Unfussy Winter Salads with Summery Cheese🌞
Delicious but relaxed. Because my brain has punched the clock.
PERSISTENCE IS CONSIDERED an unqualified virtue, especially in the United States, where we practically invented working yourself to death and then bragging about it from your deathbed.
I gave it my all! Literally! The end.
So our culture often seems like one big inspirational Human Resources poster, urging us to keep our noses forever to the grindstone (what the hell?), even when the only reason to do so is to avoid getting fired.
And it starts early. When I was a kid we were instructed, somewhat perversely, to “Keep on Truckin’” (I felt certain there was a subtext in the ubiquitous R. Crumb cartoon that I was missing). In college, every other woman in my freshman year dorm had a poster of a cute kitten hanging from a branch by its claws, imploring us to “Hang in there, baby!” As if going to English Lit class were a hardship rather than a thrill.
Today, the exhortations have multiplied: Never give up. Don’t let go. Just do it. Use it or lose it. Keep moving forward. You can sleep when you’re dead. Hustle. Grind. Winners never quit. Blahbedy blah.
I could go on with that list forever—and I’d probably be praised if I did. Because even though the ultimate prize for never quitting is the same for quitters and non-quitters alike—meaning death—we do not take kindly to anyone who stops without permission. Get too sick or sad to perform the eternal dance nonstop, at full throttle, and we’ll disappear you with breathtaking coldness.
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And it’s not just work; it’s attention, worry, reading the news, socializing, participating, returning phone calls. You can’t get off society’s treadmill without causing a disapproving stir.
Just last week I nonetheless tooted my own horn about how giving up or hiding out rarely works as a practical solution. So this week I have a tiny correction: I may have been wrong.
Very few things in this universe actually go on forever. And yet we pressure ourselves to do this unnatural thing. And we unfairly associate resting and pausing with quitting (which is also fine to do, but that’s another newsletter entirely).
We are not the Sun, which would extinguish the planet if it felt exhausted (or disillusioned) and decided to stop shining for a few days. We are not plutonium isotopes with glamorous half-lives stretching into geological time. We are not machines designed for maximum, uninterrupted output.
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We are tender little mammals with no protective exoskeleton, bound by the cyclical and often harsh nature of existence. With or without our consent, the universe runs on expansion and contraction, light and dark, planting and harvesting—and all the other Ecclesiastical pronouncements that eventually became a still famous 1965 chart-topping rock hit.
Even the heroic, dutiful Mars rover—one of my very favorite robots—knows that unless you conserve power, go silent occasionally, and wait out the dust storms, angling your face toward the light and standing very still until conditions improve, you will be no good to anyone, especially in times of great duress.
Machines don’t apologize for conserving energy or call it weakness when they go dark. Machines don’t shame themselves for powering down. What if we gave ourselves permission to be more like a Rover: to stand very still and turn our faces toward the sun when we need to. Close the laptop. Eat in bed. Cry in a closet.
I created the recipes that I have for you today while I was thinking about the idea of pausing, and I kept remembering a gift an old friend gave me many years ago, probably as a subtle message that it’s okay to step away from life when it gets too heavy: Barbara Ninde Byfield’s 1962 The Eating in Bed Cookbook. It’s a funny, quietly subversive book that suggests exhaustion is not a flaw; nourishment and lying down do not disqualify you from the human project. It has an entire chapter on eating in the bathtub.
In that spirit, I would like to point out that the final versions of the leisurely dishes I have for you today were made and photographed on a single relaxed morning, with sunlight pouring through my kitchen windows and Cookie snoring in her bed. Rather than productivity fuel, think of it as food you can eat while you come back to yourself.
It’s okay to stop truckin’.
*RECIPE: Mozzarella with Winter Chicories and Simple Lemon-Anchovy Dressing
Serves 4
12 to 16 ounces good fresh mozzarella, torn into irregular bite-size pieces
1 medium head radicchio, cut in half lengthwise, small core removed, sliced into ¼-inch ribbons
½ small head escarole, sliced lengthwise into ½-inch strips (3 to 4 loosely packed cups)
Simple Lemon-Anchovy Dressing (method below)
Flaky sea salt
In a large bowl, gently toss the radicchio and escarole with most of the Anchovy-Lemon Dressing, reserving 2 or 3 good spoonfuls. You want the greens lightly coated rather than drowned but you also want them fully flavored.
Arrange the dressed greens in an attractively jumbled heap on a big platter, then tuck in the mozzarella here and there and everywhere. Spoon some of the remaining dressing over this gorgeous smokeshow. Shower lightly with flaky sea salt if desired. Serve immediately, at the table, on the couch, or in your bed or bathtub.
Simply Lemon-Anchovy Dressing
6 to 8 oil-packed anchovies, chopped very finely until almost a paste (you can also mash them on the cutting board with the back of a spoon once they’re chopped)
2 tablespoons lemon juice
Zest of 1 lemon
4 tablespoons olive oil
In a small bowl, combine the chopped anchovies and lemon juice and stir well to combine, mashing the anchovies a bit more to help them melt into the lemon juice a bit. Add the lemon zest and olive oil and stir briskly until well incorporated and lightly emulsified. Taste. You may want a bit of salt or another tablespoon of olive oil, but I think stopping at 4 is perfection.
*RECIPE Winter Delicata with Bitter Greens and Herbed Ricotta
Serves 4
2 medium delicata squash, trimmed, seeded, and sliced into ½-inch half moons
1½ to 2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium head radicchio, cored and sliced into ¼-inch ribbons (about 5 loosely packed cups)
2 loose handfuls baby arugula (one more if you’d like)
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
3 tablespoons olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Herbed Ricotta (method below)
Toasted Pepitas (method below; the recipe makes about twice what you’ll need)
Preheat oven to 425° (220°C)
In a large bowl, toss the squash with the olive oil and season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Divide between two parchment-lined sheet pans and arrange in a single layer. Roast 20 to 25 minutes, until brown at the edges and tender, flipping the pieces about halfway through and switching racks. Let cool slightly. (P.S. You can roast the squash ahead of time and assemble later, if you’d like.)
In a large bowl, drizzle the sherry vinegar over the radicchio and arugula and toss gently to coat. Drizzle with most of the olive oil, season with about ¾ teaspoon kosher salt, ¼ teaspoon black pepper, and toss again lightly. Taste for more salt.
Transfer the dressed greens to a large platter in a messy jumble. Arrange the warm squash over the greens in an insanely pretty way, allowing at least 6 half-moons per person, but 7 is ideal. Dot generously with bloops of Herbed Ricotta (I just use a soup spoon and my finger) and scatter with as many Toasted Pepitas as you’d like (I use about ⅓ cup). Finish with black pepper and flaky sea salt. Serve immediately, at the dining room table or in bed.
Herbed Ricotta
1 cup good whole milk ricotta (I like Calabro)
Zest of 1 lemon
1 to 2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons finely snipped chives
Kosher salt
Black pepper
In a small bowl, combine all ingredients and stir to combine. Taste for lemon and salt. Refrigerate for at least 10 minutes before using. NOTE: You might need to adjust the texture depending on the brand of ricotta you use. If it’s super thick, thin it with a little more olive oil or a wee splash of milk—you want it loose enough to dollop but not thin enough to puddle.
Toasted Pepitas
1 cup raw hulled pumpkin seeds
2 teaspoons olive oil
½ teaspoon flaky salt
Big pinch Aleppo pepper flakes
Preheat oven to 350°F (176°C)
In a bowl, toss the pumpkin seeds with the oil, salt, and Aleppo pepper flakes. Spread in a single layer on a parchment-lined sheet pan, and roast for 10 to 12 minutes, shaking once, until puffed. Cool completely before using. They will be glossy; that’s a good thing. This makes more than twice what you’ll need for the recipe, but they are good for many other things including snacking. Stored in a jar with a tight lid in the fridge, they’ll keep for several weeks.
🥬That’s It! We’re done here! We’ll see you soon with a recipe for authentic Austrian Erdäpfelgulasch. I’m kidding—it’s going to be salad.
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I messed up the quote. Here it is, corrected.
“How beautiful it is to do nothing and rest afterwards.”