The Shared Slow-Roasted Pork by Amy Cantu

I paid the local butcher a visit with my 20 month-old, close to nap time. Bad move. My darling cherub was screaming and throwing snacks at passers-by, while I waited anxiously in line. When it was my turn, I quickly rattled off that I wanted a "big" pork shoulder and handed the butcher my credit card with an apologetic smile. I returned home with a 12 pound whole bone-in, skin-on, pork shoulder (a.k.a. The Beast). It was larger than a newborn baby. I cradled The Beast in my arms in awe. "Holy moly! What was I thinking?!" My husband opened the fridge that night and stood stunned in the face of The Beast. "Is this ours? Where did it come from?!" We stared at The Beast together. It was a thing to behold. "That there is Father's Day."

Cynthia and I were up to the challenge. Here's what we did with The Beast, and we hope you salivate and lust after it the same we did!

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Slow-roasted Pork with Crunchy Skin and Chimichurri Sauce

Pork and Broccolini Sandwich

In The Kitchen Now: Korean Stewed Tofu with Green Onion Salad and Crisp Bacon by Cynthia Raub

Subtle is rarely a word used to Korean food and this dish is no exception. I'm in a tofu phase right now and I want to eat it in every way possible: in soups, fried in squares with soy sauce, and baked and tossed in salads. Although I love tofu in all of the various preparations, this one is my favorite. I went back and forth between calling this a Korean style mapo tofu, but I decided against it. It's similar in that the tofu is stewed in a fermented chili sauce, but this version does not include the distinct Sichuan peppercorn. While the chili sauce makes the tofu piquant, pungent and dare I say, peppery- the green onions makes the dish... pervasive. In case it wasn't robust enough, the addition of bacon lardons for a crisp chew rounds out the texture and adds a deliciously fatty depth in every bite. 


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Korean Stewed Tofu with Green Onion Salad and Crisp Bacon
 

The Shared Scones by Amy Cantu

I am not a morning person. I thought that perhaps having two small children that wake with the sun would cure me of this, but no. I am still not a morning person. There are few things in this world that will rouse me from the warm, cozy cocoon of my bed covers in a cheerful mood - these scones are on that short list. These are scones that I've been making since . . . well, since forever. I used to bake scones instead of studying for finals in college, and Ina Garten's The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook was my textbook of choice. Ina, in her hostess-with-the-mostest way, opened my eyes to a world of butter and flour that held my interest in a way that Economics never could. Fast forward more years than I care to admit, and I'm faced with a preschool bake sale. I'm tired. I'm always tired now (because I love to sleep and will never properly sleep in again). I reach really far back through the fuzzy cobwebs in my brain to the recipes I can reliably make even in a semi-conscious state, and I find these scones archived somewhere between "Econ 101" and "Accounting 101". I may not remember much about Econ anymore, but my hands still remember precisely how to shape and form these tender, buttery scones. Within the hour, the scent of butter and flour filled my nostrils with their heady scent - a smell worth waking up for. I can't ever decide if I want a sweet or savory scone, so of course there is one of each. These are tried and true and flew off the bake sale table in the blink of an eye.

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Rosemary-Cheddar Scones

Salted Maple-Oat Scones

The Shared Bi Bim Bap by Cynthia Raub

Last week, I was out of town for four nights to celebrate a dear friend's wedding and to accompany my husband on a work-related trip. For two nights, we celebrated our friends in idyllic Tiburon. For another two nights, my kids and I relaxed and played (while my husband worked) in Monterey, California. It was such a fun-filled getaway (and dare I say), it was luxurious. For those five days and four nights, I didn't have to shop, prep, cook, serve or clean up any meals! We ate in restaurants and hotels for the entire trip, and I was the most relaxed I've been in a long, long time. But, I started feeling sluggish on the third day, and I knew I had overindulged one too many times. (My kids, however, were very content to eat cheesy pasta and pizza for nearly every meal.) The morning after we got home, I went into a cooking rampage and roasted every vegetable we had, and cooked off pounds of brown rice and wheat berries. I threw them together for every meal since, and it only took a couple days to feel back to normal.

As soon as I got back, Amy left for a long weekend to Nashville to reconnect with friends, visit the sites, and EAT. So, to continue my healthy gut week and to support my friend when she gets back from a long weekend of food destinations and cocktails, I decided to make us Bi Bim Bap. Bi Bim Bap is a Korean mixed rice and vegetable dish that is completed with beef, a fried egg, and a sweet and spicy sauce. I hope that this light and nutritive surprise aided in the recovery of her overindulged tummy.

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Bi Bim Bap with Beef and Spicy Sauce

The Shared Plenty (More) by Cynthia Raub

I was not familiar with Yotam Ottolenghi until a fateful trip to Costco. I normally don't tempt myself with Costco's dizzying array of seasonal items, clothes, and books, but I had half an hour to kill, and I needed to cool my nonchalant visits to the sample stations. Immediately upon flipping through the Plenty More cookbook, I was struck by the beautiful and mixed ingredient dishes that reminded me so much of the foods I love to eat. Ottolenghi elegantly includes grains, legumes, vegetables, and plentiful herbs in most of his dishes, which also lends to a complex variety of temperatures and textures. I immediately tossed the book into my cart and went home to indulge in the tasty photography and accessible recipes. After mentioning my new cookbook purchase to Amy, she divulged that she recently bought Plenty by Chef Ottolenghi. We agreed to try a recipe from each of our books and swap them. It was one of the most delicious decisions we have made!

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Rice Salad with Nuts and Sour Cherries

Lentils with Broiled Eggplant

The Shared Dessert Bars by Cynthia Raub

Have you ever laid in bed, unable to sleep, because you were thinking about rhubarb? It has only happened to me once, and while my husband blissfully dozed into dreamland, I tossed and turned wondering when I was going to be able to eat it. Like many of my mom-stress-fueled restless nights, I reached out to Amy to see if she was awake and thinking about rhubarb, too. Turns out she wasn't thinking about rhubarb, but when I mentioned it, she (like the recipe encyclopedia that she is) recommended I make Smitten Kitchen's Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp bars. The recipe was simple, straight forward and not heinously gluttonous. Perfect! Once we started chatting about dessert bar cravings, Amy came strong with multiple recipes she has been meaning to try including her Coconut Bars and Lime Bars with Pistachio Crust.

I am always weary about making whole servings of desserts because I always seem to eat everything in the pan in a matter of 24 hours. I avoid baking unless I am giving the goods away because of the magical disappearing act baked goods do in my presence. Now you see them on a platter! Now you don't. (Because they're ALL in my gut, and in the back of my mind, and on my conscience as another loss of self control.) But like the good friend that she is, Amy suggested that we swap bars! It was a great idea in theory (sharing, variety, smaller portions), until I did the math: three scrumptious pans of bars for two households. Isn't that more than the one pan in my house that I was fearful of? No time to overthink the math. We were committed. No regrets.

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Lime Bars with Pistachio Crust

Coconut Bars (Vegan and Gluten-Free)

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp Bars

The Shared Korean Meal by Cynthia Raub

When I was eight years old, a neighbor invited me over for a meatloaf dinner. I had no idea what to expect but he quelled my fears by telling me I could eat as much ketchup as I wanted. Having that meatloaf was a revelation. To my inexperienced palette, it was a burger patty unencumbered by the bun and vegetables. The transparent mashed potatoes from a box didn't require chewing, and I loved every fluffy mouthful. After that dinner, I was no longer satisfied with the Korean meals that were prepared by multiple hands in my home. I craved ketchup and not anchovies. I wanted a moulded meat patty not a pan-fried fish, with it's shriveled and cooked eyes looking sideways at me. Why did I have to eat vegetables seasoned with sesame seed oil when other kids got to eat mashed potatoes?

I begrudgingly ate the Korean food that was prepared in my childhood home, but I didn't come to love Korean cuisine until my mom opened a restaurant (RIP "The Rock"). I waited tables in the restaurant every weekend from 16 years-old until it closed when I was 27, and it was over those 11 years, that I understood how special Korean cuisine is and how hard my mom worked to provide for me. (You're the best, mama! Happy belated Mother's Day!) Korean food is complex, in that a Korean meal includes a myriad of textures, temperatures, and an enormous variety of foods. I'm sharing two of my favorite recipes from my mom's restaurant kitchen with you. They share ingredients to simplify your shopping, and they really compliment each other for a balanced and delicious meal. 

I'm glad that I have come to my senses and now appreciate Korean food wholly in the wisdom of advanced age. Eating Korean food connects me to the love and care that surrounded me as a child. My hope is that my children learn to appreciate and love the cuisine of my family as they grow too.

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Korean Green Onion and Seafood Pancakes (Pa Jun) 

Korean Soft Tofu Stew (Soondoobu Jjigae)

 

The Shared Pasta and Spring Vegetables by Cynthia Raub

I was probably about 10 years old when I first saw Mary Ann Esposito on PBS's Ciao Italia make fresh pasta. I was mesmerized as to how flour and egg transformed into a taut golden sphere, then rolled out into sheets and cut into elegant ribbons of pappardelle. Since then, I've watched countless cooks, in person and on television, roll pasta, but I've never felt confident enough to try it myself. When I told Amy I signed up to bring a spring vegetable side dish to a potluck, (Yep! Another one . . . ) she suggested fresh pasta to accompany it. Luckily, as the brave and confident cook that she is, she was eager to make it for us. As we rolled the pasta together, we were practically screaming and dancing around, saying how exciting it was and how it was actually . . . turning out! After we boiled our first batch and dressed it with butter and parmesan, we quickly dug into the bowl together. We danced, we high-fived, and in that euphoric moment, we might have vowed to never eat boxed pasta again.

It was very satisfying to make something so readily available, by hand and from scratch. The luscious, tender noodles were delicious - but the experience of creating it and enjoying it with a friend was delightful and just as memorable as seeing pasta rolled for the first time as a child.

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Asparagus, Peas and Fava Beans with Gremolata and Mozzarella

Fresh Egg Pasta