Dress for Success: Avocado Caesar Dressing

As often happens around here, this recipe started with leftovers: half an avocado from lunch and a few filets of anchovies floating in their jar in the fridge, a lemon that had been zested to death sitting in the bin, a few heads of Little Gem lettuces from Groundwork Organics I'd bought at the farmers' market last weekend. Plus scads of blooming chives waving at me from the herb bed.

Dave was jonesing to light the grill, and had bought some gorgeous Carman Ranch pasture-raised top sirloin steaks to throw on for dinner. So, since nothing pairs with medium-rare beef better than a hefty Caesar salad, I decided to try my luck with a from-scratch Caesar dressing using that avocado. Mayonnaise-y emulsified dressings are always a little fraught for me even with a recipe, since I've had a few that never "emulsed" (is that a word?) and remained a watery mess in the processor.

My favorite easy Caesar dressing is one from the classic Silver Palate Cookbook, so I adapted its basic proportions and crossed my fingers as I drizzled the olive oil into the processor's feed tube. And voila, the magic worked! Drizzled over those Little Gems and garnished with scattered chive blossoms, it looked—an tasted—fabulous. Next time I may not wait until I have the leftovers gathered to make it!

Avocado Caesar Dressing

1/2 avocado
1 egg yolk
1 lg. clove garlic
1/2 tsp salt
6 anchovy filets
1/4 c. lemon juice
1 c. olive oil
2 Tbsp. chopped chives
Freshly ground pepper, to taste
Chive blossoms (optional)

Place avocado, egg yolk, garlic, salt, anchovy filets and lemon juice in bowl of food processor and process briefly to combine. While processor is on, drizzle olive oil in a thin stream through the feed tube until it emulsifies. Pour out into medium mixing bowl and stir in chopped chives and freshly ground pepper. Toss dressing with salad greens and garnish with chive blossoms.

Corn Salad: Distillation of Late Summer

It was going to be a perfect summer evening, I just knew it. There was an invitation from friends for a dinner on their patio, along with a demonstration after the meal of their newly installed gas fire pit. Grilled pork loin with a guajillo chile sauce was the focus, and when I asked what we could contribute, our host requested a vegetable side dish.

Sweet corn has been on my mind lately, and I pondered the possibilities. A corn pudding, perhaps? But a quinoa salad was already on the menu, so no. But a corn salad? Now there was something to chew on. Recently my brother had a made a salad to go with a grilled paella—albacore, raw corn sliced fresh off the cob and lettuce dressed with light vinaigrette—that had entranced me. And so many of the Mexican dishes that caught my eye while browsing my collection of Diana Kennedy's cookbooks had combinations of right-from-the-field vegetables caught at their peak of ripeness.

So I hit the market and bought whatever seemed to be almost jumping off the tables and into my basket, begging me to bring them home. Again, a simple spritz of lime juice, a splash of olive oil and a showering of salt was all they needed to shine, plus a super-simple avocado crema to serve alongside adding a certain sumptuousness, and my vegetable side was good to go.

Despite a last-minute (but welcome) rain shower just before we arrived, the evening was perfection. And the fire pit? Worked like a charm as we sipped our dessert wine and watched Jupiter transit the twilight sky over the Coast Range.

Corn Salad with Avocado Crema

For the corn salad:
1 15-1/2 oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
4 ears corn, kernels sliced fresh off the cob
1/2 red onion, halved lengthwise and slivered crosswise
1/2 large cucumber, seeded and diced, or two small Persian cucumbers, chopped
1 large ripe tomato, chopped (about 2 c.)
1 Tbsp. fresh-squeezed lime juice
1 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt to taste

For the avocado crema:
1 c. milk
1 clove garlic
2 avocados
2 Tbsp. lime juice
1 c. sour cream
Salt to taste

In a large mixing bowl combine the black beans, corn kernels, onion, cucumber and tomato. Pour in the lime juice and olive oil and stir gently to mix.

In the bowl of a food processor pour in the milk and add the garlic, avocados and lime juice. Process until completely smooth, scraping down the sides as necessary to incorporate all the ingredients. Add sour cream and pulse until just mixed, then add salt to taste.

The crema makes almost four cups, which is more than enough to serve a small amount alongside the salad, but it is also spectacular as a dip for chips or in tacos or burritos. It'll keep for at least a week stored in the fridge, so don't be afraid to make the whole batch. (It can also be halved if you don't want to make the whole amount.)

Simple Pleasures: Avocado, Toast and a Poached Egg

I am slow to warm to food fads, so when I started seeing the words "avocado" and "toast" together and read dripping prose extolling its intoxicating, if not orgasmic, properties…well, I have to say there was a certain amount of eye-rolling that ensued. The photos were beautiful, of course. It's almost impossible to take a bad picture of those luscious green-and-yellow-tinged slices of avocado, and slathered on a thick piece of good bread it's hard to go wrong.

I did order it a couple of times at local cafés, but was underwhelmed with the experience. So the other morning when I was getting ready to poach an egg for breakfast, I remembered that there were a couple of ripe avocados sitting in the fridge. Should I try it again? Of course!

Nothing could be simpler: peel and slice half of a large avocado. Cut a thick slice of good artisan bread and put it in the toaster. When the water boils for your poached egg (I always add a scant teaspoon of vinegar), crack it in and while it simmers, toast your bread. As soon as it pops up, butter the bread, top it with the avocado slices and then, when your egg is perfectly cooked to your personal preference—mine is with the white cooked and yolk jiggly—put it on top of the avocado slices. A shower of flake salt and fresh-ground pepper and you can call it breakfast. (A nice one, too, even if it was the darling of the moment. But that was a few minutes ago.)