Once I get on a roll with something, I can’t stop. You may remember that over the winter I was obsessed with soup, trying out several different recipes in response to the never-ending, freezing weather outside. This summer, in comparison, has turned into my season of the peach.

A stone fruit tea cake packed with peaches was so delicious it inspired me to return to the blog after a long absence. Soon after came my successful attempt at Terra Luna’s imaginative peach carpaccio. And over this past weekend, I was inspired by Martha Rose Shulman of the New York Times to puree my favorite stone fruit into a tangy, Indian-inspired soup. (On second thought, perhaps my winter soup fixation isn’t resolved after all.)

I soon realized that fruit soups are the perfect summer food. With most of them, there’s barely any cooking involved, whether you’re using peaches for this recipe, melons for that one, or even tomatoes for gazpacho. No hot oven is needed, no long-simmering pots on the stove. The peaches for my Sunday soup required only a brief swim in boiling water and then a quick dip in ice water, so that their skins slipped off easily. After peeling them, I quickly chopped the fruit into small pieces, and pureed most of them with some buttermilk, honey, and lemon juice. Cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, and vanilla extract were added right before I put the soup in the refrigerator to chill. It was really that easy.

Shulman compares this soup to a lassi, which is an Indian milkshake drink. Jim and I sipped it slowly for dessert, after an appropriate home-cooked meal of tandoori chicken and basmati rice. The thick mixture slowly slid down our throats, the slightly sour buttermilk tamed by the sweet peaches and rich, almost warmth-inducing spices. Toasted almonds, added at the last minute as a garnish, provided a crunchy contrast to the smooth liquid. It was just as good for breakfast the next morning, while I sat at my desk and reviewed my work for the rest of the day.

I cut all of the measurements for this recipe exactly in half, so that I only had enough soup for three people instead of six. In retrospect that may have been a mistake, as I was left craving more by the time I emptied the bowl. Obviously I’m not ready for my summer of peaches to end.

Usually after a prolonged absence from the blog I take a few minutes to explain where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to. Well, this time is different, as I don’t have any excuses or stories to share. The simple and short explanation is that I got lazy, swept up in the easygoing vibe of summertime. I pushed the blog to the back burner and spent some quality time at the beach, computer be gone. But one look at the piles of fresh peaches and plums at the farmers’ market near my office last week quickly changed my attitude. The multiple baskets of tender stone fruit, bursting with their sweet, sticky juices, instantly awakened my urge for cooking, and yes, blogging.

I knew exactly what I wanted to make with this summertime bounty. During one of those relaxing afternoons at the beach (as I sat under an umbrella with my toes buried in the sand, of course) I came across a gorgeous-looking recipe for a stone fruit tea cake in Gourmet magazine. Published from a new cookbook called Rustic Fruit Desserts, this recipe seemed perfect for me and this sunniest of seasons: simple, forgiving, and filled with ripe fruit. 

The key to this recipe is in the dough. Instead of a traditional pie dough, flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, and eggs are combined into a loose, almost cream-like mixture. No rolling or painful dough transport required here, as I carefully spread half of the sticky dough into an even layer across my tart pan. After tossing the peaches and plums on top, I dropped the remaining dough in tablespoon-size pieces across the mounds of fruit, wherever I found room. This liquidy batter doesn’t follow any rules, but that’s what being “rustic” is all about, right? A sprinkle of brown sugar, 40 minutes in the oven, and my cake emerged. Bits of pink plums and orange peaches peeked through browned cushions of cake, promising a sweet taste of the season.

I brought the cake to a barbecue over the weekend, and all I can say is that if the rest of the recipes in Rustic Fruit Desserts are this good, then I have to run out and buy the book. Every bite revealed the inherent luscious nature of the fresh fruit, while the surrounding cake was light and airy in its own right. The recipe suggests serving this dessert with a dollop of cream, but we didn’t bother. Oh, and if you can’t tell, you don’t need to serve tea with this tea cake either. It is perfect on its own.

I didn’t change the recipe (except for substituting a sprinkling of turbinado sugar with brown sugar before baking), so I am not reprinting it here. You can access it in the August 2009 issue of Gourmet, on Gourmet’s website, or in the new cookbook Rustic Fruit Desserts.

Let’s face it, things are a mess right now. The economy is in shambles, our leaders can’t agree on a solution, and the world is basically in chaos. Plus, have I mentioned that the sun hasn’t come out since last week?

As the rain poured down on Sunday I decided to cook my way back into cheer and comfort. I started with a recipe for Lemon Olive Oil Cake, reprinted on Serious Eats from the new cookbook Olives and Oranges. Even a cursory look through the Artichoke Heart archives will prove my culinary affection for the powerful pairing of olive oil and lemons. Whether featured in a rice salad or fried zucchini flowers, these Mediterranean staples are the embodiment of sunshine and happiness. I bet even Wall Street would agree.

My obsession with this dessert actually dates back a few weeks. I first saw a version of it in the September issue of Food & Wine, which included a gorgeous photograph and recipe for Olive Oil-Thyme Cake with Figs. But my enthusiasm quickly waned when I saw that the recipe required both pastry and bread flour and came with a long page of instructions. I’m not lazy or cheap, but I just didn’t feel like investing in two different kinds of baking flour when I don’t bake very often. (I also didn’t feel like carrying home a ton of ingredients from the grocery store. OK, so maybe I am a little lazy.)

A week or so later I came across the simplified recipe for Lemon Olive Oil cake on Serious Eats. Except for a springform pan, I already had all the ingredients and tools I needed at home. All I had to do was pull that darn mixer out from under the sink, combine the ingredients together, and my simple, Italian-inspired dessert was ready in an hour.

Now, that piece of cake in the photograph above may look like a bland little poundcake, but oh my, does it make up in flavor what it lacks in appearance. The combination of good quality, extra-virgin olive oil, lemon rind, and tangy whole-milk yogurt creates a simple yet explosive dessert that emits sunshine with every slice. I’ve been eating it for dessert after dinner and for breakfast all week, hiding from the front page news behind its soft, spongy texture and satisfying crumb. Believe me, it works. I feel better already.

I thought I’d let you know that I’m determined to get past my writer’s block and general food malaise. Last weekend’s gorgeous weather actually inspired me to get off the couch and think about writing again. Focus, clarity, and blogging seemed to be within my grasp, and I looked for a new recipe to help bring everything together.

I can never resist a baked pasta dish; there’s something about the mix of melted cheese, tomato sauce, and chewy pasta that hits the spot and lifts my spirits every time. So as soon as I received this month’s Food & Wine and saw this recipe for Baked Orrechiette with Pork Sugo, I folded down the page and vowed to make it as soon as possible. In my mind it promised to be a more elegant version of my beloved Baked Ziti with Spicy Sausage recipe, and we all know I could use a little more class in my life.

As the sun shined through my kitchen window on Sunday afternoon, I chopped celery, carrots, and garlic. Next I browned the pork in my Dutch oven and added the vegetables, tomatoes, red wine, and chicken stock before allowing it all to simmer slowly for a couple of hours. After cooking a batch of orrechiette and grating some Parmesan cheese, I threw everything into a baking dish and then into the oven.

As I proudly pulled the pan from the oven thirty-five minutes later, it hit me: I completely forgot to add onion to the sauce. I guess sunshine isn’t enough to clear the cobwebs from my brain. I swear I read through the recipe several times before I started cooking, but somehow the word “onion” never registered with me.

Sigh. Obviously I’m not over this nasty bout of block yet. And since I forgot an essential ingredient in this dish I’m reluctant to pass judgment on it. The salty cheese, rustic shredded pork, and vegetables mixed with one of my favorite pasta varieties indeed provided me with the comfort I was seeking. But clarity and focus? I think I still have a ways to go.

For someone who used to hate ricotta cheese, I sure am making up for lost time. A few months ago I fell in love with Cook’s Illustrated’s Ricotta Gnocchi. Then last Sunday I discovered that my new favorite way to make pancakes now includes this creamy, once-loathed dairy product.

Food & Wine’s recipe for Ricotta Pancakes with Blueberries reminded me how ricotta cheese imparts an airy sweetness to a variety of dishes. These pancakes were fluffy and moist, a welcome combination of breakfast and dessert. Thinner and more delicate than regular pancakes, they weren’t the most handsome ones I’ve ever made, but they certainly made up for their sorry looks in the flavor department. 

“Ricotta” means recooked in Italian. According to Steven Jenkins’s Cheese Primer, ricotta isn’t even a cheese. It’s actually a by-product of cheesemaking, as it is made from leftover whey. Interestingly, whey is not disposable. If dumped into bodies of water or sewers, it can wreak havoc by increasing the growth of algae and killing the existing fish. Who knew that cheese could be so evil?

I’m glad someone thought of an appropriate use for this wily whey. Italian ricotta uses the whey from sheep or water buffalo milk, while American ricotta uses cow’s milk, creating a very different effect from the sweeter and drier Italian ricotta. I’ve definitely noticed a difference between the packaged supermarket stuff and the fresh batches I buy around the corner at my Italian specialty store. When possible, always go with the fresh, Italian ricotta.

In fact, I think I’ll buy another container this weekend. Like I said, I have a lot of ricotta to catch up on. And more pancakes to make.

I first discovered my love for the vanilla bean about a year ago, when I made Jamie Oliver’s torta di more. His recipe required the real deal, not the small bottle of extract from my spice cabinet. After splitting the long pod and patiently scraping the seeds away from its skin, I was soon enthralled by its aroma and flavor. From that moment, whether I made torta di riso or panna cotta, I automatically reached for a real vanilla bean instead of extract.

Then last month I came across Elaine Louie’s One Pot recipe for pollo papantla in the New York Times. The article described a Mexican dish of chicken legs simmered in a sauce of orange juice, cider vinegar, garlic, cayenne pepper, and finally, vanilla bean. The recipe was adapted from Zarela Martinez of Zarela restaurant in midtown Manhattan. She advises that the dish is almost better on the second day, when the flavors have soaked into the chicken.

The vanilla bean was cultivated by the Aztec Indians, who used it to flavor their cocoa-based drink called xocolatl. It is native to tropical America and is produced by a specific orchid that opens only one day per year. Mature pods take almost a year to mature, and they then endure a 3 to 6 month curing process that includes a boiling water bath and repeated sweat sessions while wrapped in blankets. Their fermentation process sounds oddly familiar to a day at the spa.

From my past experiences I’ve found that these One Pot recipes make enough food to feed a small army. So instead of 6 chicken thighs I used 4, and I slightly reduced the rest of the ingredients as well. I cheated and used Tropicana instead of fresh orange juice; I just couldn’t deal with squeezing fresh juice from a sack of oranges on a weeknight after work. 

The chicken emerged from the pot sweet and smoky, browned and savory. By the second day the vanilla and citrus flavors had indeed sunk into the poultry’s flesh, leaving little extra sauce after I warmed up the chicken. In retrospect I probably didn’t need to reduce the amount of sauce in the recipe. While the chicken was not dry by any means, a little sauce to sop up would have been nice. Regardless, my little bean didn’t let me down.

Recipe for Pollo Papantla (adapted from Elaine Louie’s April 30, 2008 recipe in the New York Times)

• 4 chicken thighs, legs split from the thighs
• salt
• pepper
• 2 tablespoons canola oil
• 1/3 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 2 garlic cloves, chopped
• 1 tablespoon cider vinegar
• 3/4 tablespoon of butter
• 1 1/4 cups orange juice (no pulp)
• 1 vanilla bean, split, seeds scraped from the pod
• chopped cilantro, for garnish

Rinse the chicken under water, then pat dry with paper towels. Season both sides with salt and pepper. Heat canola oil in a large skillet or deep sided Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the chicken pieces skin side down, and brown on both sides. This takes about 5 minutes per side.

When chicken is browned, pour excess oil and fat from the pan. Sprinkle cayenne and a little more pepper over the chicken as evenly as possible, to your taste. Add garlic, sauté for 1 minute. Add vinegar, butter, and orange juice. Add scraped vanilla beans, and then add the pod itself. Stir all of the ingredients together.

Cook the chicken skin side up, uncovered for about 20 to 30 minutes. Baste occasionally with the sauce, which will gradually reduce into a thick glaze. Garnish with cilantro, and serve with tortillas or rice. If you are eating this the next day, warm up the chicken in a covered pot at 350 degrees in the oven for about 15 minutes. Serves 2-3 people. Enjoy!

As promised, I have completed my hummus recipe smackdown. Last weekend I tested Food & Wine’s recipe for hummus masabacha, and this past Sunday I whipped up Cook’s Illustrated’s Ultimate Hummus. With such a title for its recipe, Cook’s must have been feeling pretty confident in its chickpea prowess. I whirred up the food processor and got ready to determine if the magazine was all bluster and intimidation, or if it really had the hummus goods.

In terms of the actual cooking process and ingredients list, there is little difference between the two recipes. Both start with dried chickpeas that are soaked overnight, although Cook’s doesn’t soak them with baking soda. Instead, Cook’s adds the baking soda while the chickpeas are cooking on the stovetop the next day. Both recipes use lemons, garlic, cooking water, tahini, and cumin, although in slightly different quantities. In the most significant differences between the two, Cook’s Illustrated eschews the lemon tahini sauce utilized by Food & Wine, and purees the cooked chickpeas and dry ingredients on their own before adding the liquid ingredients to the food processor in two separate stages.

Even though the differences in the recipes are slight, Jim and I strongly preferred the hummus from Cook’s Illustrated. It was mild but slightly nuttier in flavor than the Food & Wine batch, and was somehow much creamier as well. Also, the Cook’s recipe creates a more moderate batch of hummus than Food & Wine, perfect for us to share over the next couple of days without fear of wasting it.

So, I hereby declare Cook’s Illustrated the winner of my hummus cook-off. But really, there are no losers here. Both magazines produced perfectly good recipes for one of my favorite Middle Eastern spreads, and both versions are much better than the pre-packaged stuff from my corner bodega. And anyway, since I have been able to eat fresh hummus for a week straight, I think I am the real winner here. That’s all that counts.

(Unfortunately I cannot link directly to the recipes on the Cook’s Illustrated website; you have to be a member of the website to see them.) 

As I paged through the May issue of Food & Wine last week, I came across a hummus recipe in an article about the food of Israel. I had always wanted to make my own version of this Middle Eastern chickpea spread in order to see how it compared to the store-bought stuff, so I flagged the page and started planning my upcoming weekend around this experiment. 

Imagine my surprise when Cook’s Illustrated arrived at my door a few days later, also offering a recipe for the best hummus this side of the Atlantic Ocean. There was something in the air last week, and I have to say, it smelled of chickpeas. 

A more intrepid blogger might have spent the weekend testing both recipes, then triumphantly declaring the winner in a decisive post. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I just couldn’t do it. Too much hummus, too little time. So this past weekend I worked on the Food & Wine version, and this coming weekend I’ll try the Cook’s recipe.

On Saturday morning I wandered into Sahadi’s, the Middle Eastern specialty foods store on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. Even though I only needed dried chickpeas and tahini for my hummus cook-off, I spent some  time browsing the shelves filled with various types of ground flour, couscous, beans, nuts, and olives. After making my purchases I headed next door to the Damascus Bread and Pastry Shop for some homemade pita bread, also indulging myself with their sweet, sticky baklava. I need to find projects that bring me to Atlantic Avenue and its Middle Eastern shops more often.

Upon my return home, I focused on making my hummus. I put 1/2 pound of dried chickpeas and baking soda in water to soak, and by the next morning the chickpeas had expanded and softened. Some cooking time on the stovetop, a few whirs in the food processor with olive oil, lemon juice, and cooking water, and I had my chickpea spread. In Food & Wine’s recipe for hummus masabacha, the hummus is garnished with some whole chickpeas, a few sprinkles of cumin and paprika, and enhanced with a separate lemon-spiked tahini sauce.

The hummus, while creamy and nutty on its own, definitely improved with the lemon tahini, which I had spooned into the center. As I dragged the tahini sauce into the hummus with my pita bread, it infused the spread with a lightness and intense lemon flavor missing from the chickpea mixture. The Food & Wine article explains that authentic Israeli hummus is not as strongly flavored with lemon and garlic as Americans might be used to, and the masabacha variation is a little fancier than what one might order everyday.

I’m interested to see how the Cook’s Illustrated recipe compares. I’m also wondering how much hummus I can eat in a week. I guess I’m about to find out.

Like almost everyone else I know, I am ready for spring. The past few weeks have been so grey and dreary, with the sun peeking out from behind the clouds for just a moment before ducking back behind them again. For whatever reason, spring is not ready to be sprung.

But on this past cold and sleepy Sunday, spring did enter my home for a little while, in the form of Smitten Kitchen’s Spring Panzanella. I had seen the colorful photograph and recipe on their website at the end of last week, and I just knew that I had to make this salad, as soon as possible.

The mixture of asparagus, tangy leeks, white beans, and crispy toasted bits of leftover bread, combined with champagne vinegar, red onion, olive oil, and a bit of Dijon mustard simply proclaimed spring with every bite. The flavors were clean, fresh, and alive, providing me with a burst of positive energy during a day of lethargy. Jim is already looking forward to the next time I prepare it. I need to do a better job cutting the leeks though; I left them a little too thick this time around.

On Monday morning I proceeded to send this recipe to 3 of my friends. I needed to spread the news to my fellow cooks that spring had finally arrived, at least in the form of a recipe. It’s all we’ve got until the sun comes out.

With everyone leading such busy lives, I’ve found that months can go by without seeing certain friends. So, in an effort to maintain our ties to each other, Jim and I and 7 of our close friends decided to meet once a month to enjoy a home-cooked meal together. Jim and I hosted the inaugural dinner club gathering this past Saturday night.

I had never cooked a meal for such a large group of people before. As I expected, I learned many things from the experience. Here’s a rundown of the night:

Appetizers: We started with a loaf of No-Knead Bread, some soft, briny olives, and taleggio cheese, accompanied by fruity olive oil from my mother’s hometown in Italy. Jim’s fizzy Pomegranate-Champagne cocktail helped get the night off to a festive start.

What I learned: People love homemade bread. And fizzy drinks.

First course: Because of our previous success with Cook’s Illustrated’s Ricotta Gnocchi Jim and I thought they would be a perfect first course for the party. We made them a week earlier and froze them. An hour before cooking them, I took the gnocchi out of the freezer to rest at room temperature, as per the recipe. But when I finally added the gnocchi to the boiling water, the delicate squares of cheese disintegrated, their breadcrumbs trickling to the surface of the water.

As Jim and I stared at our melted, soggy gnocchi, we were faced with a Top Chef-like decision: Did we dare serve them? Since Padma wasn’t around to expel us from our own kitchen, we did. We were among friends, after all, and we all shared a laugh over the still-tasty, herb-infused cheese topped with a simple tomato sauce.

What I learned: When you have the oven going at full blast, plus 2 burners aflame on the stovetop, do not defrost ricotta gnocchi at room temperature. The kitchen was too warm to let the little guys rest on the counter, and they were doomed from the start.

Second course: We all know who I turn to in times of food-related need: Jamie Oliver. This time we went with his rustic leg of lamb from Jamie’s Italy, stuffing it with green olives, anchovies, bread, pine nuts, and an amazing amount of fresh herbs. We roasted it over potatoes, sweet parsnips, and fennel for two hours, pausing every so often to baste the meat with red wine. While Jim carved the lamb, I quickly sautéed some fresh brussels sprouts leaves with garlic and olive oil. Far more successful than our ricotta gnocchi, this second course saved the night for us. Jim even hit a home run with the wine pairing, serving a lovely, rich Bandol that we all enjoyed.

What I learned: As I had heard in the past, anchovies don’t taste fishy when mixed with other foodstuffs. They simply add a salty depth that you can’t achieve with regular salt.

Dessert: After a few rousing rounds of Guitar Hero (yes, we’re all in our 30s), we returned to the table for panna cotta with wild berry coulis. Luckily I still had a photograph from the first time I made this sweet, creamy delight of a dish, back during my struggles with homemade ravioli.

What I learned: When 6 of the desserts are served in regular glassware, and 4 in heart-shaped ramekins, everyone wants to know why they didn’t get a heart-shaped ramekin.

A few other things I learned from the evening:

• If you are hosting a dinner party, don’t plan to take carefully-composed photos of the food. It’s just not going to happen.
• Meals can indeed be enjoyed while sitting in a rocking chair.
• I stink at Guitar Hero.
• If you don’t have a table large enough for 10 people, borrow a portable card table from a friend. Thanks, Diego! If not for you we would have been sitting in a circle on the floor.

So our first dinner party was a total success. We ate, laughed, and relaxed. And I even learned a few culinary lessons. That’s what I call a good night, and I can’t wait until the next meeting of our Dinner Club.

The only recipe I modified from the original was for the panna cotta with wild berry coulis. I doubled the recipe to serve 10, but I’ll provide you with the basic recipe for 6 (generous) servings.

Recipe for Panna Cotta with Wild Berry Coulis (adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook and the America’s Test Kitchen Cookbook):

For the Panna Cotta:

• 2 3/4 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
• 2 tablespoons cold water
• 2 cups heavy cream
• 1 cup half-and-half
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 vanilla bean, scored down the middle, seeds scraped from the pod
• a drop of vanilla extract

In a small bowl, sprinkle gelatin over the water, and let it stand until it softens, at least 1 minute. Combine cream, half-and-half, and sugar in a saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring until all of the sugar is dissolved. Once the cream mixture starts to boil, remove it from heat. Stir 1 cup of the cream mixture into gelatin mixture, then stir the cream and gelatin mixture back into the cream. Stir in the vanilla bean seeds, as well as a small drop of vanilla extract.

Pour an equal amount of the cream mixture into 6 glasses of your choice. Cool to room temperature for 30 minutes. Cover each glass with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours before you plan to serve them.

For the Wild Berry Coulis:

• 10 ounces frozen mixed wild berries (1 bag of frozen fruit)
• 1/4 cup sugar (adjust according to your preference)
• 1 squeeze of lemon juice
• a pinch of salt

While your panna cotta sets in the refrigerator, turn your attention to the wild berry coulis. Place the frozen berries in a saucepan. Cover. Bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Stir often for 10 to 12 minutes. Add sugar, turn heat to high, and boil for 2 minutes.

Strain berries through a strainer, using a spoon or spatula to push the berries through into a bowl. Discard the berry seeds that are left in the strainer. Add lemon juice and salt. Cover and refrigerate until chilled.

When you are ready to serve your panna cotta, top each one with a generous serving of the berry coulis. Serves 6. Enjoy!