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| This is my olive face. |
Once upon a time, there were two people who met and fell instantly
in love but didn’t do anything about it for a good long while. Once they (OK,
she) spent some more time making bad choices and then grew up a little bit and
they both came to their senses, they very wisely got married and went on the
sort of honeymoon that amply justifies her control-freak tendencies for the next
two decades. While a great many silly things happened on that trip – things that
were not one damn bit funny at the time but make excellent stories now – the very
most unlikely thing that happened was the meal during which she ate an olive
and didn’t die of disgust.
This wasn’t just any olive, of course; it was a very teeny
and lovely Nicoise olive, which only tastes perfectly delicious when consumed
at an outdoor table across the square from a fountain in Nice on one’s honeymoon.
Nonetheless, our intrepid heroine has persevered and tried to like Nicoise
olives under other circumstances, because she is a heroine and not in fact a
princess. She has even tried to like other olives (which was singularly
unsuccessful until friends gave her Castrelvatrano olives after their trip to
Italy, and now she needs to go to Italy and try them there to see if they’re
exponentially tastier on-site). But still: she’ll pick out pieces of olive from
most dishes and they really don’t belong on pizza and the smell is still nasty
AF, which is why her children adore olives and will eat them by the pound.
Alas! unless our heroine wins the lottery she won’t be going
back to France – or any of the other places she had marvelous meals in Europe -
anytime soon, which is a damn shame. The next best thing is cooking and eating
things that are reminiscent of those marvelous meals; and since Nicoise salad
is endlessly varied, tasty, and filling, it’s a great place to start. This particular
recipe is a pasta-based riff on said Nicoise salad, and you should feel free to
fiddle around with it and add whatever makes you happiest. As long as there are
olives, of course.
From Cooking Light Annual Recipes 2009, with only minor
editorial comments. Note that you can make this vegan for your friend’s picky
daughter by swapping the tuna with chickpeas, skipping the anchovies, and
adding a splash of soy sauce or white miso for a bit of umami in the dressing.
This recipe also doubles and triples easily, constrained only by the size of
the bowl you have for mixing and your tuna budget; makes a fantastic lunch the
next day; and will stay toothsome even if you use gluten-free pasta thanks to
the dressing.
Cavatappi Nicoise
8 oz. harticots verts (or regular old green beans), trimmed
and halved
8 oz. uncooked cavatappi pasta (or any other small twisty shape)(GF pasta is fine, obviously)
1 can solid white tuna, packed in oil; spring for the fancy
premium stuff or swap out some poached salmon
1 cup grape tomatoes, halved
1/3 cup Nicoise olives, pitted
2 tablespoons minced shallots
2 tablespoons capers, drained
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
4 anchovy fillets (I know, I know - but trust me on this. Don't skip them. Just....maybe don't tell anyone else they're in there.)
Cook the beans in boiling water for 3 minutes; remove with a
slotted spoon and rinse with cold water to stop the cooking. Place the beans in
a large bowl.
Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook according to
package directions, omitting fat and salt. Drain and rinse with cold water. Add
the pasta to the bowl with the beans.
Drain the tuna in a sieve over a bowl, reserving the oil (if
you use salmon instead, add a couple of extra tablespoons of oil in the next
step). Flake the tuna with a fork and add to the bowl, along with the tomatoes,
olives, shallots, and capers.
Combine the olive oil, reserved oil from the tuna (if
using), vinegars, salt, pepper, and anchovies in a food processor or blender.
Pour over the pasta mixture and toss to coat.
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