Barley Risotto with Swiss Chard, Radishes, and Preserved Lemon

It doesn't matter where you go or get to in life, in my world getting published in Martha Stewart Living is always a thrill. She's an icon, and her pages has inspired so much beautiful living. In this month's April issue (with the gorgeous red + white painted eggs on the cover), is my first ever Living piece, one I developed last spring out of the inspiring greens (Tuscan kale, purslane, sorrel, mustard greens, mache and arugula) I plant in our garden each year. 

The leading recipe, pictured here, Barley Risotto with Swiss Chard, Radishes and Preserved Lemon, is beloved in two senses. First, it stars my very favorite spring ingredient: tiny pert radishes, and Swiss chard, the two things I pick first from my garden each year. Second, it is one of the first recipes I developed for my new book, Feast: Generous Vegetarian Meals for Any Eater and Every Appetite. 

And then there is the dreamy combination of photos by Con Poulos and styling by Susie Theodorou, two uber talents who make me want to run every meal I create through their creative lens and put it to print. They make this, and the other six images on these pages sing. 

Thank you Lady Martha, for sharing a few of your pages with my recipes this month. 

BARLEY RISOTTO WITH RADISHES, SWISS CHARD + PRESERVED LEMON || SERVES 4

From Feast: Generous Vegetarian Meals for Any Eater and Every Appetite

This modern, vegetable-lover’s risotto is made with barley, a homey whole grain that is easy to love, and one that will love you back with extra iron and minerals. Bright radishes and tart preserved lemon, both bold in texture and flavor, soften into the creamy texture of barley that’s been cooked like risotto. When the season changes from spring to late summer, make this again with multicolored young carrots instead of radishes.

4½ cups/1 L vegetable stock (see recipe below) or water

2 tbsp unsalted butter or extra-virgin olive oil

1 cup/200 g pearl barley, rinsed

8 to 10 small radishes

1 bunch Swiss chard, stemmed and torn into large pieces

1 preserved lemon, seeded and thinly sliced

Sea salt

Small handful fresh dill, coarsely chopped

8 large fresh mint leaves, coarsely chopped or torn

Bring the stock to a simmer in a small saucepan over medium heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low to keep warm. Heat the butter in another medium saucepan over low heat. Add the barley and stir to coat, toasting it lightly in the butter. Add 2 cups/480 ml of the stock and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer until the stock is mostly absorbed, stirring frequently, about 5 minutes.

Add the radishes and remaining stock, ½ cup/120 ml at a time, stirring frequently, until the barley is tender, about 45 minutes. Add the chard and stir until wilted, about 5 minutes. Stir in the preserved lemon and add up to ¾ tsp salt, depending on how salty your broth or lemons are.

Remove from the heat. Stir in the dill and mint. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Roasted Beets with Ricotta + Pistachios: Sunday Suppers, part ii

Good morning! Isn't this a beautiful site to wake up to? These are more of the lovely photos by Karen Mordechai from our valentine's sunday supper dinner. This is the first course of our feast ~ Roasted Beets with Ricotta and Pistachios ~ one of my favorite recipes from my book, The Newlywed Cookbook. She caught me as I was plating 24 of these jeweled beauties for our valentine's guests. Swing over to her site {sunday-suppers.com} for the recipe, along with more photos and the recipe for my Braised Short Ribs with Gremolata and Melted Polenta. I'm still dreaming about how good that was....

food styling :: Sarah Copeland
photography :: Karen Mordechai for Sunday Suppers

Carrot Soup with Hazelnuts + Blood Orange Oil: Sunday Suppers, part i

I tend to be a fan of the understated. When Karen from Sunday Suppers called with the idea of hosting a valentine's supper together, promising our approach would be anything but obvious, I knew she'd come up with something novel and chic. She always does. But I didn't count on this earthy brilliance--twigs, spelling out L-O-V-E, taped to the white washed walls behind the table which she dressed with tiny blooms. It was just right. 

And, it was the perfect setting for teaching exactly the kind of cooking I believe love thrives on -- simple, beautiful food with flavors that shine. Carrot soup, with a little care, is the king of earthy brilliance. Start with fresh carrots, as close to home-grown as possible {we have the farmer's market to thank for ours}, and simmer them into a silky soup with onions, ginger and water. Then, once pureed, finish them with fresh pressed carrot juice for pure, vibrant flavor. With a garnish of yogurt, roasted hazelnuts and a simple homemade blood-orange oil, this soup is art for the eyes and the mouth. 

P.S. This soup is an early preview of my new cookbook, Feast, which I just saw the cover of today! 

Carrot Soup with Hazelnuts and Blood Orange Oil

Serves 4 to 6

4 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, plus 2 tbsp for blood-orange oil

1 yellow onion, thinly sliced

1 garlic clove, smashed

1 in/2.5 cm peeled fresh ginger, chopped

2 lbs/910 g organic carrots, peeled and chopped

4 to 5 cups/960 ml to 1.2 L water

1 sprig fresh thyme

Sea salt and freshly cracked pepper

2 cups/480 ml fresh carrot juice

1/2 cup/120 ml full-fat plain yogurt

½ bunch of chives, snipped or chervil

1/3 cup roasted hazelnuts, roughly chopped

1 blood orange, juiced

Heat 2 tbsp of the olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until tender, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic and ginger, and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the carrots, thyme and enough water to cover (4 cups if you like a thicker soup, 5 cups if you like yours thinner) and bring to a boil. Cover loosely and reduce to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper.

Cook until vegetables are completely tender, 20 to 30 minutes. Remove the thyme, remove from the heat and purée until smooth, about 3 minutes. Stir in fresh carrot juice, reheating over a low flame as needed to warm through. Season and keep warm over a low flame until you are ready to serve.

Stir together the blood orange juice with in an additional 2 tbsp of finishing oil. Ladle the soup into four or six shallow bowls, and garnish with a dollop of yogurt in each bowl. Finish with a drizzle of blood-orange oil, hazelnuts and a sprinkle of chopped chives. Serve warm.

recipes + food styling :: Sarah Copeland
styling + photography :: Karen Mordechai for Sunday Suppers

shades of white + a sunday oasis

my kitchen upstate is covered in shades of white. milky white tiles canvas the walls. white wooden cabinets conceal a mis-match of kitchen tools and baking grains. ivory ironstone bowls and platters litter the rough wooden shelves, waiting to be filled. i could spend hours upon hours in that kitchen cooking, dreaming, creating— my eyes feasting on every ruby red beet and oxblood orange standing out against the backdrop, beacons of good things to come.

in the city, there is so much color, so much noise. it is rich, but when my mind craves space, it is white I seek. so, when i find a space as drenched with light and possibility as my own country kitchen, i cherish it. 

this {pictured} is the sunday suppers studio, where last sunday night i was invited to teach and prepare a valentine's feast. the studio is an oasis of light and loveliness, a vision of its creator karen mordechai. it is a place i could return to again and again, soaking in the order the as my knife glides rhythmically across the cutting board, leaving rings of blood orange falling from their frame in its wake. 

here, before guests arrived, these quiet moments fed my soul and stoked my spirit. And then we feasted. 

The Menu

~
Roasted Beets with Ricotta and Pistachios

Carrot Soup with Hazelnuts and Blood Orange-Oil

Braised Short Ribs with Herb and Citrus Germolata
Melted polenta

Little Tangerine Pine Nut Pies
Homemade Chocolate Sorbet

I'll be back later this week with more photos {from karen} and recipes {from me}. Come visit us both very soon.

{visit} http://sunday-suppers.com

Magic Winter Squash and Bean Soup

When I first started making vegetarian soups, I worried that they would be watery or bland without the round, soothing backdrop of good chicken stock. In its stead, some folks take the time to make a rich roasted vegetable stock, but the point of soup, to me, is a meal that’s warm and satisfying on the fly—something simple but downright good.  

My winter soup fits the bill. It’s as nimble and changing as my mood. The only constant is the butternut squash (which breaks down and both colors and flavors the broth to a richer state, like magic) and aged Parmesan (rind simmered in the soup for depth, and shavings over the top for a salty satisfaction). I usually add potatoes (which thicken the broth) and something green (for good health). The rest, my friends, is utterly subject to your whim. 

Besides chopping vegetables, there’s not much to this. You’ll find your way. Promise.

This is the kind of soup you’ll want to eat for days on end when the temperature drops and the ground is suddenly covered in white. And if you make it in your biggest pot, you can. Served with thick slices of whole grain bread and butter, it will leave you so contented you'll need little more than a juicy Clementine for dessert.

So what’s the real magic of this soup? It’s almost guaranteed to serve as many as can fit around your table (or will double or triple till it does). Keep a pot of this going once a week in the winter and you might find your table full of friends and neighbors, waiting with their hands wrapped on eager bowls.

Ladle it forth. The sun is setting later now but there's much to winter yet ahead. 

~

Magic Winter Squash and Bean Soup

Serves 6 to 8

4 large carrots, scrubbed

4 stalks celery, plus leaves

2 handfuls fingerling potatoes, scrubbed

1 large squash, peeled and cleaned (or 20 ounces cubed butternut squash)

4 small campari or 3 plum tomatoes (optional)

1 large bunch kale 

1 small wedge aged Parmigiano Reggiano

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Several sprigs of fresh thyme

6 to 8 cups water, plus as needed

Pinch red pepper flakes

Sea salt and freshly ground pepper

1 15-oz can of your favorite beans, rinsed and drained

 1. Slice the carrots and celery plus the celery leaves. Quarter the potatoes and cut the squash into chunks. Quarter the tomatoes. Remove the ribs from the kale and chop into bite-sized pieces. Set all the vegetables aside. Trim the parmesan away from the rind (or use a rind saved from a previous wedge) and set the rest aside. 

2.Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot over medium high heat. Add the carrots, celery and celery leaves and stir to coat. Cook until lightly browned, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the potatoes, squash, tomatoes, water, thyme and parmesan rind and bring to a simmer. Add a generous pinch of red pepper flakes and season with salt and pepper. Cook until the vegetables are tender, the squash is beginning to break down, and the soup is full of flavor, about 45 minutes to 1 hour.

3. Stir in the beans and cook to warm through, 2 minutes. Remove the lid and add the kale. Stir to cook (uncovered) until bright green and tender, 3 minutes more. Ladle into bowls and grate parmesan cheese generously over the top. Serve warm with buttered bread.

one splendid squash + a prayer for peace

I've always said, never underestimate the ability of a humble squash to feed a family. Growing up, one of my favorite meals was mom's baked squash, stuffed with sweet and spicy sausage and a sprinkling of brown sugar. We'd each get an oozing warm half, or a quarter (for the littler ones) drizzled with the buttery brown-sugar goodness that had collected in the bottom of the roasting pan. It was steady and sure, both the meal and the feeling I had after eating it, surrounded by my siblings and parents at the family table.

I intended to write you about this habit I have of buying a pretty squash on every trip to the market, particularly when I know we'll be going away. It keeps well on the counter, and waits for our return, a promised sure-thing dinner when we return from a weekend or even a week away. I planned to write to you about the style of simple sure-thing cooking I've come to rely on the last two weeks, working outside the house again as Food Director at Real Simple magazine. I thought I might convince you of the splendor such simple foods can translate into when you give them a little love and care. But right now, squash doesn't seem to be quite enough of a steady and sure thing for the times we're living in.

Tonight, far, far too many families are sitting around a table with an enormous part of their world and their hearts missing. I can't express enough sorrow or sadness, can't begin to comprehend the future for these families. All I can offer is prayer, and a wish that each of us take every opportunity to continue to love, cherish and nurture the beloved ones we have the great privilege of sitting among tonight.

God bless and keep us, every one.

{season's last} carrots

Last weekend, when we got wind of pending snow, we picked the last of our carrots, and anything else that won't fare well in a frost. My guess is the farmer's did too. Go, while the getting's good, and see them at your weekend market. Not too many day's left of this bounty. Happy weekend! 

a very happy birthday + the easiest from-scratch birthday cake ever

The day after the election is a good day to talk about something light and fluffy, don't you think? Like birthdays. And cake. My favorite cake is carrot cake. What's yours?

There's something about carrot cake. Well, I can't explain it but those who love it know what I'm trying to say. 

Have you ever done that thing where you project your own likes onto your child? Like, "She really likes soft pillows and her bath extra warm" when it's really what you like? Well, I do that with Greta and food. Once, when she wouldn't eat sweet potatoes, one of my favorite (and one of the healthiest) foods, I said, aghast, "but it's your favorite!" Now, when I serve her sweet potatoes, she says, "my favorite!" and gobbles them right up. So on her second birthday, I knew exactly what cake I'd be making her—the same carrot cake mom made me each and every year.

On the way to this decision, I actually tried on other people's carrot cakes, just for fun. I made some healthier, some double deckers and some plain old-fashioneds.  But here's the thing—on a birthday, only the very best will do. That's mom's cake. 

During this journey, here's what I figured out—this is the easiest from-scratch cake, ever. And I mean ever. Like, make on your lunch break (if you work from home) or while the laundry is on the spin-cycles easy. Which is probably why, besides the fact that I love it so much, my mom always made it for me—I'm the third of four kids and my guess is she didn't have a lot of spare time for making cakes.

What she did do is decorate my cakes to the max, aqua-blue pool for a pool party, a yellow-studded pineapple for a luau party, but whenever she’d slice it open, there was my favorite orange cake. I don't have the patience for piping bags lately, so I opted instead to make Greta’s cake these sweet vintage Jell-O molds my sister bought me during my last visit. I didn't do a test run, just buttered and floured the day of the party and crossed my fingers while I put out the rest of the spread.

It was a risk, I admit, baking them blind on the day of the party. I did pour the remaining batter into a quarter sheet pan for backup, but the mini bundts worked like a charm, too. Just one more reason I love and adore this cake—in any shape or size, it rarely disappoints.

Here's the very, very special thing about carrot cake that really must be said—if you want to, you can go ahead and convince yourself it is good for you, and that it’s a perfectly okay cake for kids. It's carrots, after all. While we know it's not exactly health food, I have made a few modifications to my version (whole wheat white flour, less oil, less sugar) that I guarantee you, even if you happened to have come to one of my birthday parties between age 2 and 12 and got hooked like me, you'd never know the difference.

But enough about cake, let's talk about my itty bitty little lady, who I made this cake for. I adore her. Her spirit is huge and happy. Her eyes shine light and joy on the world. She's a little lover, cradling anything from a baby doll to a bath toy in the nook of her arm and showering everyone she knows with hugs and kisses. It doesn't take carrot cake to sweeten her disposition, but like her mamma, she can down a piece like nobody's business. She knows how to have a good time, and she won't quit until you absolutely make her. We are so, so very grateful for two healthy, delicious years with her and for two loving, doting grandparents who drove 19 hours to celebrate with us. Thanks for the recipe Mom, I owe you one! 

While were telling stories, won’t you tell me your best birthday cake ever story, please? And in the meantime, happy birthday sweet Greta pie. Here's a carrot cake to grow on. 

~

The Easiest Carrot Cake Ever + Creamy Cheese Frosting

Serves 12 adults or 24 kids

Cake

4 large eggs

1 ¾ cups raw organic sugar

1 1/4 cups vegetable oil

10 oz organic carrot baby food (or 1 1/4 cups carrot puree) 

2 cups white whole-wheat flour 

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Frosting

10 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature

12 oz Neufchâtel or cream cheese, at room temperature

3/4 cup confectioners’ sugar

2 teaspoons agave nectar

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly butter a 9 by-13-inch pan, quarter sheet pan or 24 muffins or molds. Line the pan with a wide piece of parchment paper cut so that it tucks neatly along 2 opposite sides and hangs over edges by about 1 inch on the other opposite sides to create flaps. Butter and flour the paper or the molds

To make the cake: Beat the eggs and sugar with an electric mixer in a medium bowl on medium-high speed until thick and pale yellow, about 4 minutes. Add the oil and carrot puree. In a separate bowl, stir together the flour, baking soda and cinnamon and stir into the cake batter until evenly combined. Pour into the prepared pans and bake until the cake spring back lightly when touched, about 40 minutes for a sheet cake, or 20 to 22 minutes for small cakes or cupcakes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.      

Meanwhile, to make the frosting: Make sure the butter and cream cheese are soft but still cool. Beat them together with an electric mixer until smooth and fluffy, with no remaining lumps. Sift in the confectioners’ sugar and add agave and vanilla extract. Beat until light and fluffy. 

Spread the frosting evenly over the top of the cooled bars, or top each mini cake with a tuft of frosting. Serve at room temperature.   

P.S. Some 2nd birthday party tips: 

1.  Musical Chairs (or pillows) with sticker prizes is a huge hit with the two-to-three set.

2. If you decide you're going to do face painting at your child's birthday party, by Murphy’s Law, your child will be the only one who doesn't want their face painted. Let them paint your face instead.

Photos and Recipes © Sarah Copeland 2012

Please credit source on Pinterest. All other uses require permission via email.

{foraging} rye and yogurt pancakes with figs and fennel syrup

We're lucky that Greta spends many days a week in the very good care of two angelic sisters, Miss Marlene and Miss Angele, who keep her fed and happy while András and I work. One of the things that drew us to their sweet space was the fact that it's in a family home, right on the park, with a garden out back to play in the shade of an enormous fig tree.

This is Greta's first fall there, and it hasn't taken her long to fall as hard and fast for figs as I did the first time I had the chance to pick them straight from a tree, long ago in St. Tropez where I spent many months as a private chef.

These days, I get my figs from this sweet Italian gent down the street from me, one of the dozens of my neighbors who brought the tradition of keeping fig trees in their yard from Italy, Greece or in the case of Marlene and Angele—Malta. But I found the fig bowl on his porch empty the last two times I passed. On a recent evening picking up Greta, I admitted to Miss Marlene that I had a hard and fast fig craving and no ready solution. She welcomed me to forage the upper reaches of the fig tree, where it's us against the birds to get to them first. For the most part, they've won, but one day this week Greta and I made out with four whole figs, plump and pink inside—an absolute treasure, and cause to celebrate.

In our house, celebrating means pancakes. A lengthier start to a week-day, the kind that gives her Apa (papa) heart palpations since his commute is a little more time consuming than mine. But today, her Apa's gone, and this rain has me feeling snoozy, like hanging in with my girl a little longer than usual before I arrive at my desk.

Pancakes in our house almost always start with mostly or at least some whole-grain flour. Rye is our favorite of late—earthy and rich, which blends well with buttermilk, or since it's always on hand in our fridge, creamy European-style yogurt. These fat stacks are great in Papa size portions, or made as silver dollars, just right for dipping.

Today we're dipping in a little fennel maple syrup, made with another foraged treat—fresh fennel seeds from our neighbor's garden, sprinkled in while the syrup warms on a low flame. But any light drizzle of pure grade b syrup over your stack is just the thing to sweeten the start of the day.

~

Rye and Yogurt Pancakes with Fresh Figs
and Fennel Syrup

Makes 12 to 18 pancakes

Pancakes

1 cup rye flour

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 tbsp raw or unbleached sugar

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp fine sea salt

2 large eggs, separated

1 cup thick plain yogurt + 1 cup whole milk (or 2 cups buttermilk)

4 tbsp melted unsalted butter, plus more for the pan

Fresh figs

Fennel Maple Syrup

Grade B maple syrup

¼ to ½ teaspoon fennel seeds

Whisk together the rye flour, all-purpose flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a large bowl. Whisk together the egg whites, yogurt and milk in another bowl. In another bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and the melted butter. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, and whisk in the wet ingredients, alternating between wet mixtures until the batter is just incorporated with a few lumps—be careful not to over mix, which can make the pancakes tough.

Warm the syrup in a small saucepan over low heat. Add the fennel seeds if desired, stir to combine, and keep warm over low heat while you make the pancakes.

Heat a nonstick or cast-iron griddle or heavy skillet over medium-high heat until hot. To test, splash a drop of water onto the griddle; it should sizzle. Brush the griddle lightly with melted butter. Scoop about 1/3 cup of the batter onto the griddle, leaving plenty of space between pancakes for them to spread and be flipped. Cook until the bottoms are set and a few bubbles form around the edges, about 3 minutes. Add a little more melted butter to the griddle.

Using a flexible spatula, flip the pancakes and cook until the bottoms are golden brown around the edges of the second side, and the apples a touch crisp, 1 to 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate and stack them high, topped with butter, fresh figs and a drizzle of warm fennel syrup.

Photos and Recipes © Sarah Copeland 2012
Please credit source when using on Pinterest. All other uses require permission via email.

Saving September + White Risotto with Corn, Carrots and Kale

It’s been over a decade since I was in college, but something about this weekend reminded me of my first September at the University of Missouri, and my inaugural Saturday game day. So excited to join the ranks of collegians, I dressed up in crispy new jeans and a cozy cardigan—a look borrowed from J-Crew. Not long after joining my new friends in the bleachers, I found the beating sun explained why the older girls wore sundresses instead. In Missouri, summer hangs on.

In New York, autumn reigns. At our Saturday market in Socrates Sculpture Park, the crowd was unapologetically bundled in snug sweaters, sporting the season’s newest boots. Dozens of hands passed over peaches for pumpkins. I adore fall foods, but for the first time I can remember, the concord grapes and plums, heaped in their green cardboard cartons, are just barely tempting. We have plenty of time for that, I think. It’s only early September.

How wrong I am. After an hour in the park in thin layers, we had to retreat home and start again—Greta in a sweater dress and tights. Tights! At the market, she reached directly for the plums and concords—her wiser internal radar insisting it’s time to move on. So we filled our basket with them. But, there was still corn. And tomatoes. Proof that summer really happened, and just days ago.  

I’m grabbing hold of those ears, 50-cents a-piece regardless, shaving their kernels over warm bowls of risotto with Lacinato kale and young purple carrots. And, since it could very well be my last for a while, I’m even pouring a chilled glass of rose for Sunday lunch.

I'll come around. Back at home from the park, where I’d left the windows wide open out of summer habit, I cooked a pot of warm applesauce, heady with cinnamon, to warm us. I’ll admit, it’s helping me turn the corner. But slowly.....slowly. One spoonful at a time. 

~

White Risotto with Corn, Carrots and Kale

Serves 2 to 4

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, plus for cooking vegetables

1/2 onion, finely chopped

1 cup Arborio rice

1/3 cup dry white wine

2 1/4 to 2 1/2 cups hot water {or organic chicken broth}

Sea salt and freshly ground pepper

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus for garnish

1 to 2 ears corn, to preference, kernels shaved from the cob

1 bunch young heirloom carrots, trimmed and scrubbed, halved lengthwise if large

1 small bunch Lacinato (Tuscan) kale

Heat the olive oil in a heavy saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring, until it is soft and translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the rice and stir to coat with the oil. Stir in the wine and cook until the wine has evaporated, 1 minute more. 

Stir in 2 cups of the hot water {or broth}, salt, and pepper, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce the heat to medium-low and keep at a simmer, removing the lid to stir occasionally, until rice is al dente, about 20 to 25 minutes. Most of the liquid should be absorbed and the rice just cooked.

While the rice cooks, heat another tablespoon of oil and 1 tablespoon butter in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the carrots and brown slightly in the oil. Add enough water to come about 1/3 of the way up the carrots and cook until just fork tender, but still deep in color. Add the kale and stir to wilt, 5 minutes more. Add the corn and cook until the kernels turn bright yellow but are still crisp, 1 minute more. Season the vegetables well and use a slotted spoon to remove them from the liquid.

Stir in another 1/2 cup hot cups of water to the risotto as needed; add the butter and cheese and stir. Stir in the vegetables, or serve the risotto in bowls topped with warm vegetables and coarsely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. 

All Photos © Sarah Copeland 2012