You know how certain recipes just hit a nerve? Like, you see them and you just know: This recipe is The One. I have to have it. NOW.

A couple weeks back when Deb posted a recipe for a roasted sweet potato salad, that was my reaction. Right away (almost) I was flying to the store for cilantro and avocados and then, when I realized I’d overlooked the pepitas, calling my husband at work and making him stop by the store on the way home.

That day (or one very soon after — I don’t remember the exact timeline), I spent the dinner prep slicing sweet potatoes, arranging them in tidy rows on pans puddling with olive oil, and then roasting and flipping them so they got nice and toasty brown on both sides. Some of them I baked too long, so I picked those out and quick sliced another half of a potato to supplement.

Kids wandered through the kitchen, snitching potatoes when they thought I wasn’t looking and then dodging and fleeing when I stormed them, arms flailing. (And then, the kitchen cleared of kids, I’d pop the potatoes I’d just saved into my own mouth, shh.)

“We’re going to eat them just like that, right?” my older daughter had asked.

“Nope, I’m making a salad with them.”

“A salad, nooooooo!” she’d wailed. “You can’t do that! They’re so good plain!”

“They’ll be good in salad, too,” I said.

Then, “Mom’s ruining the potatoes,” she announced to her brother who’d just walked in, and I had to have the whole conversation all over again.

By the time I smacked the pan of salad down in the middle of the table, the entire family was in a snit. Mumbled cries of “You ruined them,” and “But why?” and, “Isn’t there anything else?” greeted my gorgeous creation. Teeth gritted, I scooped salad onto plates.

And then they ate the salad and some of them even actually liked it (giant eye roll).

“I’m actually kinda digging this,” my older son said (who, to be clear, had been the only child who hadn’t fussed). “Now I get why you added all this stuff.” And later that evening, my husband, with no prompting, mentioned the salad again. “It was really good,” he said, “Like, really good.” Ha!

I made the salad again a few days later, this time as a meal delivery for my parents (and plus a grape pie and vanilla ice cream).

“I can’t have this salad around the house,” I explained. “I’m absolutely helpless against it. I lose all control.”

A couple hours later, my mom sent me an email. The subject line read, “Salad, oh oh oh oh oh oh oh,” and then in the body, “That was soooooooooooooooooo good. … This is heaven.”

So there you go. The sophisticated one has spoken.

Eat up!

Roasted Sweet Potato Salad 
Adapted from Deb’s blog Smitten Kitchen.

I peeled my sweet potatoes but Deb says that’s unnecessary.

2 pounds sweet potatoes, washed, peeled, and sliced thin
olive oil
salt and black pepper
¼ cup pepitas (pumpkin seeds), raw or roasted
½ teaspoon hot pepper flakes
2 limes
1 15-ounce can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 avocado, sliced
fresh cilantro, rough chopped
4 green onions, chopped
½ cup feta

Arrange the potatoes in a single layer on sided baking pans that have been liberally spread with olive oil. Sprinkle the potatoes with plenty of salt and black pepper. Bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes, or until they are starting to brown on the bottom. Flip the potatoes and continue baking until the second side is nice and toasty brown. As each tray finishes (you’ll probably have about three trays), consolidate the potatoes into one baking sheet.

In a small saucepan, combine several tablespoons olive oil (the stuff leftover from the baking trays, or fresh oil), the pepitas, and the red pepper flakes. Simmer them over medium heat until the seeds are golden brown. They can go from raw to burned in no time, so keep a close eye on them.

To assemble the salad:
Sprinkle the beans over the potatoes. Drizzle the olive oil and pepita mixture over top. Squeeze the juice from one lime on top. Distribute the avocado slices, cilantro, green onions, and feta over all. Drizzle with more lime juice, if desired, or chop the remaining lime into wedges and nestle into the corners of the pan.

Leftovers are fantastic: just take out any leftover avocado prior to refrigerating the salad (it would taste fine, but the browning makes it look icky), and then, right before eating, add some fresh avocado, if you want.

This same time, years previous: a few good things, the quotidian (3.5.18), one-pan roasted sausages and vegetables, classic German gingerbread, creamy, costco-esque cake filling, tradition!, girl party, grocery shopping, the quotidian (3.5.12), doctors galore.

This same time, years previous: we nailed it, dusty magic, kids and money: how we’re doing it, the quotidian (3.3.14), the Chicoj coffee cooperative, leap year baby, potatoes and onions, red raspberry rhubarb pie.

Finally, I’ve conquered pita. I am so proud, as in, puffed-like-a-pita proud.

I happened upon the recipe by chance: one blogger mentioned a foodie youtuber and I clicked over and promptly fell down a rabbit hole, watching a whole bunch of his videos in one sitting (his unbridled enthusiasm kind of reminds me of Samin), one of which was all about his search for the perfect, creamy-smooth hummus. I made the hummus, and, while it was good — and some of the methods were downright brilliant (blend the unpeeled garlic with the lemon juice and then strain, toast the chickpeas with baking soda and then cook to remove the skins) — I still think the recipe needs more work (my main beefs: too much garlic, and the complicated skimming of the skins). His pita recipe, however, was amazing.

There’s nothing fancy about the dough — yeast, olive oil, a little whole wheat — but there are several different rising stages: the dough rises, the dough balls rise, and then the rolled-out pita rises.

And then there’s the cooking, at which point (most of) the pitas swell right up into a glorious round ball, creating that ever-illusive and highly-coveted pocket effect.

All that rising sounds complicated, but it’s not. Really, pita is the perfect background project while completing other kitchen tasks. In between kneading the dough and rolling it out and cooking it on the griddle, there’s plenty of time to grind coffee, chop veggies, boil some eggs, wash up the dishes, set the table, whatever.

There’s nothing quite like a towel-lined basket filled with steaming hot, tender, gently-puffed pitas. You gotta try it.

Seriously.

Perfect Pita 
Adapted from My Name Is Andong.

½ cup whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon sugar
2½ teaspoons yeast
1 cup warm water
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt

In a small bowl, stir together the whole wheat, oil, sugar, yeast, and water. Let rest for 10-15 minutes.

Measure the flour and salt into a second, larger bowl. Add the bubbly yeast mixture and stir. Turn the dough out onto a floured counter and knead briefly. The dough will be sticky — knead quickly and try to refrain from adding too much flour. The wetter the dough, the more tender the pita. Place the dough into a lightly oiled bowl (the unwashed mixing bowl is fine) and cover with plastic. Let rise for one hour.

Turn the dough out onto a floured surface, divide it into eight pieces, and shape into balls. Flour the tops again and cover with a cloth. Let rest for 20 minutes.

Roll out the pitas into thin circles, about ¼-inch thick. After you’ve rolled the first one, set the timer for 15 minutes and continue rolling out the pitas, keeping them in order according to when you rolled them out.

When the timer dings, place a comal, or cast iron skillet, over medium heat. Once the pan is hot, begin to cook the pitas, starting with the first one that you shaped and moving through the pitas chronologically. Gently lay a pita on the pan. After about three minutes, it should be nice and bubbly — if it worked well, you’ll have one big bubble — and the underside will be a speckled golden brown. Flip and cook for another couple minutes before transferring the pita to a towel-lined basket. Fold the edges of the towel over the hot pita to keep it warm, adding more pitas as they finish.

Serve hot, with hummus or curry, or with butter.

Store leftover pitas in a plastic bag. To reheat, spritz both sides of the pita with water and reheat on the comal until steamy hot and pliable.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.27.17), Oreo, my new superpower, rise and fall, buttery brown sugar syrup and cinnamon molasses syrup, what would you say?, what I said, creamy garlic soup.