Call it what you will: hummus, hummous, hummos, or even حمّص بطحينة (that’s chickpeas with tahini, in Arabic, as translated by the wonderful contributors at Wikipedia). But whatever name you choose to embrace, this dish — with the addition of marinated artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers — is something you’ll want in your entertaining repertoire going forward. Trust me — we’ve made this once so far this season and have already been asked to share the recipe!
We are in love with the carrots from Chickadee Creek Farm in Pennington, NJ. I’ve mentioned them in our posts before but think I’m becoming a bit of a junkie. We give them a starring role in many of our recipes and I start getting nervous when our supply runs low. Raw, they are like candy. Cooked, they are sweet and rich and so much more “carroty” than our regular grocery store carrots. I’m not sure how farmer Jess Niederer does it, but these truly are the best carrots ever.
One Thursday in mid March I happily stumbled on the winter Princeton Farmer’s Market that occurs once a month during the colder months at the Princeton Public Library. Of all the wonderful winter produce set up on the Chickadee Creek table — and, with several varieties of greens, heads of garlic, daikon radishes and more there was a surprising amount of it! — I made a beeline for the carrots. The supply in our crisper drawer was nearly depleted and I giddily jumped at the chance to replenish our stock.
Once upon a time I thought that good parenting meant protecting my Sprouts from harm. Bumpers around the hearth, child-proof outlet covers and those infuriating two-handed tether locks on bathroom cabinets.
All good ideas, but sometimes our girls have as much to teach me as I have to teach them. Like, good parents also know when to let their kids test their limits. Take, for instance, Daughter 1’s growing enthusiasm for helping prepare meals. For a long time I’ve selected the “safe” kitchen tasks for her and her sister…getting out the ingredients, measuring (great for building math skills!), mixing, etc. Any steps that required the use of flame or sharp implements I reserved for myself. But every self-respecting six-year-old wants the opportunity to prove themselves, to feel a little grown-up and tackle tasks which they previously were not allowed to tackle.
This dish is swoon-worthy. Trust me. Even reheated the next day for lunch I found myself audibly appreciating my meal: “Mmmmmmmm.” This may be the cook’s equivalent of talking to themselves — I mean, who else but I, alone in my kitchen, was going to acknowledge my enthusiastic praise for this particular recipe? But there I was, nodding my head and slowly closing my eyes in satisfaction. Yes, yes, we’ll be making this again, and soon.
It took me back to the Italian countryside I’ve never visited…or perhaps a Spanish tavern in which I have yet to set foot. But wherever it was my taste buds wandered, I was happy for the sojourn.