Seeded Breadsticks with Parmesan by Alison Roman

I don’t think I’ve ever fully bought into the idea of the breadstick. What about the shape of a stick makes bread any better? Though a thinner cylinder of bread may be easier to bite into than a loaf, will you at least grant me the point that a bread stick dries out much faster than a round or rectangular loaf of bread? I like bread crust as a general matter, but will you not concede that the inner parts of bread, aka everything but the crust, is the best, softest, loveliest part of bread? And do you not also see that breadsticks, given their shape, inherently require a higher crust to inner bread ratio? Thus, making breadsticks inherently inferior to a normal oval loaf of bread? I don’t mean to be aggressive, but I can’t help but question the philosophy of going out of one’s way to make breadsticks, when clearly a loaf is better AND less work. 

To all the Olive Garden lovers who rave about their bottomless breadsticks, I tell you now, that OG is just not that good. The food is subpar and the restaurant lacks any charm. If the only thing you can love about it are their breadsticks, then there must be something wrong with the restaurant to begin with because breadsticks are also not very good. May I suggest, instead, Panera? If you’re going for a chain restaurant that specializes in carbohydrates, why not go to one that at least has fantastic loaves of sourdough, wheat, and just about every other kind of bread on tap. Plus, at Panera, you can order a cup of their tomato soup, which is my favorite. But that’s besides the point. 

Clearly Alison’s breadsticks did little to sway me. I appreciated her additions of sesame seeds, poppy seeds, and parmesan, which made them a little like everything-bagel breadsticks. But sadly, they dried out after just an hour and a half of sitting on the table during dinner. This was a product of the sticks being so thin -- she instructs you to cut the dough into 1/4th inch thick strips. Also, because they’re so thin, the breadsticks completely forfeited one of the most important functions of bread with dinner: dipping. There was simple not enough surface space to soak up and absorb the short rib juices (the main course). 

Sadly, this side is one of those that I made for the project, but don’t see the point in making again. I think I’ll stick with my bread loaves for dinner. 

166 recipes cooked, 59 to go.

Casual Apple Tart with Caramelized Buttermilk by Alison Roman

I grew up feeling rather ambivalent about apples. Apples and peanut butter, apples and caramel, or even just a plain apple - I wasn’t jazzed about apples. I did love to sing about them, though. My sweet grandmother who is now 92 years old, used to write original songs for her grandchildren to teach us important things. For example, she wrote a song about my home address and phone number so I could remember where I lived. She wrote a song about tomatoes and how delicious they are, which I credit as the main reason I’ve loved all things tomato from a very early age. She also wrote a song about how “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” and yeah, I believed it. So I ate my apples, despite my lack of desire for them. 

When I came to college in the Midwest, I was exposed to the wonder that is the Honeycrisp apple. Which changed everything. Sophomore year, I started dating a boy (who is now a man and also my husband) from Minnesota. He wanted me to know that scientists at the University of Minnesota actually created the first Honeycrisp apple. He raved about them, like all proud Minnesotans do, and convinced me to not only eat apples, but to enjoy them. You see, a Honeycrisp is the perfect, and I mean perfect, balance of tart and sweet. It’s the juiciest of all the apples. It has the prettiest color. It is, no doubt, the most superior apple. 

Honeycrisps are the reason I was so excited to make this tart. Finally, an Alison dessert that could feature this most excellent fruit. Not to mention, it was another opportunity to try my hand at pie crust. Making pie crust is a true art form, and I find that I get better at it every time I do it. While I’m sure Alison’s “The Only Pie Crust” adds an even butterier element to this lovely tart, I chose to stick with King Arthur’s gluten-free pie crust recipe for personal reasons. I must also note that this was by far my most successful time making pie crust. The butter was the right amount of cold when I rolled the dough out, and none of it stuck to my rolling pin. A true win. 

A few more notes on the tart… This apple dessert - drizzled with butter, sugar, cinnamon, and ground ginger - was like an apple pie, but differently shaped and less fussy. I left it in the oven a touch too long, so the apples were nicely softened but the crust got a little too browned. I think the buttermilk coating on the crust added a nice touch (but it didn’t make or break the dessert). I sliced two pounds of apples, per Alison’s instructions, but could only fit 1 pound on the dough. I squeezed lemon juice over the unused slices, and ate them at work throughout the rest of the week. Finally, when Alison instructs you to sprinkle the tart with flaky salt and pepper, just do it. I hesitated, particularly over the pepper, but I admit it added a subtle, smoky nuance that only enhanced the final flavor. 

165 recipes cooked, 60 to go.

The Greatest Creamed Greens by Alison Roman

What can I say about creamed greens? Alison speaks of them like they’re classic American food. Like anyone who’s had a steak and a baked potato has also had creamed greens. Apparently every good steakhouse serves them? Either I’ve never been to a proper steakhouse, or my mother’s aversion to cooking anything with excess fat or olive oil has kept me from experiencing the richness of some creamed greens. 

But for a first eating of creamed greens, I’ll say Alisons’ were pretty great. 

The recipe begins with breadcrumbs, as all good recipes tend to do. Crisp up fresh crumbs in oil, salt and pepper to a golden perfection. I might go wild next time and add some Aleppo pepper to the crumbs for a bit more heat. 

Next, bring heavy cream to a simmer and drop in several smashed garlic cloves and a dash of nutmeg (yes, nutmeg). Alison calls for freshly grated nutmeg, but I want to know who, if anyone ever, has made this recipe with fresh nutmeg. Where would one find such a thing? And who has the time? I don’t think she’d mind using ground nutmeg… the title of her other cookbook is “nothing fancy” after all. This creamy deliciousness cooks down to a thicker sauce that truly tastes like Alfredo (even though no cheese is involved!). The whole process took about 20 minutes. 

In the meantime, cook down two bunches of Dino kale. At first, I thought, this is too much kale! But no. It’s perfect. It cooks down so much that you’re left with a medium sized bowl that’s halfway full of them by the end. The key here is to cook them in batches at a medium temp, so they don’t overcrowd or get browned. Once wilted, stir in the cream sauce and creme fraiche. 

Ah, creme fraiche. The golden ingredient of every recipe it’s in. If Alison can claim these are the “greatest” creamed greens, it’s because of this ingredient, which adds a tangy depth without making it all taste even heavier. Creme fraiche is unskippable, so don’t even think about jettison-ing it. A mandatory fancieness. 

164 recipes cooked, 61 to go.

Crispy Chocolate Cake with Hazelnut and Sour Cream by Alison Roman

Let’s talk about a chocolate cloud. No, I’m not referencing Willy Wonka or Candlyand, the classic board game of my childhood. I’m talking about the essence of a cloud made of rich, decadent dark chocolate with hints of hazelnut and almond. 

Just keeping it real, Alison’s crispy chocolate cake is a gluten-free chocolate cloud. A cloud that can interrupt my sunny skies any day. 

I don’t feel like walking through every step of the cake-making process today. But I do want to write a little something about the people I shared this chocolate cake with, which I’ll intersperse with pictures of the cake baking process, because I have them, so why not. 

My coworkers, the team of ten at the Center for Vocation and Career, are a delightfully diverse and committed and thoughtful group of people invested in the success of our students, now and beyond college. They care about the whole student, which includes the intersection of career goals, personal passions, faith, family, and culture. They spend their time actively listening to the needs of students and responding with compassion and gentle wisdom. They go above and beyond to champion others. They’ve made it their jobs! 

I am blessed to work with these people and blessed to share my chocolate cloud with them too. On a day when students were off campus, we had a team potluck for lunch. The theme? Charcuterie board. My contribution? This cake. And I’m thankful to say it was swiftly consumed in full that afternoon. 

As I looked around the room at these comrades eating cheese and meats, munching on olives, forking a bite of chocolate cake, I felt nothing but gratitude. Gratitude to work alongside them, to learn from them, and to contribute as well. I’ve said it before, there’s something particularly special about contributing to the nourishment, the physical sustaining, of people you care about. I’ve learned not to underestimate the power of sharing a homemade chocolate cake, especially because of this project.

163 recipes cooked, 62 to go.

Clams and Cod in Heavy Cream with Tiny Potatoes and Celery by Alison Roman

While we’re on the subject, I have to tell you a quick anecdotal story about cod. I’ve been in the earth-shattering play, Peter Pan, twice in my life. One time I played Tiger Lilly, and the other I played Peter himself. Playing Peter was a highlight of my childhood acting career. I mean, who doesn’t want to play a character that flies, sword fights, and sings the most solos? Towards the middle of the play, there’s a scene where Peter is hiding from Captain Hook and decides to play tricks on him. He starts shouting ominous things at Hook, who doesn’t know where the voice is coming from. Terrified, he starts asking Peter, or “the voice,” what kind of creature they are. A rock? A mineral? An animal? A… cod fish? If the person playing Hook likes comedy, they’ll put a lot of emphasis on the word “cod” and the audience will chuckle. It’s a human voice, duh! You think a cod fish could talk like that? Silly Hook. 

Never before have I purchased or cooked cod fish. This being my first time asking for a cod filet at the seafood counter, I had half a mind to answer the counter worker’s question, “how can I help you?” by saying, “A….coooddd fish?” Oh the things my better judgment keeps me from doing! Thankfully, I did not startle the gal at Mariano’s or the seafood counter person at Whole Foods. Mariano’s only carries clams on occasion, but WF sells them reliably. 

I thoroughly enjoyed this clam chowder-esque dish, and in fact, enjoyed it more than regular chowder. I appreciated that the broth stays separate from the vegetables and seafood. No mushy cod or soggy potatoes to be found. Instead, the potatoes are cooking in oil, along with the celery, before any liquid joins the pan, which gives them a crispy and browned exterior. The wine and cream are added next, then the clams. Once the clams open up, the cod joins the pot last. I covered the pot and let things simmer just until the cod was cooked through, about 5 minutes. Which means it barely had time to fall apart. Somehow, eating a fishy-tasting fish is much more delightful if I can see the bite of fish on my fork, instead of scooping it in mush form with my spoon. I don’t think I’m alone in this? 

The lemon juice, red pepper flakes, and sourdough bread for dipping completed this dish. I could honestly eat a full meal of just bread soaked in the broth. It had the perfect cream to acid ratio with a subtle heat kick at the end. The clams added a salty textural contrast that complemented the broth perfectly. Next time I could do without the cod. It added a fishiness that seemed to subtract, rather than add, enjoyment. However it did add substance. So pick your poison on that one. 

162 recipes cooked, 63 to go.