Our new kitchen on the upper west side is not perfect. It has perks: the dishwasher, the fantastic stainless steel appliances and black marble counters. It also has cons, the most significant of which is the fact that pretty much whenever you pan-fry anything with the remotest amount of gusto, the smoke alarm in the living room adjacent goes off. And off. And off. No amount of standing on chairs, fanning with cardboard, pressing the button, or removing the batteries can shut this thing up. I have a headache just thinking about it (or maybe that’s the meat sweats). So last night, when we made a boneless prime dry-aged ribeye for dinner, our time was pretty equally split between tending to the steak and tending to the screeching smoke detector. It was still good, and worth the effort, but when we went to cook the other of the two pieces of meat I’d bought today for lunch, I took the time to rig a complex fan system to prevent the same chaos from happening again. 

It worked! And in the time saved in dealing with the smoke alarm, I made an absolutely fantastic side dish of red peppers, onions and carrots in red wine sauce. Whenever I make a vegetable side with steak, I have a terrible habit of ignoring it altogether. Other than sauteed portobellos (which my boyfriend doesn’t like), this was the first non-potato side to truly enhance my steak experience. We ate it with fresh-baked seven-grain bread and pinot noir. Hello, adult lunch.

Peppers & onions in red wine sauce:

• 1 raw red bell pepper, sliced
• 1 jar roasted red bell peppers, sliced
• 1 medium yellow sweet onion, sliced
• 1/2 cup baby carrots
• 2 cups red wine (this was 2007 Cherry Hill Winery Pinot Noir Papillon from Lot18, which I bought solely because of the puppy on the label)
• 3/4 cup marinara sauce (this was Trader Joe’s)
• 2 tbsp herbs de provence
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• plenty of sea salt to taste

1. Saute sliced vegetables in the bottom of a stockpot with olive oil and herbs.
2. When onions are golden and translucent, add red wine, marinara and sauce.
3. Cook uncovered at least 10 minutes, then covered an additional 5-10 minutes.

I wasn’t planning for this to be the recipe that broke the blogging dry spell, but after tasting the bite of the leftovers this morning I found I’d stumbled upon something. I’ve actually been cooking quite a bit lately, out of necessity and economy, fashioning meals that could’ve come straight out of the Trader Joe’s cookbook and might have been hard to defend in recipe form, like fish-stick tacos with homemade salsa, or turkey burgers with a secret ingredient (crushed pistachios) and pesto tortellini. Last night, after dropping over a grand on new apartment furniture (everything in our apartment except the bed is sourced from either Craigslist or the street, including a barely-used Ikea kitchen block, a cheerfully painted blue bookshelf that a nearby elementary school threw out, and two bar schools discarded by the Shake Shack downstairs), we had a cheap date that mostly consisted of spending five hours in the Museum of Natural History across the street and watching a terrible Robin Williams movie on Netflix Instant. In between, I made some nachos for dinner, bound by the constraints of the ingredients already in the fridge: a bag of frozen chopped spinach, a can of refried beans, an onion, a tomato, tortilla chips and good olive oil. 

The vegetable mixture that came out of this under-$5 experiment is good enough to serve for entertaining, the beans giving it a creaminess reminiscent of those vaguely-disgusting vaguely-delicious dairy-based dips that tempt and horrify me. 

Vegan spinach dip:

• 1 cup frozen chopped spinach
• 2 tbsp good extra-virgin olive oil
• 1/2 can refried beans
• 3/4 cup diced yellow onion
• Salt and pepper to taste

1. Saute the onion in a pan with a tablespoon of olive oil, stirring frequently.
2. Meanwhile, defrost the spinach with the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a small covered saucepan. Once cooked through, add refried beans and stir until mixed well.
3. When onions are golden and translucent, add to bean mixture and stir well. If you like, melt a little cheddar on top. Serve with tortilla chips. 

It was supposed to be date night last night, but after getting off to a late start after work, that quickly turned into an hour together at the gym, massive indecisiveness about what we wanted to eat, then me watching boyfriend eat two blue cheese wedges after realizing it was too late to be hungry. We made up for it today, though, starting with a two-scoop ice cream cone at Ben & Jerry’s: 1 scoop Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, 1 scoop Late Night Snack, in a chocolate-dipped sugar cone with sprinkles. (Many tasting spoons were sacrificed on Chocolate Therapy, Coconut Seven Layer Bar, What a Cluster [miraculously too peanut buttery even for me!] and the impressive new Bonarroo Buzz.)

Then we headed to a Hoboken sports bar we’d been wanting to check out, mostly because of a long-ignored wings craving. These were worth the wait: half buffalo and half root beer BBQ, with really excellent blue cheese. The root beer was too sweet for me; boyfriend ate all but one of them.

After debating main course choices for literally about half an hour, he settled on a classic burger (medium, no cheese, ew, BORING) with onion rings and I got the 1Republik special: sherry roquefort fondue, ale-battered thick-cut bacon, caramelized onions and mushrooms.

Their handcut fries are absolutely fantastic: salty and golden on the outside, fluffy and creamy on the inside, like the very best of fast-food french fries. The combination of the roquefort fondue and the caramelized onions and mushrooms was superb. It was an amazing burger. So, I did something I never, ever do at restaurants. 

I sent it back. I’d asked for medium rare, like actually, really, on the pink side of medium rare. I know it’s bad to order burgers that way. I know I’m being a jerk. I don’t care. I don’t see the point of eating them gray and flaccid all the way through, as this one was when it arrived.

Ten minutes and one apologetic waitress later, I had my burger just the way I wanted it. Having helped myself to the onion rings while I was waiting, I ditched the top bun, cut the burger in half, and made a giant double-stacked burger sandwich. Yum.

Made for a brunch party yesterday that also featured incredible grits, smoked mackerel, caviar cream cheese and baked french toast. I mostly ate the rum-soaked watermelon, since, you know, the rapture was coming anyway.

Post-apocalyptic cheddar quiche:

• Your favorite pie crust 
• 4 eggs
• 1 pint (2 cups) heavy or whipping cream
• 1 cup grated cheddar cheese
• 1 yellow onion
• 1 tsp butter
• salt & pepper

1. Prepare a pie crust and place in a 9-inch pie pan.
2. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
3. Chop onion and saute in butter until golden and translucent.
4. Meanwhile, mix together eggs, cream, salt & pepper and about 2/3 of the cheese.
5. Place a layer of grated cheese on the bottom of the unbaked pie crust. Top with sauteed onions.
6. Pour in the egg and cream mixture.
7. Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes, then lower temperature to 350 degrees and bake for an additional 25 minutes.

This morning around 10:30, while drafting an article about upgraded nouveau takes on classic American main-course salads, something began to stir inside me. It was the most distinct craving for a tuna salad sandwich. A childhood relic that’s survived the myriad passage of food trends, everyone has their own idea of what makes a good tuna sandwich: mine were served deconstructed, with halves of toasted pita bread, quarters of fresh lemon, piles of diced celery and onion, a dollop of mayonnaise and the dry white chunk tuna itself (I remember a tradition of draining the tuna water into a dish for our cat, probably something my grandmother used to do).

Part of the fun of eating it was putting together the ingredients, experimenting with ratios and exercising control over the lunch experience. Other kids’ parents made tuna salad differently: with more mayo, or chopped tomato or hardboiled egg, or on multigrain or crustless white bread or kaiser rolls. There was the Wawa hoagie version, with a slice of white American cheese atop the tuna salad. Later, deli counters taught me that shredded lettuce was a stellar addition. Green olives are a recent addition that I’ve picked up, as that’s how my boyfriend grew up eating tuna salad and it turns out they really make it. 

I was skeptical of going out to buy a tuna sandwich. I haven’t worked in this neighborhood long enough to know the bodegas and delis well; I wasn’t sure where I could go for the guarantee of a sandwich that wasn’t too heavy on the mayo or too light on the veggies. So, like any self-respecting girl with a one-hour lunch break, a workplace with a decent kitchen, and a Whole Foods within walking distance, I did the thing that should be obvious when it comes to tuna salad sandwiches.

I made my own.

Perfect tuna salad sandwich:

• 1 6-oz can chunk white tongol tuna in spring water, drained
• 1 + 1/2 tbsp real mayonnaise
• 3/4 cup onion, half yellow and half red, chopped into small pieces
• 7 green olives (Manzanilla is fine; from an antipasto bar marinated in garlic and herbs is better)
• 1 stalk celery
• 1 ciabatta roll

1. Dice the celery, onion and olives. Mix together with tuna and mayonnaise in a bowl until well-combined.
2. Cut roll in half lengthwise and fill with tuna salad. If not eating immediately, place in a brown paper lunch bag. Enjoy.