What a Lemon

There sure are a ton of lemons around New York these days. (I suppose you could take that several ways... )

I'm referring to the preserved kind, however. Recently, I've noticed a number of restaurants are including the item on their menus. Also, I received a recipe e-mail a couple weeks ago from Serious Eats for Farro, White Bean and Preserved Lemon Salad (I plan to try this at some point). I became even more intrigued when The New York Times launched its online "D.I.Y. Cooking Handbook," and included a how-to for preserved lemons.

I had to try it.

Preserved Lemons (courtesy of Paula Wolfert via The New York Times)

5-9 organic lemons, depending on the size of the jar

1 tablespoon kosher salt, as needed

2 bay leaves

1 heaping tablespoon black peppercorns

1. Sanitize a jar with a tight-fitting lid.

2. Scrub lemons and slice about five (or enough to fit in the jar) from the top to within 1/2-inch from the bottom, almost cutting them into quarters but leaving them attached on one end. Rub kosher salt over the cut surfaces, then reshape the fruit. Cover the bottom of the jar with kosher salt. Fit all cut lemons in, breaking them apart if necessary. Sprinkle salt on each layer.

3. Press the lemons down to release their juices. Add peppercorns and bay leaves. Squeeze additional lemons into the jar until juice covers everything.

4. Close the jar and let ripen at cool room temperature, shaking the jar every day for three to four weeks, or until the rinds are tender to the bite, then store it in the refrigerator.

Turns out, preserved lemons are a Moroccan tradition—they have been used for years in tagines. According to the article, the minced peel can top salads or seafood and pairs well with salmon, carrots, olives, parsley and potatoes; the brine is perfect for a bloody mary.

Check back in three to four weeks for an update. I hope the procedure isn't a lemon.

Feeling Shrimpy

They say you are what you eat. Well last night, I suppose you could call me a shrimp (not that I haven't heard that one before, thanks to my 5-foot-barely-2 stature).

Apparently, I still have Astoria on the mind. I've been craving a dish one of our favorite Greek restaurants calls "Garides Liana"—a lemon and olive oil shrimp tossed with garlic. The restaurant, Agnanti, serves massive shrimp with their heads still attached. (Don't ever be scared to order it this way—it packs a ton of flavor.) Garides Liana is one of those dishes that's so flavorful, I have a difficult time trying a "new" entree when I'm there. I always want to eat the shrimp because they're so amazing.

I searched online for a similar recipe and came across this one on Epicurious.com. It wasn't an exact replica of Agnanti's—especially since Whole Foods didn't carry the same size shrimp—but it's definitely a keeper. Even Ryan, who's not always in the mood for shrimp, scarfed it down.

Lemon-Garlic Baked Shrimp (adapted from Gourmet via Epicurious.com)

4 garlic cloves, chopped or thinly sliced

1 1/4 pound medium (16-to-20 count) uncooked shrimp (I shelled and cleaned them myself, but you can definitely buy them deveined)

1/3 cup flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

4 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, divided

Salt and pepper to taste

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

2. In an 8-inch round shallow baking dish, combine garlic and oil. Place in middle of the oven for 3-5 minutes, or until the garlic is lightly colored; be careful not to burn it.

3. Add shrimp, 2 tablespoon lemon juice and salt and pepper. Toss to combine. Bake shrimp, turning once, until just cooked through, about 6-8 minutes. Stir in remaining lemon juice and parsley. Serve immediately or at room temperature.

I served it with a Greek salad of cucumber, red onion, tomatoes and feta cheese tossed with an oregano-red wine vinegar dressing. And don't forget a loaf of crusty bread to sop up the lemony goodness.

This dish certainly doesn't have shrimpy flavors.

Irish Blessing

My (quarter-percent) Irish eyes are smiling.

Every St. Patrick's Day that I can remember, my mom has baked Irish soda bread. One corner of the kitchen counter is dedicated to a pile of loaves. My mom keeps two and distributes the rest to family and friends.

The recipe she uses is from her mother, my grandma Perron, from whom she learned the tradition; my grandma acquired the recipe from her Irish friend. I imagine there are thousands of variations of Irish soda bread, but this is the one that I compare to every other. If it doesn't taste like the one I grew up with, it's simply not right.

My grandma passed away more than a decade ago, but my mom has kept the Irish soda bread tradition alive. She reserves a loaf especially for my grandpa, who has always enjoyed being on the receiving end of the bread baking ritual.

Living more than a quick drive away from my parents since college began, I haven't eaten Irish soda bread more than a couple times in the last 10 years. I miss it. I decided this was the year I was going to try it on my own. My mom walked me through the recipe over the phone, and I was able to produce two nice loaves.

Grandma Perron's Irish Soda Bread

4 cups AP flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon caraway seeds

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 pound unsalted butter (1 stick), room temperature

1 cup raisins, soaked in hot water for 10 minutes and drained

1 1/3 cups buttermilk

Cornmeal, as needed

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a parchment-lined baking sheet with cooking spray (or—I haven't done it this way but I imagine it would work nicely—a 10-inch cast iron skillet).

2. Sift flour, baking soda, salt and sugar. Using a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook, place mixture in the bowl and crumble in butter; combine until it looks like coarse bread crumbs. Mix in drained raisins and caraway seeds. Add buttermilk and mix until the dough barely comes together (it will be sticky and look shaggy). If over-kneaded, the bread will be tough.

3. Lightly sprinkle the baking sheet or skillet with cornmeal. If desired (the method I chose), divide dough in half, mold into 5-inch rounds and place on separate baking sheets. Score dough with an "X" to prevent cracking.

4. Bake 1 hour for one loaf, 40-45 minutes for two loaves, or until cake tester inserted in the middle of either comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack. Serve breakfast, lunch and dinner with Irish butter (or whatever butter you have). Be sure to store at room temperature in a resealable plastic bag because it will dry out.

Of course, my mom has the bread down to a science. She texted me a picture of her perfectly brown loaves and I became instantly jealous. I imagine it will take practice—not to mention my Manhattan oven isn't good for much.

I feel the luck of the Irish that I'm part Irish.