Gremolata is an Italian condiment I adore — a simple, and quickly assembled mix of flat-leaf parsley, lemon zest, and garlic, chopped finely.

It is most traditionally associated with osso buco, and indeed it works wonders (wonders, I tell you!) on any slow-roasted or braised meat dish, sprinkled on just before serving. It tastes fresh and clean, and cuts right through the richness of a stew, brightening the overall flavors by several notches.

But it would be a pity to restrict gremolata to this classic use. You can also:
– stuff it underneath the skin of chicken before roasting (I detail this technique in my post on salt-crusted chicken),
– sprinkle it over roasted eggplant, mushrooms, carrots, or cauliflower,
– use it to garnish soups, especially winter squash soups,
– add it to salads (especially lentil salads) and sandwiches,
– toss it with pasta, white beans, or small waxy potatoes,
– add breadcrumbs and a little bit of oil to form a paste, and spread on fish fillets before baking,
– use it to season steamed mussels or grilled sardines,
– fold it into ricotta or fresh goat cheese to top crostini…

The list goes on and on, so you would do well to mix a big batch whenever you have the ingredients on hand, and keep it in the fridge for a couple of days to add to your cooking and spark new ideas.

And just as the uses are multiple, so too are the possible variations on this glorious trinity: you can use parsley in combination with another fresh herb (I do recommend keeping at least a portion of parsley to retain that flavor thumbprint), you can mix and match citrus zests (orange is also a classic, but grapefruit or bergamot would be inspired twists), and you can add a fillet of anchovy or a few black olives to replace the salt.

I myself like to add roasted hazelnuts to my gremolata for a nutty note, an idea that comes from genius cook Sonia Ezgulian by way of the gremolata bowls she placed on every table when she was a guest chef at Café Pleyel.

And part of my pleasure in making gremolata is that it gives me a chance to use the very nifty hand-cranked mini-chopper I got from Tupperware years ago*. It works a bit like an old-school salad spinner, with a handle and a cord that sets in motion a rotating set of blades (see below). I like the retro-ness of it, and find it is just the thing to produce a gremolata that’s chopped tiny, but not completely ground. Also, handy in the event of a blackout!

Join the conversation!

Do you make gremolata? What’s your version like, and what do you use it on?

*Disclosure: I received this mini chopper for free from the press services of Tupperware France a few years ago, with no obligation to write about it, and no compensation if I ever decided to. All opinions expressed are my own.

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Have you ever cooked with purslane, or Portulaca oleracea as it is known to botanists? It is a succulent plant whose edible, delicious leaves are crunchy and slightly mucilaginous, with a tangy lemony and peppery flavor.

It is generally harvested from early June till the end of summer, and can either be foraged or purchased, usually from a farmers market or through a CSA share. The wild variety, which is actually considered a weed by many gardeners, is rampant and has pinkish stems (see picture above), while cultivated varieties tend to grow vertically and display greenish stems.

Purslane has been consumed since ancient times, and because it grows easily in hot and not too dry climates, it is represented in many cuisines of the world, from Greece to Mexico, and from Turkey to India by way of South Africa. (Here’s a handy list of its aliases in different languages.)

It is a bit of a nutritional powerhouse, offering remarkable amounts of minerals (most notably calcium, iron, magnesium, and potassium), omega-3 fatty acids, vitamins (A, B, C), and antioxydants. It is thought to be an important component of the Cretan high-life-expectancy diet, and Michael Pollan has called it one of the two most nutritious plants on the planet in his In Defense of Food manifesto (the other is lamb’s quarters if you want to hunt for that too).

Although the stems are edible when still young (and can be pickled), cooks usually keep only the leaves and thin, spindly stems at the top, which are simply plucked from the central stem. The process is slow-going, but rewarding in the end. Because purslane grows so close to the earth, and especially if it is foraged*, it should be rinsed very well, in several baths of fresh water (I usually do three), with a bit of vinegar.

And once you have your bowlful of squeaky clean and vibrant little leaves, what do you do with them? Purslane is mostly eaten raw, but can also be cooked for a change of pace. I’ve gathered 45 purslane recipes for you — and hope you’ll add your own favorites in the comments section!

* Some people report that they find it growing from sidewalk cracks or in city parks, but I wouldn’t recommend foraging it from there.

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A few of my favorite finds and reads for August:

~ Food pic wars. Does this remind you of anyone you know?

~ 31 ways to use lemon peel, and I’ll add my own #32: roasted lemon zest powder.

~ Paris for kids: where to take them, what to feed them.

~ Singing in support of artisan milk producers.

~ Born again in a second language: about writing in a language not your own.

~ A fascinating look at how bento boxes are made.

~ I am coveting this coconut-shaped lamp.

~ Frederick Kaufman on the commoditization of food.

~ Is this the future of coffee shops? Reserved seats for non-laptop-using customers.

~ A good-looking loaf of bread baked 2000 years ago.

~ What do 200 calories look like?

~ Why we should all keep a spark file.

~ Using active verbs in recipes: what’s your preferred style?

Few nuts are as notably improved by roasting as the hazelnut.

Most raw hazelnuts you find at the store are, in truth, a little chewy and a little bland, like a draft version of themselves. But a healthy roasting fixes that, boosting the flavor and allowing the excess water to evaporate, thereby leaving you with wonderfully crisp nuggets of pure nuttiness.

The bonus advantage when you roast hazelnuts is that it gives you the opportunity to skin them while you’re at it, rubbing them in a kitchen towel as the bitter husk easily detaches into a million little flakes you do not want to accidentally spill on your kitchen floor, trust me.

How to roast hazelnuts, and what to do with them?

I confess that most of the hazelnuts I roast and skin in this fashion, I end up snacking on with dried fruit such as prunes, figs, pears, or dates, as mentioned in this post about food gifts. But I also love to eat them on Roasted Cauliflower à la Mary Celeste, use them for a Hazelnut and Nectarine Gratin, or grind them to make Dukkah, this fantastic spice mix from Egypt. (More hazelnut recipes?)

Join the conversation!

Do you usually roast and skin the nuts you cook and bake with? And what’s your favorite way to enjoy hazelnuts?

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