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| I am posting this recipe here--an older one--by special request. It is one of my all-time favorites. |
In my dream, I arrive at the library just as everyone at the
kids' school is sitting down to do an art project with their parents: there is
glue and wood, paint brushes and scraps of colorful paper. "Oh, great, an
art project!" I say, too loud. "I love art projects!" Only when
I sit down in one of the eensy chairs, and see everybody looking quietly at me,
do I realize I am naked. "Oh, gosh!" I say, too loud. "Lucky I
have some undies in my bag!" Everybody looks at me quietly while I hop
around and stick my two legs into one leg hole and fall over forwards with my
bottom in the air and fall over backwards with my legs in the air.
"Oops!" I say from the floor. "Yikes!" I laugh. "This
isn't the least embarrassing moment of my life!" Everybody looks at me
quietly.
It's like the kind of question Ben is always posing: Would
you rather go to work completely nude or wearing a transparent wetsuit? (Nude.)
Would you rather go to town completely nude or wearing an outfit with large
holes cut out over all your private places? (Nude.) What about large holes cut
out but patched in transparent fabric? (Nude.) At Dream Crafts Project, I would
have been way better off naked than with the whole underpants situation.
I love questions like that, and I ask them too, but mine are
almost always about food, and I always imagine that we're packing up for a life
on a deserted island. What if you had to eat one thing for the rest of your
life, but you'd get all your nutrients from it? (Michael picks ice cream, Birdy
picks yogurt, Ben picks plum cake, and I pick brown rice.) If you could only
use one seasoning for the rest of your life, what would it be? (Salt.) What
about besides salt? (Lemon.) What if you could only use one herb? Ben picks
mint; Michael picks basil; Birdy can't decide between mint and basil. But me? I
pick parsley. I love parsley. It's so green-tasting, so boldy herbal without
impersonating any kind of bubble bath; it's the closest you can get to
seasoning a dish with the smell of newly mown grass. If it's on my plate as a
garnish, I always eat it, and even hours later, I can feel its verdant echo in
my mouth, as if my very teeth are photosynthesizing.
And this sauce is all about the parsley; it's a tribute to
parsley, really, even though it's more commonly understood as an Argentinean
accompaniment to grilled meats. In fact, it's typical to add other herbs to
chimichurri--oregano or thyme or cilantro--but I love this parsley-only
version, which is based in its simplicity on a recipe I clipped from Gourmet
years and years ago. It is basic and fantastic, sharply herbal and
mouth-wateringly green, with just enough vinegar to balance out the richness
of, say, a perfectly grilled steak. But it is excellent with grilled anything:
steak, chicken, fish, tofu. It is also a great condiment for sandwiches, and a
little stirred into a pasta or grain salad is fantastic. In sum, it has for
years been one of my most indispensable summer recipes. Encourage your kids to
try it--by promising that they don't have to actually eat it or by calling it
Shrek Sauce or whatever--because they may actually like it, but they won't know
unless they etc.
Chimichurri
Makes about 1 1/2 cups
Total time: 10 minutes
I salt steak very heavily before grilling, and so I actually
undersalt this sauce a bit!!! I know! Add more to your liking. Also, the sauce
can thicken while it sits--almost like it's gelling, strangely--so you may want
to stir more oil or vinegar into it as you like. If you can't get out your grill yet, I say a bit about pan-frying steaks here.
1 large bunch Italian flat-leaf parsley
3 cloves garlic, smashed and peeled
1/2 cup really good-tasting extra-virgin olive oil
1/3 cup regular old white vinegar
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt (or half as much table salt)
A large pinch of dried red-pepper flakes (optional)
Cut the largest stems off the bunch of parsley, then submerge
the leaves (along with all of its smaller stems--I am not picky about this!) in
a sinkful of cold water, then spin it dry in a salad spinner. Combine the parsley with the remaining
ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and whir until pureed. If it resists
pureeing (maybe you had an extra-large bunch of parsley!), add more oil and
vinegar, proportionately--enough to make a sauce-like consistency, and taste
for salt.
