Spiced Black Lentil Salad with Oil-Packed Tuna, Radishes, and (Purple) Potatoes

The idea of a nicoise salad has never appealed to me. Primarily because of the oil-packed tuna element. I can tolerate tuna on toasted sourdough, but beyond that, the concept of canned fish makes me squirm. The other parts of a classic nicoise, I like, though I wouldn’t normally pair them together for a casual lunch dish: steamed potatoes, runny eggs, blanced green beans, and some form of grain. Each a lovely idea, but not all together. 

However, since I had made Alison’s Spiced Lentils the day before, and I’d prefer not to make them twice, I chose to save them for this salad. Call it Lentil Maximization. (To learn more about these lentils, and for the final installation of Annie’s Lentil Storytime, click here.

I had lots of green beans, potatoes, and eggs on hand this day, so I made two servings of the salad, one for me and one for Jordan. We were both working from home. It took me approximately 20 minutes to make the meal, which was just enough time between two meetings to whip something up. (If I hadn’t already prepped the lentils, it would have taken much longer.) 

To maximize the pot of boiling water on my stove, I chose to boil the potatoes, blanch the green beans, and cook the eggs all at the same time. I just took them out at different intervals. Any chance I get to do less dishes, I’ll take it. Especially at lunchtime. I’m much more willing to take on dinner dishes than I am lunch dishes. It’s a principle of mine. 

I was most worried about the tuna tasting too fishy, but was pleasantly surprised by the Trader Joe’s brand of oil-packed tuna. Though I still can’t say I enjoyed the tuna (because it’s tuna), I can say that I wasn’t fished out when eating it, which is a win. 

Jordan enjoyed the salad. I’d say I mostly did too -- I’m a sucker for vegetables tossed in lemon juice, salt and pepper. I personally won’t make this particular salad again, but I wholeheartedly recommend making it if you’re a fan of nicoise salads. If nicoise is what you seek, then a fresh, lemony, herbal and light nicoise is what you’ll find here. 

154 recipes cooked, 71 to go.

Spiced Lentils with Spring Onions by Alison Roman

Alison has four lentil recipes between her two cookbooks, and this is my third one to cook. The final recipe, which will be posted next, uses the lentils made here in a nicoise-like salad. Since I only feel like writing about lentils one more time, this essay will suffice for both recipes. 

I’ve previously written about the first time I ate lentils (also the first time an onion made me cry), and a particularly memorable lentil soup that I ate in Rwanda. I have one final lentil memory to share. It’s not really a story, but rather a certain lentil stew that will always be considered the best I’ve ever had. 

In the earliest days of my career, I worked for an advertising agency in downtown Chicago. The office was located in the historic Monroe Building on Michigan Ave, which was quite the location for a first job out of college. Across the street from our office was Millennium Park, the Bean, the Art Institute, and just beyond, shining Lake Michigan. Our office was located at the very top of the building on the 15th and 16th floors, and the view from those windows often took my breath away. At the bottom of the building were two establishments: Dunkin Donuts (which I do not prefer for donuts nor coffee) and Pret A Manger. Pret (as we called it) is a sandwich/salad/soup chain with coffee drinks and breakfast sandwiches in the morning. It’s not cheap, but it got the job done when you forgot to pack a lunch and had only minutes between meetings to find a substitute. 

It was on such an occasion that I hurriedly walked through Pret to find an affordable lunch before a meeting and stumbled upon the best lentil stew I’ve ever had. It came with a small baguette, which I used to dip into the hot stew and use as a pseudo spoon. The stew itself had tiny bits of onion and carrots, and the flavors consisted of the perfect ratio of salt to acid. I’ve since tried to find their recipe online, and the other fans (yes, other people also love this stew) have surmised that balsamic vinegar is used as the acid component. No other lentil stew has ever come close to that of Pret. 

Alison’s spiced lentils are a fresh-tasting take on the kind of lentil salad that you’d get at a deli counter. Fresh garlic and crushed spices like coriander and fennel seed spend time infusing some olive oil over a low temperature. Alison requests only 15 to 20 minutes of infusion, but I felt the oil could have spent even 30 to 40 minutes over the stove for extra flavor. Once the garlic is lightly browned in the oil, a bunch of scallions (or spring onions if you can find them) and lemon zest, join the pot briefly before the oil and its contents are poured out over the cooked lentils. I added salt and pepper before serving. 

There’s nothing extraordinary about these lentils, but I don’t think Alison means them to be. They’re just a reliable, and flavorful way to prepare these grains, and they can be eaten with just about anything else. Or on their own. 

153 recipes cooked, 72 to go.

Black Lentils with Crispy Garlic and Labne by Alison Roman

In my last post about lentils, I said there were more stories to be told, more memories to share, about these pebble-like grains. For some reason, all my thoughts of lentils are very clear. Perhaps more than any other food, lentils have appeared in very specific moments of college and early adulthood where I felt a shift or a change in my world view. I can look back on each one and think, oh that was the day when I realized ___.  Writing about these moments seems like a valuable exercise, if only to practice remembering them for myself. 

Last time I shared my very first lentil experience (it was not a good first impression). There’s a gap in my memory of lentils between that winter lentil dinner and this next lentil encounter, so I’ll just assume I didn’t eat any lentils between January 2013 and January 2017. 

Sophia & Mark

happy pals, tired pals

On New Year’s Day 2017, I boarded a long flight from Chicago to Kigali, Rwanda. My dear friends Amy and Margaret, and I, along with our acting professor and his daughter, journeyed to this small, resilient country to teach a 3-week theater course to a group of middle and high school students. Our other dear friend Sophia lived in Rwanda and taught full-time at a school there. She graciously invited us to join her for this theater-intensive course wherein we would work with the students to devise a musical, based on a beloved children’s story called “You are Special.” It was an opportunity to not only use our storytelling skills, but also experience the country that Sophia loves so much. 

I could write many essays about our experiences there, the things we taught and the things taught to us, but that’s not what you’re here for. Instead, lentils. Lentil soup, to be exact. 

This was lentils’ turning point, there in that Rwandan kitchen with tiled flooring and bright blue walls. On one of our first nights, Sophia offered to cook us a pot of lentil soup for dinner. In addition to lentils, the soup also had angel hair pasta, carrots, tomatoes, onions, and various spices thrown in to simmer over the stove. In opposition to my last bowl of lentils, this soup spent a lot of time simmering, letting the lentils soften and the flavors meld together. Sophia is someone who deeply resists the urge to rush. I could taste her care in each bite.  

Margaret, Amy and I have all tried recreating this soup in the years since that trip, always with the intention of reliving our experience in Rwanda. I’m sure we’ve each gotten close, but no bowl will ever compare, for me at least, to the bowl that Sophia made for me in her home in Kigali on a warm January night. That night I was reminded of how much I need other people, and how that can be a blessing. 

If you’re still wondering about Alison’s lentils, I’ll say that they were delicious and simple. The recipe made wayyy too many lentils for just two people to eat - so I’ll call this one good for hosting others. The dish consists of black lentils cooked al dente and tossed with lemon juice, zest and cilantro. On top of the lentils, you can add a large dollop of labne (or goat’s milk yogurt if you’re me) and some frizzled garlic and shallots. Next time I make this, I’ll cut the lentil portion in half, but keep the same amount of garlic/shallot/labne.

51 recipes cooked, 174 to go.

Olive Oil-Fried Lentils with Cherry Tomatoes and a Chile-Fried Egg by Alison Roman

Alison Roman is the slightly older, cool girlfriend I wish I had in college. 

Allow me to elaborate with a story about lentils. It was a cold, January night, and I was invited to eat dinner at a friend’s college apartment. She was a Senior, I was a Sophomore. I felt very cool as I left my dorm room to skip out on cafeteria food. Shortly after arriving, I learned that we’d be eating lentils. I nodded excitedly, while inwardly racking my brain… I had no idea what lentils were. She would now begin to prepare our meal, she announced with an air of nonchalant authority. Her first step was to chop an onion. How grown-up it all sounded. I wanted to watch her up close. She took a dull bladed knife and began sawing her way through the onion’s middle. Quickly, I began to feel an odd stinging sensation in my eyes. The more I watched her, the more intense the pain became as it spread to my nose and throat. It was a foreign feeling, and it scared me out of my wits. What was happening to me? I began shedding tears. She looked at me and said “The onion’s making you cry. You should go in the other room.” The instruction sounded strange but I didn’t question her. I spent a few minutes in her bedroom as the burning sensation slowly left, all the while asking myself what just happened. That was the first time I ever cried over an onion. 

But back to lentils. By the time I emerged from the bedroom, my friend had moved on to sautéing the onion and boiling a pot of lentils on the stove. We chatted a bit as I watched her intensely, trying to appear chill. She drained the lentils over the sink and poured them into the pan full of onions. After just a few minutes of pushing them around, with a few added dashes of salt, our dinner was ready. I didn’t know what to expect. I especially didn’t expect I’d be eating a bowl of practically flavorless, mushy green pebbles. For a brief moment, I wished to be eating rubbery pork tenderloin and green beans in the cafeteria. But then I figured that this was a good growth opportunity for me. I had to learn what real adults cooked eventually. I’d be there soon myself... For the next few years, this was my impression of lentils - soft, flavorless pellets, destined for a melancholy meal. 

That friend didn’t know what the heck she was doing with lentils. Maybe I should chalk it up to a lack of experience, and she’s learned better by now. Alison Roman, on the other hand. Now there’s a friend I wish I had in college. She knows quite well what to do with lentils…  

To hell with only a white onion and salt alone. Give me shallots, garlic, and burst cherry tomatoes! Give me a pool of olive oil and black pepper. Give me black lentils instead of green. Give me a hot skillet and time to get the grains all crispy. Give me red onion slices marinated in lime juice and fish sauce. Give me tender parsley. Give me a fried egg and chile oil! THIS, friends, is how to eat lentils. 

There’s so much more I could say about lentils. So many more anecdotes, stories, existential questions. Alison has a lot of lentil recipes, so I’ll reserve these for later. Spread the love, so to speak. 

Served with Ali Slagle’s Ginger-Lime Chicken.

30 recipes cooked, 195 to go.