Summer is a very relative expression here in Houston, but I'm pretty sure it's... just... about... over. Today was one of the first days that it felt quite sane, even calming, to be outside in the afternoon. September is also the most fallow month here, with branches stripped quite bare of all August's lovely stone fruit, and little more than okra and some spindly, narrow green onions in the farmer's market. As a consequence, I was hungry for something that looked forward to the coolness of the autumn, but was served forth from the products of summer's late bloom, prepared with a touch of snootiness, but not enough to lose its' rugged sensibility. What I ended up with was a dish of richly-simmered okra and tomatoes peppered with teeny bits of chopped, preserved lemon, a humble, nourishing meal, appealing in its' sour simplicity.
(My inclination towards combining frugality with excess led me to use salted butter (in the fridge thanks to the loaf lady, more on her later) as a fat for this. I suppose you could substitute oil of a neutral flavor, such as sunflower or canola, but you will risk losing some of the slippery luxury of the butter version.)
OKRA WITH PRESERVED LEMON
Sautee 2 tbs. or so of salted butter (preferably European-style) with very thinly sliced onion (a small or medium yellow onion should do the trick) and very thinly sliced garlic (maybe 2, 3 cloves) over a low flame until they are nice and soft. Add about a half to two-thirds of a pound of fresh okra pods, sliced in half, raising the heat for a bit to soften the okra. When it starts to soften, add 4 or 5 tbs. of tomato paste (I used about half a can) and a good-sized, ripe tomato. Add a pinch more salt, some freshly ground black pepper, cumin, a couple pinches of cinnamon and a hot powdered pepper of your liking (I used chili de arbol for its well-rounded, intense heat, and quite frankly I could have used much more). Cook this down until it's as soft as you like, then add one half of a preserved lemon, finely chopped. At this point I also added some of the green parts of those meagre green onions I mentioned, but this was not really necessary, just a measure of frugality. A sprinkle of chopped parsley atop the whole mess when you're ready to eat it is definitely recommended.
Enjoy it with wedges of lemon if you're one of us extra bitter types, a dollop of yogurt regardless and some honest, crusty bread always. In the absence of good bread and cash I made do with a media noche bun from Fiesta, lightly toasted in the oven, which served much the same purpose. Drink with something suitably humble, like a ten dollar rustic red from anywhere south of the equator, or beer, or best of all water. If you drink the water, you should really precede and follow with a finger or two of bourbon, insulating the meal like a winter coat, barring yourself in hearty spirit for the winter (or slightly less hot summer, if you live in Houston) yet to come. Feeds two amiably with bread, add a salad for a larger lunch.
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