Drunken Noodles with Tofu and Jalapeno

Lately, I’ve been riding the lightning, which is how a consultant perfectly described the experience of being a doctor in training. And thanks to having taught public high school, it just so happens that I appear very nonchalant while thousands of volts pass between my limbs. Several times I’ve been with delirious patients in accelerated states of agitation and belligerence, and my team has told me afterwards, “You really should have gotten out of your chair. They could have hit you, and you need to be ready to run.” Maybe the years of lightning strikes I endured at Rabouin High School in New Orleans have frizzled out my fear receptors. Or at least, I feel pretty attuned to when I’m about to be hit, and if a patient is just yelling, that doesn’t quite set off my red alert. I’m not afraid of storms. In fact, I prefer to ride the storm out because, inevitably, the clear sky is so fresh, and the warmth of the sun feels most rewarding after the rain. Speaking of which, it’s raining jalapeños in my backyard.

The other key note for today is that I don’t think I got any new bug bites. Mosquitos have been their own rainclouds this summer, thick and sinister. If I make it through August without West Nile, I will be thrilled. Meanwhile, I’ll be eating tropical dishes such as the following. When in a rain forest, eat as the Thai do.

Drunken Noodles with Tofu and Jalapeno

Adapted from Food and Wine

Olive oil

12 ounces firm tofu, cubed and dried

1/2 cup chicken stock

1 tablespoon oyster sauce

1 tablespoon Asian fish sauce

2 TB red curry paste

1 teaspoon tahari sauce

1/2 teaspoon sugar

1 red bell pepper, seeded and sliced

1 large jalapeño, seeded and sliced

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 red Thai bird chile, minced

1/2 pound pad thai rice noodles, cooked and cut in half crosswise

Thai basil leaves

Lime wedges, for serving

In a nonstick skillet, heat 1/4 inch of oil. Add the tofu and cook over moderately high heat, turning, until crisp, 5 minutes. Drain.

In a bowl, whisk the stock, oyster sauce, fish sauce, chile paste, soy sauce and sugar.

In a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of oil. Add the bell pepper, jalapeño, garlic and Thai chile and stir-fry over high heat until fragrant, 2 minutes. Add the noodles and stir-fry until browned, 4 minutes.

Add the sauce and toss over moderately high heat, until absorbed. Fold in 1 cup of basil and the tofu. Garnish with more basil and serve with lime wedges.

The tofu in this dish is perfectly inert–a vehicle for all the spicy and savory flavors of garlic and chile peppers and jalapenos. I’m just stoked that half these ingredients came from my backyard.

Five Lentil Stew, Panch Dal for a Doll

In yoga today, the guru asked us to breathe in and out a dedication to a person in our lives who is like a fresh breath of air. This beautiful blonde, Lindsey Willis Hays, immediately came to my mind. We met in the nerd society at SPU (GO UScholars!) and shared a dorm floor together (GO Blue Flamers!). Lindsey is part of the reason I have stopped being picky about food. Lindsey also is the reason I am at Mayo Medical School. She lived in Rochester during her dietetics internship, we were on the phone together while I happened to be filling out the general application for medical schools. “Hey Rachel, did you know Mayo has a medical school?” “No, but I’m putting it down…now! [click]” The future pivots in mysterious ways. Now Lindsey joins me in the middle of the country—she and her husband Andrew are heroically moving their lives to South Dakota to work in education and health for the Rosebud Indian Reservation. We just got back from visiting them, spending the Fourth of July in Sioux Falls, SD. Lindsey, I think you’re just a dal. This one’s for you.

Five Lentil Stew, or Panch Dal

Adapted from Flatbreads and Flavors

¼ cup channa dal (If you are like, what the heck are these dals? Just add 1 ¼ cup lentils)

¼ cup urad dal

¼ cup masur dal

¼ cup toovar dal

¼ cup mung dal

5 cups water

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 tablespoon olive oil; or ghee (which is clarified butter)

1 large onions, chopped; finely

1 tablespoongarlic cloves, crushed

1 teaspoon cumin seed

1 teaspoon garam masala

2 large Tomatoes; chopped

1 teaspoon salt; or more to taste

Rinse dals (ahem, lentils). Bring water to boil in large pot. Add dals, stir, and bring back to boil. Remove from heat, cover, and let sit 2 hours.

Add turmeric and cayenne to dal and bring water to boil. Reduce heat slightly and simmer until dal is tender, approximately 35 minutes.

10-15 minutes before dal is ready, begin cooking spice mixture. Heat oil in heavy skillet or saucepan over medium-high heat. When hot, add onion and garlic and fry 2-3 minutes, stirring frequently. Add cumin and garam masala and cook another minute. Add tomatoes and salt and cook until tomatoes have been reduced, approximately 10 minutes.

Add onion mixture to dal and stir well. Cook 2-3 minutes more to blend flavors. Taste for salt and adjust seasoning. Serve hot in one large bowl or in individual-sized bowls with chapatti or central Asian naan.

Lindsey….it’s green. Can you believe how far I’ve come? And for the rest of you, let me say here first that South Dakota is, surprisingly, cool. We visited a couple hot spots in Sioux Falls. I highly recommend the microbrews from Monk’s and Prairie Berry (pictured below). And the night life at Icon was hot. It’s been far too long since I listened to bustiered, spray-tanned women yell across the bathroom stalls how to snag a man.

“Oh my gawwd, Tiffany. Like. Don’t you text him ‘Sweet dreams’ like every night?”

“Shut up. Meredith, like, are you serious? No. I just send him Snap Chats.”

“Girr-rahl, I’m so riiaaght. Thinkaboutit. He needs to think about you when he’s in bed.”

“Maybe this is why my last three boyfriends dumped me. Mmm’ my gawd-dah. You think? Like what else should I be texting?”

And the rest is not appropriate for my Rated PG blog. Never in a million years did I expect to be blushing inside the privacy of my own stall in a Sioux Falls nightclub bathroom. I would have been less surprised to see a buffalo.

Chocolate Pound Cake Cassatas and Desire

I believe Desire is not only a state of being, but the state of being. Once we learn that our longing has nothing to do with the object at which it is directed, and will neither be alleviated nor mitigated by the object’s possession, but is in fact an inkling of some greater magnetism, a force by which we may be pulled into alignment with every other being since be-ing began —we might come to a place of peace where we can enjoy the longing in and of itself because of what the state of longing suggests—that there is something out there in the universe to which we are polarized, and that thing, I’d like to believe, is Love trying to make itself known to us. We turn to face it by turning toward things which bear its lustre, that we might reflect such a lustre ourselves.

Maybe it is better said, you are what you eat. This philosophical rumination on desire was brought to you today by this cake I made and Walker Percy, whose character in Love in the Ruins still haunts me with what he says when, in a blink, his lust collapses into sorrow, “Dear God, I can see it now, why can’t I see it other times, that it is You I love in the beauty of the world and in all the lovely girls and dear good friends, and it is pilgrims we are, wayfarers on a journey, and not pigs, nor angels.”

Chocolate Pound Cake Cassatas

Inspired by recipes in Food and Wine and Bon Appetit, which I fused into this masterpiece

¼ cup unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more

1½ cups all-purpose flour

½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 teaspoon kosher salt

¾ teaspoon baking powder

¼ cup virgin coconut oil, room temperature

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

1½ cups plus 1 tablespoon sugar

3 large eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

⅔ cup buttermilk

Preheat oven to 325°. Butter two cake rounds. Whisk flour, cocoa powder, salt, and baking powder in a medium bowl; set aside.

Using an electric mixer on medium-high speed, beat oil, ¼ cup butter, and 1½ cups sugar until pale and fluffy, 5–7 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating to blend between additions; beat until mixture is very light and doubled in volume, 5–8 minutes. Add vanilla.

Reduce mixer speed to low and add dry ingredients in 3 additions, alternating with buttermilk in 2 additions, beginning and ending with dry ingredients (do not overmix; it will cause cake to buckle and split). Scrape batter into prepared pan.

Bake cake, tenting with foil if coconut browns too much before cake is done (it should be very dark and toasted), until a tester inserted into the center comes out clean, 50-60 minutes. Transfer pan to a wire rack; let cake cool in pan 20 minutes before turning out.

With each cake round, take a 5-6 cm diameter glass and cut three small rounds out of each cake, like so. (The best part is you get to eat the remnants!) Set these six rounds aside, and get started on the filling.

1 cup fresh ricotta

2 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar

1 tablespoon amaretto liqueur (or almond extract)

2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Finely grated orange zest, for garnish

2 tablespoons finely chopped candied orange peel (available at candy shops and at specialty food shops)

In a mini food processor, combine the ricotta with the confectioners’ sugar and amaretto/almond extract and puree until very smooth. Add half of the chocolate and candied orange peel and pulse just to combine.

Spread the granulated sugar on a small plate. Lightly press both sides of each pound cake round into the sugar to coat, tapping off the excess sugar. In a large nonstick skillet, melt half of the butter. Add the sugared pound cake rounds in 2 batches, using the remaining butter, and cook over moderate heat, turning once, until the rounds are golden and the sugar is caramelized, about 1 minute per side. Transfer the rounds to a rack to cool slightly.

Place 3 rounds on plates and top with half of the ricotta mixture. Top with the remaining rounds and ricotta mixture. Sprinkle the remaining chocolate and candied orange peel on top and garnish with orange zest.

Exquisite!

Creamed Swiss Chard with Lemony Breadcrumbs

Making my way slowly through the pile of greens that arrive every week, and hacking through the forest of greens leafing the backyard gardens. Chard was something I previously believed to be a verb. A very embarrassing verb. Turns out I was wrong. And astoundingly, it comes in rainbow colors! Chard is like the funfetti of leafy greens.

Creamed Swiss Chard with Lemony Breadcrumbs

Thanks to Bon Appetit

½ cup torn fresh breadcrumbs

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

Kosher salt

2 large bunches Swiss chard, ribs and stems cut into 2” lengths, leaves torn into 2” pieces (I used rainbow chard, because I’m friendly)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 medium shallots, sliced

Freshly ground black pepper

¾ cup heavy cream

You are allowed to make one “shart” joke, or maybe tell a quick anecdote about a time when you, I mean someone you know, had a small, unintended defecation when they expected flatus. But this is chard. Okay, got all the giggles out? Great.

Preheat oven to 400°. Toss breadcrumbs, oil, and lemon zest on a rimmed baking sheet; season with salt. Toast, tossing once, until golden brown, 4-6 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook chard leaves in a large pot of boiling salted water until tender, about 1 minute. Drain and transfer to a bowl of ice water to cool. Drain and squeeze well in a clean kitchen towel to remove excess moisture.

Heat butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add shallots and chard ribs and stems, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring often, until tender, 5–8 minutes. Marvel at the rainbow of plant pieces that may not have seemed edible until now.

Add cream; bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer, stirring often, until thickened, about 4 minutes. Add chard leaves and cook, stirring, until warmed through and coated with cream sauce; season with salt and pepper.

Marvelous. This will feed about two people, and I guess the moral of this story is: conquer your fear of vegetables by coating them in shallot butter and heavy cream. Basically, this is a green pile of what ice cream would be if it were allowed to be hot. It’s like eating the dream of Olaf.

Wasabi Salmon with Bok Choy, Green Cabbage, and Shiitakes

Happy Anniversary to me and KP, seven years! We went on a dinner cruise on the Mississippi River, which is a tad full, shall we say? We had hoped to sit on the bench pictured below to look at the boat before we boarded.

Gorgeous evening, our Independence Day this year in the Midwest. Back home, unwittingly, I chose to join a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) at the same time I also chose to test the sprouting power of the expired seed packets that have been collecting at the back of the junk drawer. The seeds all work, apparently. And so begins The Summer of Salad.

I see there are romantic bouquets of bok choy lying in wait among my pile of greens. Really, if I had been as into veggies on my wedding day as I am now, I might have insisted these be our flowers. Very holdable for bridesmaids.

Wasabi Salmon with Bok Choy, Green Cabbage, and Shiitakes

Adapted from Bon Appetit

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1 teaspoon wasabi paste (Japanese horseradish paste)

1 1″ piece ginger, peeled, finely grated

2 large garlic cloves, finely grated

4 6-ounce skinless salmon fillets (preferably wild)

Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper

1 pound baby bok choy, halved

2 cups (packed) finely shredded green cabbage (about 5 ounces)– I used Napa Cabbage

4 ounces shiitake mushrooms, stemmed, sliced if large

2 tablespoons olive oil

Preheat oven to 450°F. Heat a large rimmed baking sheet for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, mix mayonnaise and wasabi in a small bowl. Stir in half of ginger and half of garlic; set aside. Season fish all over with salt and pepper. Place bok choy, cabbage, and mushrooms in a large bowl. Drizzle with oil and add remaining ginger and garlic. Toss to coat; season with salt and pepper.

Scatter vegetables across one side of baking sheet. Arrange salmon on other side.

Roast, stirring vegetables occasionally, until salmon is cooked through, 12-15 minutes.

Divide vegetables among plates; top with salmon. Serve wasabi mayonnaise alongside.

You can even use some extra lettuce leaves for Kleenex when the wasabi exacts its full effect on your sinuses. Or if you are just too overcome with romance at the thought of a wedding with bok choy bouquets.

Peanut Butter Truffle Brownies

I’ve been watching my mother embark on yet another knitting project with a surgical sort of attention to detail. She is infamously finicky about the quality of her knitted work, such that she explained to me with great vehemence how the start of a knitting project is as crucial a beginning as an embryo. “Slight errors made at the early embryological stage of a sweater or hat’s creation can create massive developmental problems down the line.” I thank her for her attention detail both during my own embryological stage, and my hat’s. She is as sweet as the peanut butter truffle brownie she made on her stay here last week—I wish she lived next door.

Peanut Butter Truffle Brownies
Adapted from Trader Joe’s flyer
1 package TJ’s Truffle Brownie mix
2 eggs
1 stick unsalted butter
½ container TJ’s Peanut Butter Cups, unwrapped

Preheat the oven to 350. Prepare brownies according to box directions. Remove from oven and press peanut butter cups into the top of the warm brownies, making rows that cover the whole top.

Place brownies back in the oven for two minutes to soften. Allow to cool, ENJOY!

Thank you, Mom, and truffle brownies, for reminding me of everything there is in this world to love.
Happy Fourth of July!

Twice-Cooked Latkes with Shallot Cream

Karl-Peter has commanded a Belgian strike today in the kitchen. I woke up to make waffles, a choice KP discouraged because it was too Belgian. I have no such superstition. There is no way the universe sees my breakfast as a weight to tip the scales in the favor of Belgium over the US soccer team. In fact, I ate that waffle. I chomp latkes and laugh maniacally—because good food trumps World Cup. And the United States is good enough to win this afternoon regardless of the fact that I ate the Belgian waffles this morning with an aggressive, voodoo spirit.

My bulldog prefers to maintain neutrality. Here she is, reticent in a US scarf babushka. Izzy, we are playing Belgium, not Bulgaria. I can’t hear you, she sneers.

Either way, enjoy yourself a potato latke today. Cut up some green onions and chives and throw them on top like victory confetti, a foreshadowing.

Twice-Cooked Latkes with Shallot Cream

Adapted from Food and Wine

1/2 cup sour cream

1 tablespoon minced shallot

Kosher salt

Freshly ground pepper

2 10-ounce baking potatoes, peeled and cut into wedges

1 small onion, quartered

1 large egg, lightly beaten

1 large egg yolk

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

2 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch

olive oil, for frying

1 large sweet onion, halved and thinly sliced

Snipped chives or green onion, for garnish

In a small bowl, whisk the sour cream with the shallot and season with salt and pepper. Cover and refrigerate the shallot cream until chilled, about 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 325º. In a food processor, shred the potatoes and the small onion. Transfer to a strainer set over a bowl and season with 1 tablespoon of salt. Let stand for 5 minutes, then squeeze dry in a kitchen towel. Pour off the liquid in the bowl and add the potatoes and onion. Stir in the egg, egg yolk, butter and cornstarch.

Scoop 1/3-cup mounds of the potatoes onto a parchment paper-lined baking sheet and flatten them to 1/4 inch thick. Bake for about 15 minutes, until just set. Let cool. Reduce the oven temperature to 200º.

In a large saucepan, heat 1 1/2 inches of oil to 350º. Working in batches, fry the sweet onion slices until golden, about 4 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the onions to a paper towel-lined baking sheet to drain; keep warm in the oven.

Reheat the oil to 350º. Working in batches, fry the latkes, turning occasionally, until browned and crisp, about 4 minutes. Transfer the latkes to a platter and garnish with snipped chives. Serve with the fried onions and shallot cream.

The shallot cream is the best. I am beginning to believe in shallots with a solemnity that borders on religiousity. Give us this day our daily shallot, Oh Lord.

Izzy contends with a prayer of her own, Give us this day our daily nap. Or someone’s getting hurt.

GO USA.

Spicy Sauteed Kale at a Pig Roast

Okay, how easy is this? Who doesn’t have time to be healthy now? Here is dinner for under 5 bucks and less than 20 minutes. And, if you live in Minnesota right now, you might have this growing in your yard or showing up in your CSA box this week. There is something so beautiful about fallen kale—it’s like autumn leaves, the vibrant color of a rain forest in spring. With all the spices in this arrangement, you’ll feel like you are eating foliage off some forest floor in Thailand. Goes as a great side at a pig roast—thanks to y’all who attended with us at Fuchsia and Lime this year. I’ll try not to include too many gory pictures in this post.

Spicy Sauteed Kale with Shredded Cheese

Adapted from Food and Wine

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 Fresno chile—halved, seeded and thinly sliced

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper

2 1/2 pounds Tuscan kale, stems discarded and leaves coarsely chopped

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Kosher salt

Shredded ricotta salata cheese, for serving

In a deep skillet, heat the oil. Add the garlic, chile and crushed pepper and cook over moderately high heat, stirring, until fragrant, 1 minute. Add the kale in large handfuls; let wilt slightly before adding more. Cook, tossing, until the kale is barely tender, 3 to 5 minutes.

Stir in the lemon juice; season with salt. Transfer to a platter, sprinkle with cheese and serve.

My bread guru made a festive cobbler with Pigs on top in the dough crust!

For some reason I had the Beatles’ song “I am the Walrus” stuck in my head the night before when I was painting our sign, and thus a mascot pig-walrus was made:

The pig we roasted was, in fact, near the size of a whole walrus–

Goo goo g’joob.

Sweet Pepper Bread with a Chicken Report

In the company of chickens, we have lived the last two months in a constant state of awe and pride.

I have an ever-so-slight personality disorder with obsessive features which exacts upon me the onus and delight of data collection. I can say with certainty the last two months have been productive in the egg department. 72 eggs in May and 77 in June.

To reward their efforts, we built them a more suitable coop. With the torrential rainfall this past June, the flat wood roof was not holding its own against the flood waters. The chickens, who already live with a high baseline of domestic dysfunction, were getting pissy.

Quest Love, who has beefy breast bones and an elegant strut, is authoritarian and sadistic. She will poop on a fresh serving of pellets and peck at the ears of the other two to ensure she gets the first serving.

Lucille, the redhead, is a hardworking egg-laying champion. She is the most human-friendly and allows me to pet her on occasion. Shh, but she’s my favorite. Quest Love and Lucille have a little cool kid-clique going on. They pal around the yard together, at the obvious exclusion of Betty.

Betty White is schizotypal, to say the least. She is entirely oblivious that she is the odd woman out. Quest and Lucille will be all but wing-in-wing on a stroll around the yard for worms, and, wait, where’s Betty? Burrowed into the compost heap in the back corner with her face stuck eight inches into fly-swarmed fruit poop. Or wait, where’s Betty? Literally inside a bush, for hours. What’s Betty squawking at? Lucille is laying an egg and Betty has her rear-end hovered over the side of the occupied nest, trying to dump an egg over Lucille’s shoulder. Rude behavior. Complete social oblivion. But fabulous green eggs.

Their poop is making my plants so very happy. We have got a lot of peppers bursting from blooms out in the garden. Any extra that I don’t use in dinner and salads will certainly find their way into this bread.

Sweet Pepper Bread or Pane ai Peperoni

Adapted from The Italian Baker

1 large sweet red pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 cup sourdough starter

1¼ cups warm water

3¾ cups un-bleached all purpose flour

2 teaspoons salt

Broil the pepper 2 inches from the heat until the skin on the exposed side is blackened and puffed. Turn the pepper and continue to broil until the pepper is blackened all over. While it is still warm, cut the pepper in half and scrape out the seeds. Cut into wide strips and pull off the blackened skin. Roughly chop the pepper and sauté in the oil over low heat for 4 to 5 minutes, but don’t let it brown.

Stir the sourdough into the water in a large mixing bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes.

Stir in the pepper with the oil.

Mix the flour and the salt and stir 1 cup at a time into the sourdough mixture.

When the dough has roughly come together, knead on a lightly floured surface until soft and elastic, 8 to 10 minutes.

Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise until doubled, about 1 hour.

Punch the dough down on a floured surface and knead it briefly. Cut the dough in half. Shape each half into a long, round log, and then curve one end so that it looks like a J. Place the loaves on an oiled baking sheet or a peel sprinkled with cornmeal flour, cover with a towel, and let it rise until doubled, 45 minutes to 1 hour.

Heat the oven to 450 F. If you are using a baking stone, turn the oven on 30 minutes before baking and sprinkle the stone with cornmeal just before sliding the loaf onto it. Place the loaves in the oven and immediately reduce the heat to 400 F. Bake 35 minutes, spraying 3 times with water in the first 10 minutes. Cool completely on a rack.

Go Lady Pirates. I’m rooting for you to beat your monthly-egg-count record.

Tunisian Chicken Kebabs with Currants and Olives

Every now and then I have the strange experience of looking at the possessions I own, unable to recall why I ever wanted them in the first place; usually this experience transpires after I spend time with people for whom I would trade everything in, no questions asked. Everything for a few more seconds of time in their company. My dad visited this last weekend, and when he left I felt like an impostor in my own house. Is this my life, my stuff? Something’s missing….

And of course, we grilled. And grilled. These Tunisian kebabs were, by far, his favorite. Ehem, Mom.

Tunisian Chicken Kebabs with Currants and Olives

Adapted from Food and Wine

2 medium red bell peppers

1 cup dried currants

One 14-ounce jar sweet Peppadew or other sweet pickled red peppers, 1/2 cup of the juices from the jar reserved

1 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for grilling

Kosher salt

3 pounds skinless boneless chicken thighs, trimmed and cut lengthwise into 1-inch-wide strips

3 pounds skinless boneless chicken breasts, lightly pounded and cut into 1-inch-wide, lengthwise strips

Tunisian Relish

Roast the bell peppers directly over a gas flame or under the broiler, turning, until charred all over. Transfer to a bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let cool. Peel, seed and core the peppers.

Meanwhile, soak the currants in 1/2 cup of hot water until plump, about 5 minutes. Drain and transfer the currants to a blender. Add the roasted peppers, Peppadews and their liquid and the 1 cup of olive oil and puree. Season the marinade lightly with salt.

Thread the chicken breast and thigh strips separately onto 30 to 40 bamboo skewers and transfer to a large rimmed baking sheet. Pour half of the marinade over the chicken, turning to coat completely. Refrigerate for 4 hours. Refrigerate the remaining half of the marinade in a serving bowl.

Light a grill. Or make a ghetto grill out of a chiminea stand that your bulldog broke, affix to that a grill from a mini Weber with tin wire. Looks silly but works great with a campfire if you have one in your backyard, like us. (Also, if you have chickens, be sure to blindfold them before roasting chicken in front of them.) Remove the chicken from the marinade, letting the excess drip off. Season the chicken with salt. Oil the grill grates and grill the chicken skewers over high heat, in batches if necessary and turning with tongs, until lightly charred and cooked through, about 8 minutes for the breasts and 10 minutes for the thighs. Serve the kebabs hot or at room temperature with the reserved marinade and the Tunisian Relish.

Tunisian Relish (this is key… KP’s fave)

1 cup dried currants

2 cups pitted green olives, chopped

1 cup sweet Peppadew peppers, chopped

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1/4 cup sherry vinegar, or old cooking wine

Kosher salt

In a bowl, soak the currants in hot water until plump, about 5 minutes. Drain, pressing out the excess water. Return the currants to the bowl and add the olives, Peppadews, olive oil and vinegar. Season the relish with salt.