Freshening up

February 7--Chard, strawberries and Dutch Iris; Kale revving up with new growth


Cookbook research means that I've been focusing on one vegetable at a time--eight different ways to cook rutabagas; four takes on roasted parsnips; winter squash with polenta, in risotto, in soup, in muffins.

I always learn more about the properties and affinities of vegetables I've been enjoying for years. I'm also, I admit, getting a bit tired of the root and squash vine. I know I should have another go at Kashmiri potato/turnip curry; it could be terrific instead of pretty good, but I'm not going to today.

So instead of checking ingredients, I went out to photograph my plants. It looks as though kale is on the menu tonight, and that fresh growth is a cheery sight.

Two more quotes

As I was cooking dinner the other night, my housemate, who studies the occult, said he thought that cooking was the original magic, the first casting of spells.

That made me think of this quote.

“Other creatures receive food simply as fodder. But we take the raw materials of the earth and work with them--touch them, manipulate them, taste them, glory in their heady smells and colors, and then, through a bit of alchemy, transform them into delicious creations. Cooking demands attention, patience, and above all, respect. It is a way of worship, a way of giving thanks.”
Judith Jones, The Tenth Muse

And here's another one I like

"If you take away from food the wholeness of growing it or take away the joy and conviviality of preparing it in your own home, then I believe you are talking about a whole new definition of a human being."

Wendell Berry, Unsettling of America

How Green is My Alley

Late April in the alley bed: a bit of this and that

Although far from fully local in my eating, I have cut way back this winter and spring on the purchase of perishable food from far away. (A master’s thesis topic for someone: A writer’s repetitive diet makes for much alliteration.)

That means that I’m paying more attention to my homegrown spring greens, which also means I’m getting a bit tired of mustard greens. I have a lot of them. They were in a mesclun mix I planted last spring, and since I’m not all that crazy about that flavor in salads, a lot of them stayed on in the alley box to reseed.

Right now I have kale, a bit of arugula, some fall-seeded chard that is just getting going, the last of the leeks, beet greens, lots and lots of corn salad, and that mustard. Usually the early lettuce and spinach would be salad-ready by now, but the cold weather has slowed it down. Except for the mustard and corn salad, there isn’t enough of any one thing to make a meal, and I don’t want a full meal’s worth of either of those worthy greens. Also, I’m busy lately, so pretty much anything I cook needs to be either really fast or something I can make in quantity.

So here are some places I’ve stashed quantities of mixed greens lately.
Lentil soup--Like minestrone, lentil soup can absorb huge quantities of greens without overpowering the taste.

Lasagna--My spinach lasagna has become mustard/chard/kale/beet-green lasagna. I haven’t heard any complaints.

Spinach Rice Pie--This version isn’t spinach and it isn’t actually a pie, but it’s still good. The original recipe is from Winter Harvest.
Ingredients
3 1/2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
3 pounds fresh mixed greens
4 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup pancetta or bacon, cubed (optional)
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 large clove garlic, chopped
1 cup rice, preferably Arborio or some other risotto variety
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
1/3 cup dry bread crumbs
4 eggs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1 tablespoon chopped marjoram (use less if you are substituting the strong flavored winter-hardy oregano) or 1 teaspoon dried
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
salt and pepper

Instructions
Simmer broth over low heat. Discard any tough stems from the greens and steam the leaves until soft. Time will vary with the type of greens. I like to cook them in a heavy skillet with a just a splash more than the water they were washed in. Remove from heat, chop, and press excess moisture into the broth. It’s way too good to waste. Heat olive oil in over medium heat and add pancetta or bacon (if used), onion, and garlic. Sauté 5-10 minutes until onion is limp. Mix in rice and cook 2 to 3 minutes, stirring constantly.

Reduce heat, return greens to skillet, and bring to a slow simmer. Cook, adding broth 1/2 cup at a time, stirring frequently and allowing rice to absorb the broth before adding more. This will take 20 to 25 minutes. The rice should be creamy. Remove from heat and let cool to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 350. Grease a 9-inch quiche dish or pie pan and sprinkle with bread crumbs. Shake off excess crumbs and reserve for topping.

Combine eggs, Parmesan, marjoram, nutmeg, salt, and pepper in a large mixing bowl and beat will. Stir in rice mixture. Taste and adjust seasoning. Spoon into quiche dish or pie pan, spreading evenly. Sprinkle top with remaining bread crumbs. Bake until firm but not dry, about 45 minutes to an hour. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Roasted Greens and Pasta: Change the heat source; change the flavor.

This is more a procedure than a recipe. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Take a mess of greens, wash them, and tear into bite-size pieces. Put a little olive oil on your hands and rub them through the greens to coat very lightly. Arrange greens on a cookie sheet. For less oil and easier cleanup, put them on baker’s parchment or maybe one of those pricy but very cool silicone mats. (I got mine at Pacific Chef in Fairhaven.) Sprinkle with a little salt and pepper and put in the oven. Check after 5 minutes and keep checking frequently. You want the greens to start to get crispy and brown on the edges but not burnt black. Remove from oven when you’ve hit that point.

Meanwhile, boil water for pasta. I like to use whole wheat shells, but any smallish pasta works. Add the pasta and cook until just a bit too al dente. Toss in the greens and cook another minute. Drain, return to saucepan, and add some chopped savory black olives. I like the oil-cured ones from the Food Co-op.

Season to taste with salt, pepper, and a dribble of olive oil. Serve grated Parmesan or Romano on the side. I was surprised how little cheese it took to bring this very simple dish into focus.

All the while I've been writing this, I've had the current crisis in skyrocketing food prices on my mind. Part of me wants to chide every newly affluent Chinese or Indian eater who is devoting disposable income to, say, corn-fed beef, and therefore contributing to desperation in Haiti and $4.50 a loaf bread prices for me. Another part of me is thinking--if I consider it a challenge to stay interested in one type of vegetable for more than a few weeks at a time, how on earth can I judge someone else who wants some new flavors in their kitchen? When something is both a basic necessity and an endlessly refinable pleasure, it's never going to be simple to do the right thing.

Lentil Liberation

I've always associated lentils with big times--I expect because my mom made lentil soup as the midnight meal at the epic New Year's Eve parties of my childhood. Staying up late, watching a generally dignified set of adults get loose, lentil soup with ham. It all fit.

Later I fell in love with Indian food and its multicolored array of intriguingly named dals--moong, masur, urad, toor--lentils all. Like tofu, or potatoes, lentils are a flavor sponge, soaking up the salt and smoke of ham hocks or the warmth of cumin and chili.

What I didn't know until years later was that millions of those cooks in India were working their magic with legumes grown in Washington state. The Palouse hills of eastern Washington (and, ok, Idaho too) produce nearly all of the lentils grown in the U.S., the great majority of them for export. Meanwhile, specialty dals are imported from India to the U.S. for the Indian-American market, subject to the vicissitudes of world trade. (For example, the Indian government banned lentil exports in 2006 when drought drove up domestic prices.) It's not clear to me why this makes sense. Couldn't North American lentil lovers get their fix from the U.S. and Canadian growers who are actually looking for markets?

As a major crop in the fertile but fragile soils of the Palouse, lentils are a better environmental choice than most. Being legumes, they fix nitrogen in the soil and are often used to build soil quality in rotation with the more nutrient-demanding grain crops. They can be sown directly into stubble from the preceding crop, reducing the erosion from tilling. They are generally grown without irrigation, so they don't further imperil the aquifer to the extent of, say, potatoes. They are also currently endangered by the rising prices for wheat, corn, and soy, which are pushing growers into altering their rotations and sowing where the money is. If we lose lentil acreage to grow grain for ethanol in the name of energy independence, is that really progress?

So as local eaters, surely our mission is clear: Keep our lentils home! Buy a batch today! Post your favorite recipes in the comment section here!

And come August, never mind that tour of Normandy to try du puy lentil salad with duck breast. Head to Pullman for the annual Lentil Festival. Lentil Burgers on the grill, a big parade, bicycle races, and--for my money--some of the most beautiful agricultural landscapes on the planet. http://www.lentilfest.com/

Cheap, cheerful, local and easy

My daughter and son-in-law stopped by today and Ronny installed my new cat door, which took a lot of doing. I don't know why each manufacturer feels the need to make a slightly different dimension, so the new door doesn't match the old hole.

I thought I'd whip up a bit of lunch in thanks, and the produce selection was slim. Onions, great local carrots (but not in their first youth), a couple of shallot sprouts poking out of the snow on its pot on the deck.

I sauteed half a red onion, the chopped shallot sprouts, and three grated carrots in olive oil for a couple of minutes, and then added a can of chopped clams, a splash of white wine and three dried tomatoes. (If they weren't the oil cured soft kind I would have soaked them first). I kept it all on low in a cast iron skillet until the onion was mostly soft but the carrots still had a bit of crunch. My daughter doesn't like soft cooked carrots, and anyway the extra texture is nice in such a minimalist dish.

We ate it over rigatoni. It was great. I skipped the cheese and didn't miss it a bit. If I had had a handful of Italian parsley I would have used it, but I didn't miss that either.

I used to hate beets

I hated beets because they were sweetly insipid or else harshly pickled. And under that sometimes I could taste that metallic tang that can also happen with chard stems if they aren't properly cooked.

But now I know better, and beets are a local-eating favorite. In the winter especially they brighten the table with their ruby (or golden) glow. The basic secret is to bake them, not boil them. The only problem with that is that it takes so long, especially with the big guys that keep so well. You can microwave them at about 10 minutes per biggish beet, but then you lose the touch of carmelization that makes them so wonderful when baked. If I'm short on time I split the difference. I'll put maybe four beets in the microwave for 10 minutes and then transfer them to a 375 degree oven--whole, unpeeled--on a cookie tray covered with olive-oiled baker's parchment (you can get it unbleached at the Food Co-op, and put it in the food waste toter along with the compost if you have pickup). Sometime a roast a head of garlic at the same time.

I start checking after 45 minutes and bring them out when they are tender but before they get squishy. Let them rest a few minutes, and then peel and cube. They can be served warm, but I prefer a room temperature salad with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, chopped toasted hazelnuts, and some crumbled salty cheese. I like feta best. For a local option, a crumbly goat cheese is a good choice. It needs to be an assertive flavor, or the beets will just overpower it, even if you don't add some chopped garlic. A bit of overwintered parsley or some corn salad leaves make a nice visual.

January Chard

This time of year I crave fresh greens. I've had all the roasted beets I want for awhile, delicious and versatile though they are. The Co-op has lots of pretty green things, but they mostly come from far away and I'm trying to reactivate my local winter palate.

Local produce can be scarce, and the surviving garden crops tend to be tough and raggedy. In my small city garden the regular lettuce is gone and the corn salad is so hunkered down and so mud-spattered that's it's hard to get excited about it. So, it's pretty much down to kale, leeks, and chard.

Today I'm going for chard. Unlike kale, chard's flavor doesn't improve with a freeze. The surviving leaves tend to be a bit leathery and strong tasting, so a quick stirfry doesn't always do the trick. I like make variations on a traditional Sicilian pizza topping. I use olive oil; butter could work for strict locavores, or the greens can be braised over lower heat with a touch of hazelnut oil from Holmquists Hazelnuts in northern Whatcom County.

Chop up onions and/or leeks and garlic, maybe a cup of the oniony flavors to a large bunch of chard, including stems, and cook until onions are soft and chard is limp. I use a cast-iron skillet. Add two or three dried tomatoes. (Soak them in hot water for 15 minutes first, unless they are already cured in olive oil and therefore soft.) If your Sicilian loyalty outweighs your local foodshed convictions, you may want to add sliced Sicilian olives, a handful of raisins (traditional and weirdly good), and an anchovy that will dissolve into an untraceable and delicious additional flavor. Simmer the combination, covered, for another 10-15 minutes.

The results take the boredom right out of winter meals. Italians bake it on a pizza crust. Cheese isn't really needed, but locally made Cotija tastes great. It also goes well with pasta, and locavores can use it on wonderful Whatcom grown potatoes.