Greetings eaters and readers. Well, we’re back from a long weekend up in Vermont where we celebrated our youngest daughter’s college graduation, and I have to say, I’ve never been terribly adept at the whole end-of-an-era thing, but this one has been particularly emotional. The goal was to focus on gratitude, because really what is wrong with me if I can’t see how world-widening and rich these college years have been for our daughters and, by extension, for us? But college has such a finite beginning and end that it’s been very hard not to think about what the era has bookended in our lives — in those four years, besides all the lucky things like moving to New York and watching our daughters grow into full-fledged adults, both Andy and I lost our fathers. We really felt them with us this weekend, a good and wonderful thing, but not easy. I’m trying to remind myself that each new era of parenting has surprised and (mostly) delighted me, and the promise of this goes a long way towards fending off the goodbyes flying at us so furiously. (You know what would also be helpful? If the freaken Knicks would just win omg WHY IS IT SO HARD to give me this small thing, Universe?) Anyway, thanks for indulging me — you have really earned that sheet-pan dinner today. One more thing before we get to the food portion of the program: Just a reminder that today, Wednesday, May 28 at 2:00 ET, I am interviewing the highly entertaining Adam Roberts about his new novel Food Person on Substack Live. You’ll need the app to watch, and you’ll get an email notification to remind you to sign on. Hope to see you in a few hours!

Here are your Three Things…

1. In the Dept. of Secret Weapons: Sweet Chili Glaze

I made this roasted tofu and vegetable sheet pan dinner last Monday, and it was just what the doctor ordered in that Monday reset way, but that is not what I want to focus on here. I want you to focus on those shiny tofu cubes in the upper left corner of the bowl — do you see them? They were baked in my quick-and-classic technique (refresher course follows), then tossed in a sweet chili glaze, which made the tofu as addictive and robustly flavorful as cubed beef or chicken. I know you’re laughing right now, but I am one hundred percent serious. The glaze is a five-minute melding of hot sauce, honey, butter, and brown sugar on the stovetop, and takes roughly the same amount of time as it does to roast your tofu and any vegetables accompanying that tofu. Because it’s spring and we had just paid a visit to our favorite farm market vendor (the kind that low-key feels like a jewelry shop), those vegetables were asparagus, spring onions, and multicolored carrots so sweet and carrot-y that it made me question all my previous root-vegetable-eating experiences. But this recipe is seasonally flexible: In the fall, the vegetables can be squash and Brussels sprouts; In the summer they can be eggplant, zucchini, and shallots. You get the idea. Whatever roasted (or grilled) vegetables you have accompanying the tofu, this sweet chili glaze is going to pull it all together, and upgrade the meal considerably.

Sweet Chili Glaze
From The Weekday Vegetarians
3 tablespoons hot chili sauce (such as Cholula or Pete’s or Tabasco)
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
Kosher salt to taste
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

In a small saucepan set over medium heat, combine the hot chili sauce, honey, brown sugar, and salt and simmer until the sugar has dissolved completely. Remove the pan from the heat and while the mixture is hot, whisk in the butter to thicken the sauce. Season with salt and pepper.

And here’s where you can download the recipe for Tofu with Market Vegetables and Sweet Chili Glaze…

Dals Tofu With Sweet Chili Glazed Market Vegetables

159KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

2. Batched Cocktail of the Week: Blood Orange Negroni

I know I know, blood orange = not a spring fruit, but last week two things conspired to give me no choice but to chef up this cocktail: 1) A Negroni-loving friend was coming over for dinner and 2) I had a bottle of Natalie’s Blood Orange Juice in the refrigerator begging to be deployed. Have you tried Natalie’s juices? They’re pricey, but mind-bogglingly fresh, and most of their juices are made from a single ingredient*. And because Negronis have such an easy ratio to play around with (1:1:1 gin/vermouth/Campari), it’s easy to add one more ingredient to the mix. I made a small batch, multiplying this formula by six to make as many cocktails:

Blood Orange Negroni
1 ounce gin
1 ounce sweet vermouth
1 ounce Campari
1 ounce blood orange juice (if you can’t find Natalie’s, you can squeeze your own juice)
1 blood orange, cross-sectioned for garnish (or a peeled rind for garnish)

Combine the gin, vermouth, Campari, and juice in a pitcher. (Or an ice-filled low-ball glass if single serving.) Serve over ice and garnish with fruit slice or rind.

*My dad would’ve said this is a situation where the absolute value justifies the splurge.

3. Keith McNally’s I Regret Almost Everything

I started Keith McNally’s new memoir on audio — Richard E. Grant is a wonderful voice to accompany spring walks — but I had to finish with the hardcover because there were so many quotes I wanted to underline and revisit. McNally found enormous success as a New York restaurateur, helming downtown institutions like Odeon and Balthazar, but he is also the best thing a memoirist can be: a masterful storyteller with a rich trove of stories to tell. Best of all, as anyone who follows his must-follow Instagram knows, he has strong opinions and a biting wit that only got more zero-f*cks-given after he suffered from a life-altering stroke that left him paralyzed on one side and briefly suicidal.

He is fond of starting sentences with “I’ve never understood…” as in: “I’ve never understood why people think they have to see every single painting in a museum. It’s like eating every dish on a menu.” Or “I’ve never understood the appeal of African safaris.” Or “I’ve never understood how the makers of pornography films don’t grasp that the suggestion of sex, the implication of intimacy is so much more effective than seeing the whole nine yards (as it were).”

He has many very entertaining grievances, and does not shy away from the words “detest” and “repulsed” to describe what annoys him: Standing ovations (this is the self-indulgent audience applauding themselves), his first name, the exclamation point, weddings and their “enforced conviviality”, Vegas, reviewers who try to be funny, the term “collector” if you acquire a painting or two (“I’d shoot myself before using that word”), “quality time” as it relates to kids and parents; when waiters break the spell of a meal and ask “How is everything?” Menus without burgers on them (“I didn’t like the snobbery involved in not having them”), and phrases like “reach out to” and “learning curve” and “circle back” and “weekend gross” and anything that “reeks of affectation.” The book is also packed with damning stories about investors, partners, chefs, and celebrities (I’ll never think of Patti Smith the same way again), but he saves the harshest criticism for himself. (Like he did here.) There is no personal or professional failure too small for him to itemize, and in the end, it’s what makes McNally and his story so endearing.

Also, and maybe this is because my daughters are recent college graduates (have you heard?), I love reading about the one million lives he lived before he even moved to New York and found his calling. He left school at 16 to work as a hotel bellhop. A chance encounter with a producer there led to a few years in the London theater scene where he was surrounded by worldly playwrights who sparked in him a lifelong passion for the arts, culture, and, crucially, design. He quit acting to hitchhike through India and Nepal, then worked anywhere he could to make money: in strip clubs, in a paint spraying factory, operating a spotlight for the original stage production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Once he made it to New York in 1974, he started working as a busboy at an ice cream shop before climbing to the highest ranks in the restaurant world. I’m just going to say it: McNally’s story is inspiring, even though I feel certain he’d detest that word, and especially so when attached to his name.

Have a great week!
Jenny

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