Tostadas de Atun (Tuna Tostadas), an UnRecipe Recipe

I had a bit of a debate with myself about posting this dish. I mean, it's tuna and a bunch of other stuff on a tostada. Nothing gets cooked. Pretty basic stuff. Tasty to be sure -  but worth blogging about?

Then again ...  things like boxed cake mix, Cool Whip-based desserts, and Jello pudding with a handful of raisins tossed in seem to count as recipes - so why not a tuna tostada?  It's so very Sandra Lee.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not claiming I make a homemade meal from scratch every single night - not by a long shot. The occasional sandwich, grilled sausage, or canned soup is certainly served at Casa de Trix. But when I put a little extra somethin' somethin'  into, say, a sauce I bought at the grocery store, I don't particularly feel compelled to tell you about it.  (Of course the exception proves the rule, like this fabulous doctored cake mix post by my friend Trevor. But then, most people can't pull this off with such aplomb.)

Truffled Tuna Noodle Casserole with Crispy Shallots & a Mushroom White Wine Sauce

Look at me, getting all pretentious with a casserole! But I have a very good reason: You see, I had originally planned to make this dish for the upcoming International Incident Nostalgia Party hosted by Penny aka Jeroxie of the super cool blog Addictive and Consuming, but I ended up going in a rather different direction for that. (You can check it out this Saturday.) But once the notion of a kicked up tuna noodle casserole started rattling around in my head I just couldn't rest until I had a taste.

My version is modeled on the Stouffer's frozen variety that my mom used to "make" for me when I was a kid. It was one hot mess of a trashy dish, but I loved it. Oh, it had it all: scant bites of tuna, long, slippery overcooked noodles, and a strange half-crunchy half-soggy bread topping, all bound together by a thick, gloppy, vaguely mushroom-y mystery sauce. What's not to love?

Vienna Dispatch: A Tale of Tiny Sandwiches (A Love Story)

Leave it to the Viennese to take the sometimes unweildy and occasionally messy sandwich and turn it into something logical, neat, and elegant. Behold the tiny topless sandwich:

Tunisian Tuna Tart; Plus, I Survived Day Two of Culinary School

 

Welcome to the first of several posts featuring an ingredient I am obsessed with right now: preserved lemon.  I am at a loss to explain to you how mere lemons and salt have the power to transform an ordinary dish into something absolutely thought-provoking, but somehow they do.

Often found in Moroccan and Tunisian dishes, these little flavor bombs are the kind of ingredient that make people scratch their heads and try (in vain)  to figure out what in the world you did.  I swear to you, it's magic! Here I've used preserved lemon to turn a humble tuna tart into something that deserves to be written - and spoken - with capital letters: Tuna. Tart.

I've been using these guys in everything lately, but I thought I'd post the tart first because I've got crust on the brain. Pie crust that is - today in class we made flaky pie dough and pate sucree, or sugar dough. Even though I am bone tired, I am minding this whole being-one-of-the-oldest-people-in-class thing less and less.  There's zero social pressure - I'm not wasting my time worrying about whether or not the scrawny kid to my right thinks I look dorky in my chef's hat, or giggling with a girlfriend over our exploits, past or planned,  while Chef is demonstrating the right rolling technique.

And thankfully, unlike my very young - albeit sweet -  lab partner today, I don't have to fret over the fact that I couldn't get my acrylic nails off in time for class.  You read that right. After watching her sadly struggle with her dough and the sticky, messy, crumbling Frankencrust she was cobbling together, I ended up helping her out and crimping the edges of her pie for her.

"I guess it must be my nails that's making this so hard," she said. Um ... you think?  (Don't get the wrong idea, I'm no saint: It's my fervent and selfish wish that someone's around to take pity on me when it's time to decorate cakes.)

But back to this tart. The crust is simplicity itself: I used the same combo of olive oil, salt, water, and whole wheat, spelt, and AP flours that I used in my tuna tomato tart, a recipe I adapted from Citron et Vanille's gorgeous blog. For seasoning, I just used 1 T of black sesame seeds in the dough. The key to a good crust here is to not overwork the dough or it will get tough.

For the filling, mix together:

1 medium chopped onion

2 cans of oil packed tuna, such as Cento, drained

1-2 T Dijon mustard (to taste)

3-4 springs of thyme

1-2 T chopped preserved lemon, seeds removed (I bought my preserved lemons at Whole Foods, but you can also make your own.)

Pepper & Salt, to taste

*Very Important: Don't add the salt until you've tasted the mixture, as the lemons are very salty, even if you rinse them.

Next beat together 2 eggs, 1/3 cup of cream, and 1/3 cup milk, and mix this with your tuna mixture. Spread evenly over your tart, and top with some oil-cured black olives and a bit more pepper and thyme:

 

I'm not going to lie to you, I didn't think it looked too appetizing at this point, and I was afriad that perhaps I had pushed my magic lemons farther than they were willing, or able,  to go. But I shouldn't have worried.  After 35-40 minutes in a 375 degree oven, yucky miraculously emerged as yummy:

 

To check that your tart has set, make sure that when you tap the center with your finger, the middle is firm, not mushy and jiggly. The preserved lemon subtly scents the entire dish, offering surprising bursts of bright tangy zing that go perfectly with the earthy thyme, olives,  and tuna. Served with a glass of wine and a nice salad, this is the kind of satisfying, flavor-packed meal that makes you forget it's not really that fattening at all. And given what I'll be baking and tasting this semester, that's a very good thing.

I Heart Savory Tarts!

I must have suffered some sort of carbohydrate-related trauma as a child.  Did an evil babysitter wrap me up in a puff pastry and stick me in the oven? Was I left in the woods with only bread crumbs to guide me home? Or perhaps I was frightened by the premature exploding of a can of Pillsbury breakfast rolls. I can't really say for sure.

But I do know that after years of shying away from working with dough - "I'll mess it up! I'll ruin it!" was my panicked refrain -  I have suddenly - and incurably - become absolutely tart-y for making savory tarts.

Kitchen Sink Salads & Yummy Veggie Sandwiches; or, How I Survived Life without a Stove

I can't believe that mere days after I  abused my electric stove in print, it decided it had had enough and quit working.  And blew a fuse in the process. What a drama queen!

While I was thrilled to finally have an excuse to get a gas stove, I still had to figure out what to eat for a few days. I toyed with the idea of testing out some real hardcore raw food recipes - you know, things with kelp powder, nutritional yeast,  and  Celtic salt. Maybe I'd make mock mashed potatoes, refried beans made from sunflowers,  or some uncooked lasagne. But after looking up some recipes, I temporarily lost my appetite.  

Tomato Cup Tuna Melts

I heart tuna melts. I'll eat 'em on anything: English muffins, crusty bread, even corn tortillas. But sometimes  I find myself wishing  there were some other, less starchy, way to enjoy them.  Well, kids, there is: Behold the tomato, the perfect low-cal vessel to get all that melty goodness into your greedy little mouths.

Not only is a tomato cup a flavorful bread alternative, you're cutting out so many calories that you can really go nuts with the cheese. It's win-win!

For my first tomato cup extravaganza, I decided to use parm along with the more traditional cheddar to give it a little oomph. And a word about tuna: I don't use the kind that's packed in water.  I don't care if it's better for me, or less fattening. Water-packed tuna is bland and sad. It tastes more like tin than tuna. My favorite oil-packed brands are Genova, which is absolutely delicious, followed by Cento.