FRIDAY FISH: Tuna-Asparagus Orzo Salad with Double Lemon Vinaigrette

Good dish to take to a friend in need. Skip the garnish or let them add it.

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Now, I really like mayo. There’s just something about it. As a kid, I once ate an entire jar of it and was later very sorry. Now, I’m good just licking the spoon. (I know folks think they like mayo because it’s creamy and fatty; it’s also salty-addictive and no one ever mentions that. Dijon mustard – same way. Just taste them both all on their own or look up the sodium content and see.) My best sous and husband, however, LOVES it. When we were first married, his favorite snack was saltines smeared with mayo. A whole sleeve of them. Even now, 50 years later, he’s never happier than when offered a lunchtime egg salad sandwich, for instance. So we are both totally ok with something like cold Tuna Mac, which is just macaroni salad with an ocean of mayonnaise plus tuna. It’s especially welcome when we’re hungry and there’s little time or other ingredients at hand. You’ll probably see it at our house once or twice a summer and we’ll eat off it a couple of meals without complaint. But these days, we’d mostly rather have something we now call pasta salad dressed with some sort of vinaigrette rather than mayonnaise — despite pasta salad’s bad rap. (Were you raised with the word pasta? I didn’t grow up with that word. There was macaroni and there was spaghetti. That was it. Mostaccoli and shells later on, I think. So glad things changed.) And while we’re at it, why not some teensy-weensy, cute pasta like orzo or ditalini?

As the end of More Time at the Table FRIDAY FISH season approached, I had one remaining idea that had yet to hatch. For weeks, I’d kept a list of ingredients, on the fridge even, that might make a delicious canned tuna pasta salad without using too many ingredients. I know; you don’t believe that for the first minute but it’s true. And while I pared down the list to a few had-to-have, truly compatable elements, I also knew the whole thing would go to h_ _ _ in a hand basket without a doubly perky vinaigrette. (Nothing is worse than bland or overcooked pasta salad.) I went to work on that first. I’ve made many a lemon vinaigrette and it’s one of my favorites as it’s so simple –basically equal amounts lemon and oil. Here I figured in the zest of one of the lemons to really move the salad into my corner. It worked beautifully! Tuna, asparagus, tiny pasta, briny olives, red onions, fennel, sweet peppers, parsley, and extra lemony vinaigrette; was that all it needed? It was, along with a garnish or two, though you can scroll down to CHANGE IT UP and bathe in a plethora of other additions or substitutions you might employ and enjoy. I’ll be cheering you on.

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FRIDAY FISH: Sweet Chili Salmon with Black Bean Pasta Salad + Ideas About How to Make it Into a Dinner Party

No Sweet Chili Thai sauce here; you create these flavors with chili powder and brown sugar.

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Coming up on the 15th anniversary of my blog (May, 2024- YAY!), I know and maybe you know, too, there are mostly original recipes here. I also know there’s nothing new under heaven, so it’s your guess how many of my dishes first existed elsewhere. I often, though not always, don’t want to know if someone else has come up with it before me. I’m happy in la la land, thinking I made it up, imagining I have a little creative bone of some sort in my body–and I do. But this doesn’t stop me from happily cooking or especially baking dishes others have perfected before me. (Why reinvent every wheel?) Both of the recipes featured in today’s FRIDAY FISH are happily-credited adaptations from other fine cook-writers (see recipe headnotes–which is where you should see credit to other cooks and writers or books) and luscious they are together. I wanted a different flavoring for salmon and thought, “Chili.” Author Andie Mitchell had already figured it out and thank you to her! I also knew my May, 2023 Black Bean Pasta Salad would be the perfect companion for a southwestern-flavored fish. When I needed a black bean salad for 50 last spring for my friend Sylvie’s high school graduation, blogger Cookie and Kate had a solid, flavor-full basic idea I only needed to embroider and enlarge. Together, the two recipes are all you want for dinner…and the salad leftovers could be lunch for a couple of days. Double win. Should you, however, want more, I include ideas for appetizers, wine, and dessert for a dinner party or special occasion. (See just below the recipes.)

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Tuna Tapenade

If you happened to be in my house and heard me slurring together a long stream of loud and nasty words from the attached garage, you could correctly guess the freezer door had been left ajar and certain preciously-stored food stuffs had begun to defrost. (Or that a mouse had chewed a hole in something like my best bag of coffee.) Now I’m not dumb and my memory is intact; I always lock the freezer door after grabbing a pack of burgers or a quart of soup. I learned the hard way during Covid’s scarcity months that’s the only foolproof method to insure everything remains at 0 degrees F, which is where you need long-stored food. Somehow in the previous day or two, I had turned the key but perhaps didn’t push the door closed tightly. Luckily (phew and phew again) most things were still hard as a rock, but there were a couple of packages of –sigh– thawing meat and fish out toward the front of the middle shelf. 3 boneless heritage pork chops were tossed into the fridge for another night, but 2 good-sized tuna steaks needed nearly immediate cooking. Had I planned on fish? Did I have anything to go with it? Well, I’d better because there was going to be tuna for dinner.

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Lamb Chops with Turnip-Rutabaga Orzo

Meals like this are why you need a stovetop grill pan for the winter.

โ€œRutabagaโ€ comes from rotabagge, the plantโ€™s Swedish name, meaning โ€œbaggy root.โ€ This is, perhaps, the reason that itโ€™s sometimes called a Swedish turnip or simply a swede. Dense and sweetly earthy, a spheroid that can grow to the size of a human head, with a mottled, brown-and-white surface and a buttery, yellow interior, the rutabaga looks like an overgrown turnipโ€”which it is, sort of, at least on its motherโ€™s side. A reproductive quirk of the Brassica genus allows for uncommonly easy hybridization (see the evidence in your local grocery store: kalettes, the frilly little greens that were 2014โ€™s sexy new vegetable, are a cross between kale and Brussels sprouts). Somewhere, in the misty meadows of Central Europe, a turnip got frisky with a cabbage, and the rutabaga was born. This genetic history was confirmed only recently, in 1935, by the Korean-Japanese agricultural scientist Woo Jang-choon. But, three hundred years before, Bauhin, with his eye for botanical detail, saw to name the plant napobrassica, the turnip-cabbage.

Helen Rosner, NEW YORKER: “What Rutabaga Does Better Than Anything Else: A Recipe for… (Rutabaga Noodles Cacio e Pepe)”

Doesn’t this woman write in a way that makes you want to read anything she scribbles down on a cocktail napkin? If we could go out for cocktails, that is.


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