More Stuff I've Been Making - May 2025

A beloved NY Times recipe, a kitchen-destroying grain bowl, and sunchokes!

As promised, here’s part II of the things I’ve been making in May. Also, hello from Norway! Back in September I impulsively bought a ticket for a culinary tour of Norway’s West coast, which means that when I get home, I hope to have quite the thrilling (or at least rainy) batch of photos to share from my journeys. Already, after about 48 hours in Oslo, I’ve had some tremendous food. But ånyhøø…

On to my less fabulous food exploits…

Roasted sunchokes & scallions with crème fraîche, shaved Gouda & hazelnuts

When sunchokes suddenly appeared on my supermarket’s shelves, I swiftly nabbed them. They’re one of my favorite tubers, even if they do have a reputation of, well, causing breezy bodily emissions.

Also known as Jerusalem artichokes (or “fartichokes,” to some), sunchokes remind me of roasted potatoes with a touch of sweetness. They are instantly warming, and as I discovered the other night in Norway, they even pair shockingly well with… ice cream!

Having acquired a cute little bag of sunchokes, I set about making an intriguing recipe from Diana Henry’s From The Oven to the Table: roasted sunchokes and scallions with crème fraîche, shaved gouda, and hazelnuts. It was all very simple to assemble: roast the sunchokes, add scallions towards the end, then plate the whole thing with dollops of crème fraiche and high quality gouda and hazelnuts. Also involved: radicchio in a simple vinaigrette.

This dish could not have been more stunning on the plate. However, it could have been more stunning to eat. The scallions paired nicely with the sunchokes, but roasted whole they were difficult to cut and wrangle. Large flaps of radicchio also seemed to get in the way, swiveling and rotating like leafy propellers gone awry.

The flavors all blended nicely though. When I was able to get all the components onto the fork, this dish ate like a high level potato skin, with sunchokes, scallions, crème fraîche, and gouda standing in for potatoes, chives, sour cream, and cheddar. Should I make this recipe again, I’d layer the sunchokes on a bed of crème fraîche (no more dollops), and I would certainly slice the scallions ahead of roasting them. While long leaves of treviso or radicchio are visually appealing, they too would receive a casual chop. I almost wonder if a shred à la slaw is in order? This dish was good, but not great, sadly.

Crispy Gnocchi with Sausage and Broccoli

With 5 stars and over 7k reviews, Ali Slagle’s Crispy Gnocchi with Sausage and Broccoli needed to be made. The two step recipe (!) is basically a sheet pan roast of all the titular ingredients topped with parmesan and lemon juice. A true dream.

This was the first time I had cooked with gnocchi since an ill-fated disaster back in 2005 or so. Back then, I had attempted to follow a Giada De Laurentiis recipe for fresh gnocchi, but things went gleefully haywire when I let the puffy things boil in the water for eight minutes or so - about twice as long as directed. What emerged were gluey, gooey, waterlogged potato butter pellets that I barely held their shape. I remember thinking I was so clever for consolidating these blobs together into the strangest pile of mashed potatoes I have ever eaten to this day.

The whole experience put me off from touching gnocchi, even the pre-made shelf-stable kind. But here came Ali Slagle’s recipe. It was time to face old demons.

In this dish, the gnocchi (not homemade) absorbed the joyous flavors of the sausage, both softening and crisping in the sheet pan. This was all augmented by the nuttiness of the roasted broccoli and the salty umami bite of melted parmesan. Lemon juice kept the whole thing from getting too rich and heavy. A perfect balance with minimal time and effort. This earned huge accolades in my household and now is firmly going into the rotation.

And most importantly, I’ve squelched my gnocchi anxiety.

Crisper Drawer Grain Bowl

My crisper drawer was looking sad: there was a dying bulb of fennel, some sort of wilting green (I later found out it was collards), and yellowing-cauliflower. “Save us,” they sang in three-part harmony.

It seemed like these three items could go together, but also might flop as a trio. They needed a unifying force: farro.

On the stovetop I brought a saucepan of water to a boil and a cup of the grain. Meanwhile, I dumped the cauliflower and fennel - sliced into florets and half rings respectively - into the air fryer for about 20-25 minutes at 400°F. While those things cooked, I sliced up the collards and added them to a large skillet, wilting them with a mixture of rice wine vinegar, oyster sauce, water, and half a teaspoon of Better Than Bouillon. Vinegar for brightness, oyster sauce for umami, and bouillon for seasoning (and more umami). There may have been garlic too, but it’s been three weeks, and I’m fuzzy on some of the minor details.

As I set everything in motion I became keenly aware that I had now dirtied a skillet, a saucepan, and an air fryer, all in pursuit of making a simple grain bowl. Even worse, I was now on to the blender. I made a quick green sauce with dill, lemon juice, pistachios, garlic, and olive oil. If this all sounds like a lot, it sort of was. But also, everything kind of nested together. Each element took less time than the last; so, by doing them in the proper order, all components were ready at the same time. And most of the cooking was hands-off. You don’t really have to do anything once the farro’s in the saucepan or the veggies are in the air fryer.

Needless to say, everything all came together harmoniously in a bowl. This was a simple, clean weeknight meal, and yes, it produced many dirty dishes, but also plenty of mirth. The real standout was the collards, which did some sort of alchemy with the bouillon and the oyster. Laced throughout the farro, the greens offered deeply savory umami jolts amidst an already sassy dish.

So, while my kitchen ended up as a war zone, I was in fact able to rescue my ailing produce. Not all heroes wear capes. Sometimes — an apron.