads, we can make active, if often small, changes that create larger positive ripple effects throughout the next twelve months of our lives. Maybe this is the year you start calling your parents on a regular basis. Maybe this is the year you buy an electric car or take public transportation twice (or more!) a week. Maybe this is the year that you make the lunches you bring to work, instead of getting takeout all of the time. Maybe this is the year that you eat less meat, but get the sustainably and humanely raised (and super delicious) stuff whenever possible. Maybe this is the year that you volunteer for a cause you care about deeply, or donate money to help people in crisis far away. Maybe you start making choco-tacos and giving them to strangers, because you can! I don't know. But I bet there's something you've considered doing and ended up thinking, "eh, I'll do it later," or "maybe next year." Do it now!

I have some larger "I want to do this thing this year" thoughts for another post, but right now I'm working on being more brave. I want to stand up for people and things that I care about more. I want to take more risks, both personally and professionally. I want to act out of joy instead of fear whenever possible. Maybe you're good at this and you're thinking "well, that's not so hard." That is awesome for you! It is hard for me. I am working on it. I am not perfect. I'll probably fail a number of times, but at least I'm giving it a go. Maybe you'll forget your homemade lunch at home and break your lunch-bringing streak with some In-n-Out. It's cool. Hop back on the homemade lunch horse the next day. We're all human and we're all trying.

And now we come to the point of the post where I try to transition larger thoughts into a recipe and today I'm drawing a blank. Blah. Oh well! There's a salad here that is juicy and quenching and colorful and probably what your bod wants after a month of cookies and cakes and latkes and roasted meats and gravy and candy canes. It's easily scaled, so keep in mind that I would happily eat this recipe in its entirety before you choose your number of citrus units. Otherwise, it probably feeds 2-3 if you have other stuff happening on the side (photo context clues: like bread).

Much love in 2017 (and always). 💕

makes enough salad for 1 Rachel or 2-3 normal people

Cut the citrus into 1/4-inch thick rounds. Place rounds onto a plate or serving dish, alternating the types of citrus if you wish. Set aside.

Place the red onion into a medium bowl, and add a few splashes of champagne vinegar to just barely cover the onion. Add a pinch of salt and miix briefly, then let sit for 5-10 minutes to marinate. Whisk in a small glug (a tablespoon-ish) of olive oil, and taste the dressing with a leaf or arugula or spinach. (I like my dressing slightly bright because the citrus can be sweet, but add more olive oil if you prefer your dressing to be more mellow).

Add the arugula and/or spinach to the bowl, and gently toss with your hands to coat the leaves with the dressing. Arrange the leaves over the citrus rounds so that you can still see citrus peeking out around the edge of your serving dish. Give it a quick twist or two of black pepper (not too much, please) sprinkle with the pistachios and serve immediately.

A 3-unit mix of citrus (I used a cara-cara orange, a navel orange, and a blood orange), peeled
a scant 1/4 cup thinly sliced red onion
champagne (or white balsamic) vinegar
kosher salt
olive oil
2 handfuls of arugula or spinach, or a mixture of both
black pepper
roasted pistachios (alternately, roasted almonds) coarsely chopped