The Snack-Lover's Guide to Watching Sports

Okay, okay, I admit it. When it comes to sporting events, I'm just there for the food.

I come from a family of sports enthusiasts, and I'm definitely the odd one out. My mother loved football, especially her Oregon State Beavers. My youngest brother was a Green Bay Packer in scrimmages with his buddies in grade school before he switched to the Blazers' LeRoy Ellis in pick-up games in middle school.

Hummus? Easy peasy.

Me? I imagined beaming up to the Enterprise so I could explore strange new worlds with Mr. Spock.

So now when we're invited over to friends' homes to watch sports on a screen the size of a starship, I tend to ply the circuit around the snack table that's usually groaning under bowls of chips and dips, chili and even the odd pork shoulder.

Hot crab and artichoke dip.

Whether you're a sports fanatic or hoping that Elizabeth in "The Americans" targets you as her next victim…er…informant, here are some of my fave recipes for game day snackage, and a killer chili recipe for the big game or any time.

• Susana's Amazing Asian Chicken Wings (top photo)
• Tim's Spicy Wings
• Sriracha Chicken Wings
• Deviled Eggs Four Ways
• My Mom's Hummus via Africa
• Hot Crab and Artichoke Dip
• Green Olive Tapenade
• Roasted Squash Spread
• Quick White Bean Dip

The following chili recipe makes enough to feed a crowd, so feel free to halve it for smaller gatherings.

Killer Beef Chili

For the sauce:
8 dried ancho chiles, seeded and torn into pieces
3 1/2 c. boiling water
2 bay leaves
1 Tbsp. cumin seeds
2 Tbsp. (6-8) garlic cloves
4 tsp. oregano
3 Tbsp. paprika (I use 1 Tbsp. smoked Spanish pimenton and 2 Tbsp. regular paprika)
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 Tbsp. salt
1 qt. roasted tomatoes

For the chili:
1 lb. dried beans (I used borlotti beans from Ayers Creek Farm)
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 large onion, chopped in 1/2" dice
2 Tbsp. garlic, minced
1 Tbsp. dried oregano
4-5 lbs. beef chuck
Salt to taste

The day before making the chili, put the dried beans in a medium-sized pot. Cover with water by 2 inches and soak them overnight.

Preheat the oven to 300°.

Make the sauce, place the torn chiles in a heat-proof bowl and pour the boiling water over them. Soak for 30 min. until they are soft and pliable. Drain them, reserving the soaking water, and place them in the bowl of a food processor or blender. Add remaining ingredients and 1/2 c. soaking liquid and process till smooth, gradually adding the rest of the soaking water. If you have a larger processor, add the tomatoes or simply stir them together with the chile sauce in a large mixing bowl.

Heat a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat and add the oil. When it shimmers, add the chopped onions and sauté until tender. While the onions cook, slice the beef chuck into 1-inch pieces. Add the garlic to the onions and sauté briefly. Add the oregano, beef cubes and chile sauce. Stir to combine and place in the oven for 1 1/2 to 2 hrs. until the beans are tender and the meat is almost falling apart. Salt to taste.

Party Favor: Quick White Bean Spread

Part of the reason for starting this effort twelve years ago was to have a place I could use to remember recipes I've made over the years. It's obviously grown beyond simply being a personal reference library, but it's still super useful when I need to quickly access my mom's grilled shrimp appetizer or that hot crab dip that never quite got copied into my card file.

One recipe that I keep going to the search bar to look for—that's what that little window on the left above the masthead is for—is an incredibly simple white bean spread that I came across eons ago from a source that's been lost to the mists of time. The problem is, I've never written it up here, but I keep thinking I have, so round and round I go in the little gerbil wheel of my brain. (Sorry, is that TMI…?)

It's handy for impromptu moments when the neighbors drop by for a glass of wine or friends ask you to bring an appetizer and you're running behind, since it whizzes up in the food processor in about five minutes. All you need to have on hand is a can of cannelini beans, capers and a clove of garlic and you're set—the raves that ensue will be crazily out of proportion to the work involved, but no one needs to know that besides you.

Herewith is the official, posted recipe so I never have to dash around the kitchen rummaging through files to find that recipe card ever again:

Tuscan-style White Bean Spread with Capers

1 15-oz. can cannelini beans, drained (or use 2 c. cooked white beans)
1 medium clove garlic
1/2 tsp. salt, plus more to taste
1 tsp. dried thyme
1 1/2 Tbsp. lemon juice
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. capers
1-2 Tbsp. parsley, minced (optional)

Put beans, garlic, salt, thyme, lemon juice and olive oil in food processor and process until smooth. Using a spatula, scoop bean purée into medium-sized bowl and add capers and parsley. Stir to combine and adjust salt. Serve with bread or crackers.

Makes about two cups. (Can be doubled.)

Fava Beans: To Peel, or Not to Peel?

Once again, it's confession time.

I love fava bean season so much that, at the first sign of the bundles of young green shoots on farmers' market tables in the spring, I get a little giddy thinking of them stir-fried with garlic and tossed with pasta and preserved lemon, or slathered with oil and roasted, served alongside a beautiful grilled, pasture-raised chicken thigh. Then there's the knowledge that in just a couple of weeks, it'll be time for the pods to start appearing, their strange, off-green, blobby exteriors revealing pale green kidney-shaped beans pillowed in a porous white cushion.

Young favas in the field, perfect for shoots.

That's about when I remember that to prepare these little beany delights, I have to strip them out of their pods, boil them in a salty pot of water, then spend what seems like hours in the tedious task of popping them out of their skins to get a paltry—albeit decidedly delicious—pile of the bright green, shiny jewels.

I know, I'm whining.

Shucked beans ready to boil and use!

But, wonder of wonders, this year my friend Nancy Harmon Jenkins, part-time resident of Italy and author of well-regarded books on Italian cuisine like Cucina del Sol and The Four Seasons of Pasta, saved me (and you) from hours of whinging.

In a post on her blog, she excoriates Americans who insist on peeling the skins from their beans:

"What a waste of time! What a waste of flavor!

"Where does this weird practice come from? I suspect from the French professional kitchen where chefs are constantly challenged to come up with new tricks and trucs to keep their enormous brigades de cuisine in operation. In Italy, where restaurant kitchens are run much more economically, no one has to dream up tasks—there are enough to go around and more.

Pasta with albacore and favas.

"But why do Americans insist on this? Every food writer except one (me) says you have to peel beans. Then they go through elaborate rigmaroles to show you how to do it. No wonder fava beans are not exactly popular despite their magnificent, slightly earthy flavor, so very different from string beans or limas. Every spring or summer I feel like climbing up in the pulpit and shouting: YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT—IN FACT, IT IS COUNTER-PRODUCTIVE!!!"

Which, as you might imagine, got my attention. And came in mighty handy when my neighbor called offering a grocery bag full of freshly harvested favas from his garden. Let me tell you, I never relished preparing beans more—just shuck, boil in a pot of salted water for ten minutes and they're ready!

Read the rest of Nancy's post to get her serving suggestions and more cultural trivia about these delicate denizens of early summer. For me, I used some of my neighbor's beans in a pasta tossed with preserved lemon and albacore, sprinkled with chive blossoms and chopped chives, then used the rest to make the following dip for a party. Though when everyone oohed and aahed over the amount of work it took to peel all those beans, I was torn about revealing my secret. (Psst…I did.)

Fava Bean Spread

3 c. shucked beans
2 cloves garlic
1/2 fennel bulb, cut in half, cored and roughly chopped
1/4 c. parsley, coarsely chopped
1/4 c. mint, coarsely chopped
1/3 c. fresh lemon juice
3-4 Tbsp. olive oil
Salt, to taste

Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Drop in fava beans and cook for ten minutes. Drain and run under very cold water (or ice bath) until cool.

Put beans, garlic, fennel, parsley, mint and lemon juice into the bowl of a food processor. Turn on and while its running drizzle in olive oil until puréed. Adjust lemon juice and olive oil and add salt to taste. Serve with slices of rustic bread or crackers, or on toasted slices of baguette (à la bruschetta).

Party Favor: Crab and Artichoke Dip

I want to slide in a quick suggestion for your next holiday party, whether it's at your place or you need to take a little something to contribute to a gathering. It's a throwback to the days of yore and Madmen-style, cocktail-fueled evenings, where a table might be laden with tiny canapés made with Ritz Crackers, processed cheese and pimento olives.

Cheese balls were in fashion, sitting like an errant meteor on a china plate. My own mother was enamored of them—I think she really loved the nuts studding the exterior— and standbys like clam and onion dips orbiting big bowls heaped with salty potato chips. Chafing dishes, with little tins of Canned Heat burning beneath them, kept all manner of hors d'oeuvres like meatballs piping hot (sometimes erring on the side of molten), with rainbow-colored toothpicks nearby, the better to spear the choicest bits.

The warm crab and artichoke dip below would have fit right in on that table, even more so because it relies on canned food products and the stalwart presence of mayonnaise to bind it all together. You could substitute local Dungeness crab meat, farmers' market artichokes and homemade mayonnaise to make it, too, but I like the simplicity of the original in its all-American salute to convenience paired with deliciousness. And I know my mother would approve.

Hot Artichoke and Crab Dip
Adapted from New Seasons Market

1 14-oz. can artichoke hearts
1/4 c. capers
6 oz. crab meat (fresh is better and cheaper if you buy a whole crab and crack it yourself, but canned works, too)
1 c. parmesan, finely grated
1 c. mayonnaise
6 whole wheat crackers (like Triscuits), optional

Drain and chop artichokes. If using canned crab, drain well. Crush crackers to fine crumbs with a rolling pin.

Combine crab with artichokes, capers, cheese and mayonnaise. Sprinkle with crushed crackers. Put in baking dish and bake for at least 20 minutes at 350°. When slightly browned and bubbly, serve with your favorite crackers, baguette slices or tortilla chips. (Also makes a great stuffing for salmon fillet or chicken breast.)

Party Favor: Green Olive Tapenade

I love dinner parties. Not fancy-schmancy, dress-up affairs where people make polite small-talk over hors d'oeuvres, then sit down at a table groaning with myriad special-purpose forks and spoons. (Can you tell I've been watching too many British life-in-the-manor shows?) I prefer small gatherings where the question isn't "what should I wear" so much as "what can I bring."

It's probably because I grew up with parents who had friends over for dinner frequently, where the laughter and conversation filled the house as full plates were decimated and bottles of wine were emptied.

Potluck dinners provide great opportunities to get new recipes, since people tend to bring favorite bites they only make for special occasions—my brother's deviled eggs with pancetta leaps to mind—or when they want to try out a new recipe, a practice a surprised guest once scolded me for but I still do on a regular basis. After all, what better time to try a labor or ingredient-intensive dish? Pour enough wine and your guests will forgive (or forget) any minor disasters!

One such recent gathering featured an intriguing appetizer that I first took to be guacamole because of its brilliant green color, but on taking a bite I was startled to find it crunchy and sparked with lemon and garlic. But what was it?

I immediately turned to Michael Schoenholtz, a terrific photographer and the one who brought the fascinating tidbit, and asked what this deliciousness was. Turns out that he had been working on the recipe ever since he'd had it at a restaurant, tweaking and fiddling to recreate the experience he remembered (an exercise in patience that I seldom can manage). Based on the intensely bright green Castelvetrano olives which I've been flirting with for years—I love them plain, marinated in orange zest or chopped in a salad—and which are a ubiquitous presence in grocery store olive bars, it adds Meyer lemon juice (be still my heart), garlic, almonds and mustard seeds to achieve that intoxicating flavor.

Better yet? It can be made in a food processor in minutes. Now I'm toying with the idea of mixing the ingredients into pasta or serving it with fish or on crostini, so you may be seeing a similar combination again. So try it, and feel free to take it to your next potluck!

Castelvetrano Olive Tapenade
From Michael Schoenholtz

40 pitted Castelventrano olives
1/3 c. blanched, unsalted almonds (slivers fine)
1/3 c. fresh fennel, roughly chopped
2 tsp. garlic, minced
1/2-1 c. Italian parsley, roughly chopped
3 oz. Meyer lemon juice
1 tsp. mustard seeds
1/8 tsp. cayenne
1/2 c. olive oil
Salt to taste

Place all ingredients except olive oil and salt in food processor. With processor running, drizzle the olive oil in a steady stream until the mixture is a coarse blend. (You don’t want a smooth purée, so don't dawdle.) Empty processor into medium-sized mixing bowl and stir in salt to taste.

The "L" Word: Leftover Squash? You've Got a Party!

Confession time: I almost always make too much food. Instead of cooking for three, I somehow think I'm cooking for a dozen. And big eaters though we are—a pound of pasta barely feeds the three of us—when I roast a big, meltingly tender and delicious squash, there tends to be some left over. And I'm a real stickler (OK, some might say a Nazi) about not wasting food, so there are always bits and bobs of leftovers hanging around.

My best kitchen helper with the Sibley.

So the other afternoon, when we got an invitation to join my brother and his family for braised lamb shanks that evening, I volunteered to bring a nibble for sharing before dinner. With no time to go to the store, I was digging around in the fridge for ideas (what, you don't do that?) when I ran across some roasted Sibley squash we'd had a couple of nights before. Thinking that if a bean spread is good enough for Italians, if a chickpea dip is good enough for the Lebanese, then maybe a puréed squash dip might solve my evening's challenge.

I checked out a couple of resources online and found a New York Times recipe that sounded like a good place to start. Subbing in a couple of ingredients and adding a couple of others, I think it's a winner, garnering admiring "mmmmmms" and "yummmmms" from the crowd of critical tasters gathered around the counter. See what you think!

Roasted Squash Spread

2 c. roasted squash

2 green onions, light halves only, roughly chopped; finely chop the greens for garnish

1 clove garlic

1/4 c. roasted, unsalted peanuts

1/4 c. parmesan, grated

Dash of freshly grated nutmeg

2 Tbsp. olive oil

Salt to taste

Place roasted squash, whites of green onions, garlic, peanuts, parmesan and nutmeg in bowl of food processor. Pulse a few times to get ingredients broken up, then process while drizzling in the olive oil. Add more oil if necessary to get a fairly smooth, thick purée. Serve in small bowl showered with chopped green tops of green onions. Goes well with simple crackers, pita bread or pita chips.

Crustacean Celebration: Dippity Do!

There was a popular hair product when I was a teenager called Dippity Do. It promised, as hair products still seem to do, to make the human equivalent of a bald cat magically transform into a pampered Persian.

Its translucent day-glo colors (pink and green for regular and extra-hold, respectively) and unforgettably awful smell made dipping into a fresh jar an experience both sensuous and revolting. Then smearing it on your hair and rolling the strands onto juice can-sized rollers which, if you were lucky and had a hair dryer or, if you weren't and had to sleep on them till your hair dried, was emblematic of the pursuit of beauty at all costs. Especially since the beauty part didn't usually turn out exactly as one might have hoped.

And the food at the holiday parties one attended after that gauntlet of preparations seemed to cause the same reactions of sensuousness and revulsion, though the colors were (only somewhat) more subdued. Velveeta cheese squares on saltines topped with a pimento olive slice. Cheese balls molded from gummy, flavorless cheese-like substances and rolled in chopped walnuts that looked like something that had plummeted from the sky. And who could forget the dry little meatballs covered in barely reconstituted cream of mushroom soup, not to mention the day-glo Vienna sausages?

But there were gems scattered among the lumps of coal on those tables that I remember fondly and still crave at this time of year, particularly the dips consumed with crunchy, salty potato chips. They were usually simple, creamy and whipped up in moments. I ran into a descendant of those classics not long ago and thought now might be the perfect time to share it, with holiday parties coming up that might benefit from a jewel on the table.

Hot Artichoke and Crab Dip
From New Seasons Market

1 14-oz. can artichoke hearts (Trader Joe's brand are a great value)
1/4 c. capers
6 oz. crab meat (fresh is better and cheaper if you buy a whole crab and crack it yourself, but canned works, too)
1 c. parmesan, finely grated
1 c. mayonnaise

Drain and chop artichokes. If using canned crab, drain well and combine with artichokes, capers, cheese and mayonnaise. Put in baking dish and bake for 20 minutes at 350°. When warm and bubbly serve with your favorite crackers, baguette slices or tortilla chips. (Also makes a great stuffing for salmon fillet or chicken breast.)

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Check out these other examples of the crabby-licious goodness that is the Crustacean Celebration at GoodStuffNW: pasta with crab and radicchio; killer crab cakes; crab crostini; and a company-worthy crab-filled cioppino.

Committing Hummus-cide

Hummus, in my view, is a much-maligned quantity. It was the barely edible, dry stuff you brought to parties in college because it was "ethnic" but in reality was a cheap way to feed your friends. And there are still very few who make a decent version, outside of Middle-Eastern restaurants like Ya Hala or Hoda's who also make their own pita bread.

I'd give my own efforts an "OK" rating back then and, even at that, it was way better than most of the stuff sold at even our most effete grocery stores, which range from chemical-tasting to having that certain je-ne-sais-quoi cardboard flavor.

Then all was made better by a recipe that my parents brought back from their pre-retirement sojourn in Liberia (yes, in Africa) where they met several Lebanese couples, teachers at the college they were working for. My mother, being a resourceful sort and knowing a good thing when she tasted it, begged a couple of recipes from them that she shared when she eventually returned home.

Ever since, our lives and the success of many a gathering have been aided and abetted by her ingenuity. I hope you agree her efforts weren't in vain.

Hummus

Taratoor sauce:
2 small garlic cloves
1/2 c. tahini paste (sesame butter)
1/4 c. lemon juice
1/2 tsp. salt

Hummus:
1 15-oz can garbanzo beans or 2 c. cooked beans
2 tsp. salt
3 garlic cloves
1/4 c. lemon juice

You can make this in one step by placing all the ingredients in the food processor and processing till it all turns to a smooth consistency. Add water if necessary to keep it blending (I don't). Garnish with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of paprika (or better yet, Spanish pimenton) or the traditional sumac.

The taratoor by itself makes a terrific sauce for pork or meats, or drizzle it over rice, vegetables or appetizers like stuffed grape leaves.