Broke on Sundays (Homemade Corn and Flour Tortilla Recipe)

Sundays were always an exercise in creativity during my days in culinary school. Before I moved to Italy, my dad and I had made an arrangement that he would deposit $100 worth of food and spending money into my account on Monday mornings. My tuition and housing were completely paid for, and the city was small enough to get around easily on foot, so it seemed like a good amount in theory.

Unfortunately, the exchange rate at the time turned that $100 into about 70 euro, which swiftly disappeared one scoop of gelato or bottle of wine at a time.

Image via

I was never particularly good about budgeting and the glass cases piled high with assorted panini that I would pass on the way to and from school each day proved irresistible.

As did the cheese in the market.

And the nutella-filled crostatas.

And the $10 brick oven margarita pizza and wine special at the cafe near my school.

image via Walks of Italy

By the time the weekend rolled around, my roommates and I usually found ourselves pooling together our crumpled bills and euro coins to make it through until our next allowance arrived.

I used to joke that if I ever wrote a book about our time in Italy, it would be called Broke on Sundays.

I remember one evening when my roommate Susanne and I invited a couple of chefs we'd been dating over for wine (they were bringing it, along with leftovers from the restaurant where they worked since we didn't have food, either), only to realize that our sink was overflowing with dirty dishes and plates that we couldn't wash because we had no soap.

Yes. We were literally too poor to afford soap. (Well, I mean, we had shampoo, but we weren't about to waste that on dishes.)

We spent 2 hours digging through seat cushions, emptying out pockets, and even searching the sidewalk in front of our flat for enough coins to buy a bottle of the cheapest dish soap available--a dusty, 60 euro cent bottle of generic neon green slime. I still remember the shopkeepers look of horror as we poured our pile of coins onto his counter to pay for it.

One of my favorite discoveries during these days were homemade tortillas. When I arrived in the flat for the first time in January, I was pleased to discover that the previous renters had left a large container of flour.

Without a recipe (or even the internet!) I combined the flour with water, a bit of salt, and some stolen olive oil (a story for another time) to make a simple dough. I used one of our many leftover wine bottles to roll out the circles of dough and fried them on a hot skillet.

They were hot and just a little bit chewy--perfect for rolling around scrambled eggs or spreading with soft cheese (purchased during the lush early days of the week).

A few years after we got back to the US, I got an email from Susanne asking me if I had the recipe for those tortillas I used to make. I didn't because I had really just winged it, but jotted a note to myself that I really should make them again soon.

Last night, I found myself craving shrimp tacos--one of my favorite weekday recipes. I had everything I needed except the tortillas, but it was cold and raining, and I had no desire to venture a few blocks to the store to purchase some.  But I did have ingredients, and so I got to work in the kitchen mixing a dough, rolling out circles and frying hot, fresh tortillas on my cast iron skillet.

The whole process took less than an hour, and the results were absolutely incredible. This recipe is for tortillas made with equal parts flour and cornmeal (much fancier than what I ate in my impoverished Florentine days).

The combination produces a particularly wonderful tortilla that's both soft and deliciously flavored. The taste is reminiscent of arepas or huaraches, and pairs beautifully with your favorite taco toppings.

Read more about my life in Florence here. 

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Homemade Corn and Flour Tortillas
Makes 10-12 taco-sized tortillas

Ingredients
1 1/4 cup all purpose flour (plus more for dusting)
1 1/4 cup stoneground yellow cornmeal (preferably organic)
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 tablespoon melted butter or bacon fat, plus more for greasing pan
3/4 cup whole milk

Directions
Whisk together the flour, cornmeal, salt, and baking powder until evenly combined. Mix in the butter and milk, beating until a dough forms. Turn out and knead by hand for 5 minutes until dough is no-longer sticky (if too wet, add a bit more flour a tablespoon at a time). Divide dough into 10-12 even sized balls and arrange on a baking sheet. Cover with a damp cloth and let rest 15-20 minutes.

Heat a heavy skillet or griddle pan over medium heat. Sprinkle counter with flour, then working with one ball of dough at a time, roll out until it's about 1/8" thin. Grease the skillet and fry the flattened circle of dough for about 30 seconds on each side. Transfer to a plate and repeat with rest of dough.

Serve tortillas immediately with your favorite toppings. They're best fresh, but leftovers can be wrapped in plastic and refrigerated 1-2 days, then reheated slightly in a warm skillet or microwave. Tortillas can also be wrapped and frozen indefinitely.

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Kicky Popcorn Recipe

At movie theaters, I'm always a candy girl. Junior Mints, to be exact.

At home, though, I'm all about the popcorn. I blame my mother who used to regularly walk out of the kitchen with a bowl of it for the family to share while watching a rented movie. There were many earnest discussions about just how long to set the microwave for each individual brand, in the hopes of popping every last kernel. I even picked up her habit of sucking the remaining salt and butter off the last few kernels at the bottom that didn't make it. A habit that grossed my dad and brother out, but which we continue to this day.

And if I go back even further in my memory. Back two houses from New Jersey to Queens, to a time when I was so small I needed a chair to reach the stove, I remember watching in fascination as my mom quickly shook the Jiffy Pop above the flame. Her hand in an oven mitt, the wire hanger-like handle, the soft foil covering that would grow and expand like a bloated belly with each pop. I'd beg for a chance and finally I got it, tiny hand tucked inside the giant glove, wrapped around the thin, hot handle. "You have to keep shaking it," she'd instruct, guiding my arm in the motion. Funny how I don't remember the taste of that kind, just the heat and the science.

A decade and a half later, I was in Italy. Alone in a country where, for the first time, I didn't know the language. It was just a few hours after the tiny taxi had dropped me and my 7 suitcases in the middle of a tiny piazza. Unpacked bags stacked around the apartment and I curled up on the couch--a standard version from the new Ikea that had recently opened in Tuscany, much to the chagrin and outrage of purists who claimed the paint-by-color furniture didn't belong in these ancient homes. I was too tired to care, dying to go to sleep but waiting for a man named Roberto who was, according to the rental agency, coming that night at 8 to show me the hidden switches and quirks of my new home.

I was hungry, too, because since arriving I'd been too anxious and exhausted to leave the apartment. The treats I'd saved from my Air France flight were gone. So instead I smoked through the pack of cigarettes I'd purchased on my Paris layover (emblazoned in big black bold letters with the phrase "Fumer Tue"), and poked around the kitchen. There were pots and knives (from Ikea), and a jumble of spices. the top shelf was covered in dozens of empty wine bottles left by the previous occupants. I didn't know yet that my roommates and I would more than triple the collection before we left. On the counter sat a glass bottle of olive oil and, inexplicably, a large mason jar filled with popcorn kernels.


There was no microwave, but remembering the Jiffy Pop, I hunted around for a suitable pot. I drizzled in olive oil and a handful of kernals, estimating all my measurements. The lid fit tightly and I set it over the stove. Soon the familiar noise filled the room, loud and violent inside the metal pot. I shook, for good measure, and kept going until the popping slowed and I removed the lid.

It worked.

I grabbed the salt shaker and went back to the couch, where I salted and ate right from the pot while watching MTV Italia and waiting for Roberto.

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Popcorn became a staple when I lived in Florence. We had been bequeathed a seemingly endless supply, and my roommates and I often turned to it when money was tight (and it was always tight). First we ate it plain, just olive oil and salt, but soon we added things. Grated pecorino and black pepper was a favorite. As was cumin and cayenne. Occasionally I ate it with milk and sugar, and called it "the poor girl's corn flakes."


For this version, a new favorite, I added smoked paprika, cayenne, and salt. I started with plain buttered microwaved popcorn, but you can start however you like. If you've never tried it, I recommend doing it on the stove at least once. There's just something awesome about it.

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And if you ever need any entertaining or cooking advice, please don't hesitate to e-mail me.Thanks for reading!

Kicky Popcorn

1 large bowl (about 5-6 cups) freshly popped buttered popcorn
1 teaspoon Smoked Spanish Paprika
1/2 teaspoon Cayenne Pepper
1/2 teaspoon cracked black pepper
salt, to taste

In a large container with a cover (you can use a pot with a lid or a Tupperware-style container), combine the hot popcorn with the spices. Cover and shake until fully coated.

Salt to taste and serve.

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Potage Parmentier (Potato & Leek Soup)

It was cold and rainy in New York last night. And though the sun popped back out this morning, it's pretty clear that the scant spoonful of summer we were served this year has already been washed and dried and placed back in the drawer with the rest of the silver. Despite this, I hope you won't mind if I confess my excitement?

Because I AM excited. It's a vestigial rush of emotion leftover from my Catholic school years, when Fall meant new books and skirts and rekindled crushes. If I think about it long enough, I can even feel the smoothness of that first page in a fresh five-subject notebook. There's just something lovely about blank ruled pages, isn't there?

Fall also means a return the cool-weather cooking that we've avoided these past few months. Words like simmer and stir and (oh yes!) bake sound so good on chilly mornings. Honestly, on days like this, few things can pull me out of bed like the promise and comfort of a warm kitchen.

This simmered soup is lovely on a rainy afternoon. I make it the "lazy" way by not peeling my potatoes, which makes it even speedier. And though the original didn't call for bacon, I've added it because...well, I dont' think I need to justify that. If you are vegetarian, just skip the bacon and start the soup off with a bit of olive oil. It's a fairly quick recipe, so if your day was spent in an office or running errands, it won't be long before it's just you, a book, and a bowl of potage parmentier.


And about that name...

Since the recent Gourmet shuttering, there has been a lot of discussion about "elitism" in food. In comment after comment on sites like the New York Times or Slate or even Twitter, I've read that people seem to think it came to this because the recipes in the magazine were too complicated and out of reach for the average home cook.

I admit that I had a little trouble understanding this because I never really found the recipes in Gourmet to be all that exotic. I write this not as a professionally trained cook, but as a girl who has been reading that magazine for ages. I never had any trouble finding things that were inspiring or easy to recreate at home or (for a few years) my college dorm.

So I wonder if perhaps it was all just in the name? Are there people who read the word "Gourmet" and instantly assumed it was something too difficult or out of reach for them?

Perhaps, and so just in case, let me assure you that Potage Parmentier is really just Potato & Leek soup. And there isn't anything scary about that...

Potage Parmentier with Bacon
Adapted from a recipe by Julia Child

Ingredients
2 strips bacon, chopped into 1/4 inch pieces
3 cups leeks thinly sliced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 lb potatoes, washed and roughly chopped but not peeled
8 cups chicken or vegetable broth (low sodium)
1 tablespoon Kosher salt (plus more to taste)
3 tablespoon heavy cream
2 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons minced parsley (optional)


To make:

In a large dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat, saute the bacon pieces until crisp. Remove the bacon and reserve, leaving the fat in the pot.

Add the leeks to the bacon fat and saute for about 5 minutes until they are soft. Add the garlic and potato cubes and continue to saute in the pan for another 10 minutes, keeping an eye to make sure the leeks or garlic don't burn.

Pour in the broth and salt, then raise the heat to high and bring to a boil, partially covered, for 5 minutes. Lower the heat and let simmer for another 30 minutes or until the liquid has reduced by a 1/3 and the potatoes are fork tender.

Using an immersion blender or by processing in batches in a stand-up blender, process the soup until smooth (if you like it a little chunky, only process 2/3 of the soup and then leave the other half as is).

Adjust the seasoning as desired. Just before serving, stir in the cream and butter. Serve in individual soup bowls garnished with the reserved crisped bacon and minced parsley (if desired).

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Spaghetti Squash with Brown Butter, Sage & Ricotta

I’ve been taking spaghetti squash for granted. Ignoring it in that same seeing-but-not-seeing way usually reserved for the crazies on the subway. And were it not for the otherwise uninspiring autumn selection at the farmer’s market last week, I probably would have continued to exist completely unaware of the magic that exists within that thick unassuming shell.

Who knew? Who would ever even suspect that inside the mottled yellow skin hides a thick nest of delicate, subtly flavored strands. Split and roasted in a shallow pan filled with an inch of water then scooped out and sautéed with a bit of brown butter and sage, this squash is beyond delicious. I topped it with fresh ricotta and a generous crack of black pepper, and ate it slowly sitting cross-legged on the couch while listening to Lykke Li and reading the chapter about Boeuf Bourguignon in Julie & Julia.

Nice, right? Don’t be scared to recreate this sweet little meal at home. There are all sorts of nasty rumors going around the Internet about spaghetti squash being difficult to deal with, but I’m telling you, they’re not true. Just split it, slide into the oven, and leave it. I assembled a bread pudding using old challah while I waited. Once the squash was roasted, I swapped it out for the pudding and went about scooping and sautéing. And, oh gosh, you should do this too because (I’m sure you’ll agree) there is nothing nicer than sitting down to dinner in a warm home that smells like baking cinnamon.

My one squash made two servings and I was just as full as if I’d eaten a big bowl of the *real* kind of spaghetti. I’ll have the rest for lunch tomorrow and may even pop down to the market to grab another squash or two for a repeat this weekend. Perhaps I’ll see you there, too?

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New to Always Order Dessert? Consider subscribing to my RSS feed, follow me on Twitter, or sign up to receive my once-a-week e-mail updates by filling in your address in the box on the right. And if you ever need any entertaining or cooking advice, please don't hesitate to e-mail me.

Roasted Spaghetti Squash in a Brown Butter Sage Sauce
Serves 2

Ingredients
1 Spaghetti squash
4 tablespoons butter
¼ cup sage leaves, ripped
salt
pepper
2 tablespoons fresh ricotta (optional)

To prepare:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Wash and dry the squash, then use a sharp knife to split in half. Place both halves face down in a roasting pan filled with about an inch of water and cover with foil. Place in the oven and back for about 4o minutes or until a fork inserted in the skin of the squash pierces it easily. Flip the squash and cook uncovered for an additional 20 minutes.

Let cool.

Use a spoon to gently scoop out the seeds from the middle of the squash. Then use a fork to scrape the flesh of the squash away from the skin. It should pull off in thin strands. Transfer to a separate bowl and let cool.

In a medium-sized skillet, heat butter over medium heat and let cook until small solids start to form and the butter takes on a brown color and almost nutty scent. Drain quickly, reserving the clear brown butter.

Return to skillet and add torn sage. Let cook over medium heat for 1-2 minutes before adding squash. Raise heat and sautee for a 2-3 minutes, being sure to coat the squash well with the butter sauce.

Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Serve in two ramekins topped with 1 tablespoon each of fresh ricotta.

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Coconut Meatballs with Coconut Rum Dipping Sauce

As a little girl I had a weird hatred of meat in any form other than ground or buried in sauce. I was terrified of tasting or seeing anything even slightly pink or grisly or otherwise indicative that what I was chewing had once belonged to a living, breathing creature. So I had my mom bury my meat in thick sauces or grind it until it was barely recognizable.

One of my favorites during this (thankfully) brief period of questionable edible judgment, was meatballs. I'm not talking about the big, tender Italian-mama meatballs the size of a fist that simmer all (Sun)day in a giant vat of marinara sauce. No, these were Puerto Rican-mama meatballs--small (about an inch in diameter) and almost crispy on the outside, salty and sweet with mushy raisins and strong hints of peppers and onions. My mom would make them and serve them with rice or vegetables and then leave a plate of them on the counter top for my dad to munch on when he got in late from the 11pm broadcast. If I didn't eat them all before he got home, that is.

Those were my favorite. Cold from sitting out on the slightly grease-soaked paper towel covered plate. Covered with another plate and stolen one-by-one while leaning against the counter in the darkened kitchen. What more could you want?

I still whip up a batch of these for myself those nights at the end of the week when I'm exhausted and craving meat, but have had no time to do groceries. I always have a pound or two of ground beef in the freezer and this is precisely why. I'll usually eat half for dinner and then place the rest in a Ziploc to take to work for lunch the next day.

The savory sweet combo is key, but never really having been a fan of raisins, I decided to use coconut flour (ground unsweetened dessicated coconut) instead. I put it in the mix and then coated them before frying in olive oil in a hot skillet. When you're all done, use some rum and coconut milk to deglaze the pan making for a delicious little dipping (or "pouring all over") sauce.

I served these with roasted Brussels sprouts the other night, not because of any particularly good paring between the two, but just because I love Brussels sprouts. Serve yours with whatever you want--whether it's pasta or cornflakes. It's not about creating a killer menu. It's about what tastes good to you. And that's the whole point of these single girl dinners.

Coconut Meatballs with Coconut Rum Dipping Sauce
I used pork and beef to make these because it's what I had, but you can use any combination that you'd like--experiment! Lamb and veal are both two fabulous options to try.

Ingredients

For meatballs:
1 large onion, chopped fine
1 large green bell pepper, chopped fine
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound ground beef (not lean)
1 pound ground pork (not lean)
2/3 plus 1/3 cup coconut flour (unsweetened)
2 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 cup minced fresh parsley leaves
1/4 cup minced fresh oregano
1 large whole egg

For sauce:
1/4 cup dark rum
1 cup coconut milk
1 tablespoon brown sugar or equivalent
2 tablespoons butter
1 pinch red pepper flakes
salt

To make:
Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.

1. Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a heavy cast iron skillet (preferably well-seasoned) and add the chopped onion and bell peppers. Cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened. Remove from heat and let the mixture cool.

2. In a large glass bowl, combine the ground meat with the onion and peppers, 2/3 cup of the coconut, oregano, salt, nutmeg, and parsley.

3. Use your hands to form the mixture into 1 to 1.5 inch meatballs (you'll get about 65 or so).

4. Roll each meatball in the remaining coconut flour and set aside on a separate plate.

5. In the same skillet, heat 3 tablespoons of oil over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking and brown the meatballs in batches (about 10 - 12 at a time), adding the oil as necessary.

6. Transfer meatballs with a slotted spoon as browned to a baking dish and once all are in, place in the oven for 20 minutes until completely cooked through.

For the sauce

1. While the meatballs are in the oven, bring the skillet up to medium heat again and add the rum. Use a wooden spoon to stir and scrape all the bits of coconut and other good stuff in the sauce. Once the rum has reduced by about half, add the coconut milk, sugar, and red pepper, and continue stirring. Let this reduce again to half and add the butter to thicken the mix a bit. Let this cook down about a third, stirring continuously. You'll end up with an amazing, creamy golden colored sauce. Add salt to taste and remove from heat.

Serve the meatballs over a bed of lettuce as an appetizer with the sauce on the side, or serve as a main course with the sauce drizzled over and your favorite vegetable on the side. Or just eat them one by one straight from the pan while leaning against the counter and watching Grey's Anatomy reruns. That works too...

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Spicy Roasted Cauliflower with Italian Imported Tuna

When I decided to lower my carb intake about three months ago, I needed something to fill the void left by the lack of potatoes. I quickly figured out that cauliflower is an incredibly versatile potato substitute. For Thanksgiving I even served it mashed and whipped with roasted garlic, grated pecorino, butter, and a bit of cream. It was so creamy and smooth that my dad actually told me that he "loved the mashed potatoes."

I'd been planning on making a similar mash tonight to serve with some beef stew, but when I got home I was so hungry that I decided to quickly roast them in the oven instead. I washed and chopped them into florets then coated them with olive oil, cracked pepper, coarse sea salt, and some Asian chili oil (for a little kick). I popped them in a 400 degree oven for about 15 minutes. I would stir them up once about 10 minutes into cooking just to make sure they roast evenly. You'll know they are ready when the cauliflower turns a golden brown with the edges just starting to crisp.

While they roasted, I threw together a simple tuna salad using imported Italian canned tuna (yellowtail packed in olive oil--I refuse to eat anything else), a bit of salt, pepper, some fresh thyme, and a squeeze of fresh blood orange juice drizzled on top. The Italian canned tuna is so flavorful straight from the can that it really doesn't need much else to dress it up. I highly recommend trying it out if you haven't yet. The secret to imported tuna is that its usually packed right on the docks before it has a chance to dry in the sun a bit. This keeps it from getting that "fishy" flavor that we are used to with conventional brands of canned tuna. The yellowtail also has a much lighter flavor and the olive oil makes it taste all the more rich. If you can't find the real imported kind (which is usually at least 4 times as expensive as domestic), I would suggest trying the Genova brand "Tonno." It's manufactured by Chicken of the Sea, but is branded to look Italian (which I find a bit sketchy), but I have to admit that it's pretty good for American tuna and is probably the most widely available--and also not quite as pricey.

If you eat bread, I would suggest getting a good thick piece of crusty whole grain bread or perhaps some ciabatta to soak up the extra oil from the tuna. I admit that this might seem like a bit of an odd dish, but the spicy sweetness of the cauliflower really contrasts well with the salty tuna, and the blood orange adds a nice depth.

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Smoky Deviled Egg Salad on Golden Rye Crisps

As much as I love to cook, there are some nights when I just don't have the energy to put much effort into it. It's on these nights that I pull out my "single girl" dinners--no, not Lean Cuisine--single girl dinners are those easy, go-to meals that you can fix in just a few minutes with minimal ingredients, but which somehow manage to satisfy each and every one of your deepest cravings. It's comfort food, tailored exactly to your very own (and often very peculiar) taste and preferences.

My single girl dinners tend to resemble an antipasti platter: hunks of cheese, roasted red peppers with bits of blackened skin still clinging, hard boiled eggs, olives, fat red grapes, and slices of salami or prosciutto eaten one-by-one, usually pulled straight from the plastic package. Basically anything tasty that I happen to find in the fridge. An ardent lover of mayonnaise, I'll often drop a dab on my little mini party platters for dipping or just licking off my fingers--something that I could never do in front of other people without fear of completely grossing them out.

I've realized that my single girl dinner habits came straight from my mom. On the nights when my dad was appearing at an event and my brother was out with friends, my mom would skip the preparation of a full meal and we'd instead sit down to a makeshift dinner of crackers, rolled up salami, hunks of cheese, and generous dollops of mayonnaise. We'd work our way through an entire package of cold cuts or crackers, making tiny sandwiches and talking about our days or anything else that was on our minds. I loved these dinners, and sometimes even preferred them to the full meals my mom made when my dad and brother were around. The men in my family have never really understood how my mother and I can be satisfied with a dinner of just a few crackers and cheese. "But that's not real food," my dad would say when he would come back to find empty salami packages and no leftovers. But to my mom and me, it's always been the most real.

While thinking up ideas for recipes to share, I keep finding myself coming back to these basic foods that I love. I'm learning that there is value in the things we eat when we're alone and perhaps in need of a bit of comfort. When cooking for yourself or for your loved ones, think back to thing things you instantly grab for when we're not trying to impress or worrying about the scale. It is from these ingredients that your most memorable meals will come.

Smoky Deviled Egg Salad on Golden Rye CrispsI love eggs and mayonnaise. If I were ever asked to pick a few desert island foods, these two would definitely be on the lists. This recipe starts out as one of the most basic of all comfort foods: the egg sandwich, and then elevates it to the next level. I’ve replaced the usual soft deli rye with a nutty Danish crisp bread to add a nice bit of crunch. I also use homemade mayonnaise (recipe at the end). The real key ingredient, however, is the smoked Spanish paprika (Pimenton de la Vera), which can usually be purchased at gourmet supermarkets or specialty stores. If you can’t find this spice near you, you can certainly replace it with the more commonly found Hungarian paprika, but note that you will lose out on the smoky heat of the Spanish version. I’ve included a link at the end for an online supplier for those of you who can’t find it elsewhere.
Ingredients3 medium eggs
2 slices of golden rye Danish crisp bread (suggested brands: Wasa, Kavli)
2 tablespoons of homemade mayonnaise (recipe below)
1 heaping teaspoon of smoked Spanish paprika (also known as Pimenton de la Vera)
Fresh cracked pepper
Course sea salt
1 teaspoon freshly chopped dill


1. Place the eggs in a saucepan filled with water and bring to a boil. Boil for 7 to 8 minutes then remove from heat. Peel the eggs under cold running water to keep your fingers from burning and then coarsely chop and place in a bowl.

2. Add the mayonnaise and paprika to the chopped eggs and mix well. The paprika should turn the mix a lovely orange color. Season to taste with course sea salt and fresh cracked pepper.

3. Arrange two slices of crispbread on a plate with nutty side up. Top each one with half of the egg salad mixture. Garnish with a sprinkle of dill before serving.

Homemade MayonnaiseThis recipe might read a bit complicated, but it’s really just about patience. An electric mixer or food processor makes it a snap!! Once you get the hang of it, you can experiment with the use of different oils or the addition of herbs and spices—I’ve included a couple variations at the end. Perfect in the Smoky Deviled Egg Salad or as a dipping sauce for French Fries.

Ingredients2 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon powdered mustard seed
Pinch of sugar
4 to 5 teaspoons of lemon juice (or white vinegar)
1 ½ cups olive, soy, or canola oil

1. Combine the egg yolks, mustard powder, sugar, and 1 teaspoon of vinegar/lemon juice in the base of an electric mixer and beat until the yolks double into a creamy, pale yellow.

2. Lower the mixer to medium speed and slowly drizzle in the first ¼ cup of oil.

3. Add 1 teaspoon of lemon juice

4. Drizzle in another ¼ of olive oil, a few drops at a time, making sure that it is all combined before adding the next drops.

5. Follow with another teaspoon of lemon juice.

6. Add ½ cup of oil in a steady stream and then the remaining lemon juice.

7. Drizzle in the remaining oil. If it’s too thick for your taste, finish by thinning out with a tablespoon or two of hot water.

Cover and refrigerate. Will keep in an air-tight container for up to 5 days.

Variations:
Aioli: For every ½ cup of prepared mayonnaise, whisk in: 1 teaspoon finely chopped garlic, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, 2 tablespoons of fresh chopped coriander and salt and pepper to taste.

Meyer Lemon Mayo: Use juice from fragrant Meyer lemons in original recipe. Finish with a teaspoon of Meyer lemon zest, and some fresh cracked pepper.

Chipotle Mayo: Prepare mayonnaise then blend in a processor with 2 chipotle chilies in adobo sauce, 1 clove garlic, 1 tablespoon smoked Spanish paprika, and a squeeze of fresh lime.

Remoulade: Blend 1 cup prepared mayo with 1 tablespoon each of: minced cornichons, capers, garlic clove, chopped parsley, chopped tarragon, and spicy Dijon mustard. Finish with a few drops of red pepper sauce.

Where to Buy
The Spice House, based out of Chicago, offers all kinds of hard-to-find herbs, spices, and spice mixtures. Click here for Smoked Spanish Paprika.

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