Radish Cream Cheese Dill Dip

All that balmy weather and sunshine last week had me jones-ing for a BBQ throwback. Chips, dip, some charred dogs, cold beer, and a boom-box blaring something from 1994 if at all possible.

Let me see you Tootsee Roll

Those 69 Boyz, they knew a thing or two -- about the universal popularity of dip, that is.

A party's not a party without some chips and dip. A few crowd-pleasers that have made it to my Top Hits list:

Radishes

I first sampled this utterly addictive Radish Dip at my friend, Amy's house last summer. One Fritos Scoop in and I was hooked. The radishes are just perfect here, imparting a crispy, fresh, peppery crunch with each bite, not to mention, the gorgeous sparks of hot pink that peek through the creamy dip. The lemon and zest add a splash of brightness, and the dill is just the herb to tie it all together.

For a fancy re-mix, try spreading it over some slices of pumpernickel and topping with lox for an elegant brunch. Or, for a quickie dinner, try mixing it with some hot angel hair pasta and veggies for an impromptu cream sauce primavera.

Portuguese Green Olive Dip

If you are the type of person who almost always chooses salty over sweet, then this Green Olive Dip will make you swoon.

I discovered this fantastic recipe on Leite's Culinaria and fell head over heels for the stuff. David Leite, author of The New Portuguese Table, came by the dish when he visited a lovely restaurant in the south-central region of Portugal. He suggests serving it with a platter of crudités, crackers or bread, or, even as a topping for grilled fish.

The rich, full-bodied, savory flavor of this dip comes from oil-packed anchovies that have been blended into the mix. Amazingly, it is also made without any of the usual suspects associated with dips (cream cheese, sour cream, or mayonnaise). Instead, the luscious, creamy texture is made from "milk mayonnaise," created by whipping up whole milk and adding oil in a thin stream until an emulsion forms (similar to regular mayo, minus the eggs). For best results, be sure to heed Leite's warning of using an immersion blender or small blender.

For extra olive-y flavor, I use olive oil rather than vegetable oil. Whip this baby up ASAP. Your savory-tooth will thank you. And, it is killer with a dirty martini.

You can never have too much guacamole.

Last, but not least, a classic staple -- cool, creamy, good ol' Guacamole. I'll have to thank 10 for $10 Safeway for this one. That big bin of shiny, buttery avocados was just calling my name.

Avocado green

I like to keep it simple with guac. Just some diced tomatoes, garlic, lemon juice, cilantro, salt and pepper to accent this big bowl of pale green gorgeousness. You can add some red onion if you're into that kind of thing (I may keep my distance when you try to talk to me, but I won't judge you).

Avocados are the star here. I prefer keeping some generous chunks of them in the mix. And the best part of this recipe? It makes a boatload. You can never have too much guacamole.

The weather may be on the fritz now, but when BBQ weather strikes back, don't forget to dip. Oh, I feel a whoomp comin' on…

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Radish Dip
Recipe courtesy of Amy Powers

Makes: 1 ½ cups

Ingredients:
1 cup finely chopped radishes
8 ounces cream cheese
1 tablespoon lemon juice
Zest of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 teaspoon finely chopped dill
1 teaspoon salt
1 clove garlic, minced

Preparation:
1. Mix together all the ingredients and serve (preferably with Fritos Scoops).

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Green Olive Dip (Patê de Azeitonas Verdes)
Recipe by David Leite, from The New Portuguese Table (Clarkson Potter, 2009)

Adaptations: I've found that it is difficult to come by pitted Manzanilla olives that aren't stuffed, and so I often use jarred green olives that have been pitted and stuffed with pimentos. The flavor isn't as pure as Leite's original recipe, but it sure beats tediously pitting olives all day. Also, I like to substitute the vegetable oil with extra virgin olive oil.

Makes: 1 ½ cups

Ingredients:
1/3 cup whole milk, more if needed
6 oil-packed anchovy fillets
1 small garlic clove
Leaves and tender stems of 6 fresh cilantro sprigs, minced
Pinch of freshly ground white pepper
3/4 cup vegetable (or olive) oil
2/3 cup pitted green olives such as Manzanilla, rinsed quickly if particularly salty, roughly chopped

Preparation:
1. Using a hand blender or stand blender (not a food processor -- most are too big to allow the mixture to whip up correctly), add the milk, anchovies, garlic, and pepper, and pulse to combine. With the motor running, add the oil in a slow, thin stream. Keep blending until the oil is incorporated and the mixture begins to thicken into a mayonnaise-like consistency.
2. Add two thirds of the cilantro and whir again until it is mixed in.
3. Stir in the olives, top with the remaining cilantro and garnish with some olive slices.
4. If the dip thickens, stir in a little bit of milk to loosen it up.

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Guacamole

Serves: 10-12

Ingredients:
6 ripe avocadoes
3 plum tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
A handful of chopped cilantro
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:
1. Slice the avocados in half, pit them, and scoop out the flesh into a large bowl. Mash them up a bit with a fork or large spoon, leaving some chunks if that's the way you like your guacamole.
2. Dice the tomatoes and add to the bowl.
3. Using either a mortar and pestle or the flat side of a chef's knife, grind together the minced garlic and teaspoon of coarse Kosher salt until you have created a paste. Add this to the bowl.
4. Add the lemon juice and cilantro to the mix.
5. Mix together until everything is incorporated and serve immediately. You can pre-make this, but I've found that the avocados tend to discolor slightly (despite the addition of the lemon juice).

The olive tree has provided food, shelter, light, and lubrication to half of my ancestors for the past few thousand years. Those swarthy Mediterraneans who kindly passed along their sun-loving, cancer-resistant genes spent generation upon generation cultivating the fruit of this tree. In fact, some of them so closely associated themselves with it that they began to be called Olivieri, or "the olive growers."

I can only imagine the horror they might feel if they knew that all those centuries of close association with and loving care for olives came to a sad genetic end with three children whose only experience with the fruit was sticking tinny-tasting canned black Mission olives on their finger tips like bulbous Goth press-on nails and sucking them off one by one.

Fortunately, I now have the utmost respect for olives.

As my tastes matured and (hopefully) refined, I came to experiment with higher quality olives-- nothing canned was allowed. First came the Greeks, like Kalamatas, and beautiful green Amfissas, which seem to have ended up in my martinis. Then came the French types, like the Niçoise and picholine, which ended up in my tapenades.

Tapenade. I've been an enormous fan of it for years, since I discovered that it satisfies not only my near-constant hunger for salt, but allows me to honor my ancestors without having to try too hard. It's a flavorful homage with a sharp, French twist, which suits me just fine. It is earthy and basic. Any sort of tarting up should be avoided.

For example (there is always an example, you know), when I was young and foolish enough to attend culinary school, I found myself in a senior term garde manger class. For those of you who don't know, garde manger is the department of a kitchen responsible for creating salads, hors d'oeuvres, aspics, and charcuterie. In more elaborate set-ups, the garde manger also creates fabulous ice sculptures and salt dough fantasies. Think: cruise ship.

In our class, however, ice sculpting was out of the question, so we were invited/forced to create what are called "mirrors." Now for those of you unclear on the idea, "mirrors" are platters of cold food, like sliced aspics and terrines, that are arranged upon, unsurprisingly, mirrors. In cooking school, each morsel is handled about twenty-seven thousand times by students eager to get things "just right" and then offered up to unsuspecting diners at discount prices.

I had been in charge of creating one such mirror to be presented to the public at one of our Friday luncheon buffets, just like a real restaurants might have. Unlike real restaurants, however, we had an entire week to create a single platter of food. There were two other students under me in whom I had no confidence whatsoever.

I decided that the three of use were going to stay true to the spirit of garde manger, which was to create dishes using the leftovers of other departments. That was the way, after all, that restaurants increased their profit margins, wasn't it? All the other teams seemed to be ordering fresh, exotic ingredients: black truffles for a terrine (request denied), blue corn tortilla chips for an edible version of the Brazilian flag (approved). I was horribly smug. I was feeling superior.

And then, I was feeling sick. I was out of school for three days with the flu.

When I returned the day of the buffet, I discovered that I had been (understandably) replaced as mirror team leader. To my great joy, the woman in charge had taken the spirit of garde manger to heart as well and refused to purchase any new ingredients. "Maybe this won't be so bad, after all," I thought. I could offer advice here and there, but I could not insist upon anything. When I wandered over the the Brazilian team to compliment them on their design, but let them know as gently as possible that, though we may spell Brazil with a "z," the folks of that country spelled it with an "s" on their flag, I was met with an unprintable expletive. After that, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't say one more (expletive) word about anything for the rest of the day.

Which was a pity, since I returned to find my teammates placing precious little quenelles of tapenade upon little toasts that looked like the real thing, only shrunk to doll size. I had thought to caution them against quenelles, because quenelles of anything brownish in color are never a good idea because they would only remind people of what happens to their food after the important bits have been digested by the body.

Our mirror was going to look like a four-letter word beginning with "s." Literally.

"That tapenade needs some color, don't you think?" asked the new team leader.

"Well, what do you think? You're the boss." is all I said. I was tired, getting over the flu, and I no longer cared.

"I think it needs a garnish," she said.

She went off to the walk-in refrigerator to see what she could find. A few minutes later, she returned with a box of cherry tomatoes and some chives. With her sharp, 10" chef's knife, she quartered the tiny cherry tomatoes and placed one on top of each quenelle. As a final flourish, she added two sprigs of chive.

It was brilliant. Out of scraps and nothing, she had created what looked like a small army of ladybugs-- each freshly-landed on its own, private pile of dung-- floating on rafts of toast. And the best part of it all was that she hadn't the faintest idea what little bit of genius she had created.

I can no longer recall what else was on that mirror alongside those ladybugs. Nor can I remember the third person on our team or what kind of grade we got for that wonderfully awful presentation. I do, however, remember that none of the guests lunching with us ate anything off our display. They did, however, come back to look. And point.

I hope my ancestors aren't rolling in their crumbling sun-bleached graves and family vaults over this sort of blasphemy. After all, I had nothing to do with it except let it happen. I would never let decent olives be treated in such a way again. Except, of course, to photograph it and share with you, dear reader.

We Mediterraneans, we are generous souls.

Olive Tapenade

This mindlessly simply dish hails from Marseilles-- a seaport town famous for many things one might expect seaport towns to be famous for: seafood dishes, like bouillabaisse; sailors, like Popeye (on his mother's side); and, of course, women whose income is derived from sailors, like Mme. Popeye.

Serve tapenade with whatever you like. It's excellent on toasted bread, slathered on chicken before or after baking, or alongside roasted fish. It plays well with tomatoes, too-- I just ask you to please not serve them as seen above, unless you are deliberately trying to make an unpleasant statement of some kind.

Makes about 1 cup

Ingredients:

2 cups of pitted Kalamata olives (Use whatever olives suit your taste: Niçoise, Gaeta, Nyons, etc.)

2 tablespoons capers

3 to 4 anchovies (use less or omit if you are not into them as much as I am)

1 clove crushed garlic

1 to 2 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice (add according to taste, naturally)

About 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil.

Preparation:

Toss olives, capers, anchovies, and garlic into a food processor. Pulse until roughly chopped. With one hand on the "pulse" button, drizzle in olive oil with your other hand and pulse until desired texture results (It is at its most charmingly rustic when left chunk-style. The photo shows one that has been made to smooth for the purposes of story). Add lemon juice to taste. Serve.

Did you know that olives needed blessing? Me neither! Common throughout California, olives are most extensively cultivated fruit in the world, and about 90% of all olives are pressed for their oil. A Mediterranean fruit, some olive trees bear fruit for hundreds of years.

The eighth annual Sonoma Valley Olive Festival, a celebration of the olive harvest and an agricultural and culinary showcase, takes place December 2008 through February 2009. Enjoy a wide variety of entertaining events and tasty delights. Check out a full listing of events.

What: Blessing of the Olives
Where: Mission San Francisco Solano, 114 East Spain St. (at 1st St. E) Sonoma, CA 95476 [ Map ]
When: Saturday, December 6, 2008, 10am
How: Free!

After the blessing don't miss the open house and tastings at:
The Olive Press
24724 Arnold Dr, Sonoma, CA 95476 [Map]
10am-5:30pm

More events include dinners, tastings, tours, community olive pressings, curing seminars and a book signing. Online you'll find Olives 101, a guide to olive oil grades, buying tips, popular varieties, facts and recipes.

Here is a recipe for marinated olives I hope you'll enjoy:

Marinated Olives

Ingredients:
1/2 pound Kalamata olives
1/4 pound feta cheese
1/2 lemon
1–2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup dry white vermouth

Preparation:
Drain and pit the olives and place in a mixing bowl. Cut the feta into roughly 1/2-inch cubes and add to the olives. Finely dice the whole lemon including the peel, remove any pits and mince the garlic. Add lemon and garlic to the olives and feta along with the olive oil and vermouth. Allow to marinate for at least 1 day, adjust seasoning to your liking.