Pickles

I’ll just go ahead and state the obvious, get it out of the way, and move on. It’s been quite a hiatus over here. I didn’t know if I was going to come back here and continue writing, or move on and start anew. I wasn’t sure of this blog’s identity anymore (stories, recipes, politics, funny pictures: all or one or none of the above?), and that struggle was keeping me from doing what I set out to in the first place, namely, to write. And then I decided I wanted to keep going, to keep writing—writing at least something, but couldn’t get started.

So this blog turned one and I let it be. I moved to Boston, threw a going-away pie-party and didn’t tell you. I took a real person job (in! cookbook! publishing!) and let it slide. So I’m sitting here drinking tea in the Northeastern heat wave thinking about my kitchen and how to catch up.

My new job has blessed me with an abundance of extra food. Some days it is leftover chili, pie, chocolate cake, and (ugh) slow-cooker meatloaf. Other days it is extra produce from a photo shoot: shitakes and basil, habanero peppers and half-cut onions. I lug what I can carry home during a 30-minute stroll to my (hot, hot) 3^rd floor walk-up, and lay it all out. On Thursdays I stop by the Coolidge Corner farmers’ market and buy the rest of my week’s groceries: local squash, carrots, early heirloom tomatoes, and the last of this mixed-up season’s blueberries.

My fridge is bursting at the seams, and spoilage is my mortal enemy.

So I’ve been spending my Saturdays getting to know my freezer and practicing the awesome art that is pickling. Using Momofuku as a guide, I’ve pickled carrots, ginger, jalapenos, asparagus, onions, radishes, and so many cucumbers. Quick vinegar carrot pickles go quickly, and sliced on the bias taste great in salads with walnuts and butter lettuce. The pickled ginger has been thrown in (another) salad with leftover work salmon, a spicy okra sauté, and straight into my mouth when I get home from work with a bellyache. My pickled asparagus is quite ugly: I made a soy sauce brine, and the thin spears shriveled up upon contact with the hot/salty/sweet liquor. But they sure taste good.

My best pickles, however, are my latest cucumber pickles—the brine is an agglomeration of ideas and recipes: a mixture of white and rice vinegar, onions, garlic, peppercorns, dill, fennel, and sea salt. They’re not sweet, nor sour, just cold, crisp, and preserved. I can take my time with them, knowing that they’ll still taste good next week.

And then there is the granita, the icy treat that requires no ice cream maker, no dairy, and no custard. I made a great one yesterday and I think you should try your hand at it too.

The method is simple: stir together a sweet, flavorful puree or flavored syrup (but make sure your syrup is watery; too much sugar makes for a gloppy granita). Stick it in the freezer in a shallow pan or Tupperware container. Wait 45 minutes, and stir with a fork. Wait again, stir again. Repeat. After a couple hours, you’ll have it: Italian ice, no corn syrup needed.

Here’s my recipe, but change it at will (a fruit puree would be a great addition; I’ve been eating my berries and stone fruit fresh, and quickly, so none of it makes it into these projects).

Ginger-Basil Granita

serves 1 for a week of desserts, or 4-5 all at once

1/3 cup honey

1 ½-inch knob of ginger, peeled and sliced into 1/8-inch disks

a few basil leaves

juice from ½ lime (about 1 teaspoon)

water

Stir together honey with 1/3 cup water. Add ginger slices and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Simmer until the ginger softens and the syrup has become spicy, about 10 minutes. Turn off the heat, add basil, cover, and let steep for another 10 minutes. Remove lid and let syrup cool for 10-15 minutes. Pour syrup into measuring cup and add water to measure 1½ cups. Pour into a shallow pan or Tupperware container and freeze for 30-45 minutes, or until mixture begins to freeze. Break up frozen chunks with a fork and stir. Return to freezer for another 30-45 minutes, and stir again with a fork. Repeat freezing and stirring steps until the mixture is completely frozen and flaky. If you forget to stir, don’t fret. You’ll just need to stir more aggressively once you remember.

Happy Spring

I don't know what was up with those freak snow flurries the other day, but I think it's now safe to say that spring is springing here in Atlanta.

The major farmers markets open in a couple of weeks, but for now, get yourself to Decatur or Morningside and make a giant salad!

Southern Manners

In my valuable minutes between batches of granola and batches of cran-nut muffins, I’d like to talk to you about something that is growing increasingly important to me, as my time in the South grows longer like the daylight. I knew leaving Portland, aka farm-to-table Mecca, aka foodie paradise, aka blogger wonderland would necessitate a change in my eating, shopping, and even writing habits. During my time on the left coast, I assumed I could always know from which state, or even which city or town, my pear, broccoli, and mushrooms came. I assumed I could always find responsible meat, even if it cost an arm and a leg. I assumed I could always eat locally, even down to the flour in my cookies and the oats in my granola.

Jesus I was spoiled.

I can still find much of the same produce here in Atlanta that I bought in Portland, but 2500 miles is a long way for Oregon pears, Washington apples and California kale to travel before hitting my plate: a far cry from local; a far cry from sustainable, even if the produce is organic. Of course, Atlanta has farmers’ markets, just like Portland. But at last count, Portland has 16 operating farmers’ markets, excluding the other 23 markets in the metro area. Atlanta? It has 16. For the entire metro area.

I don’t mean to complain, or wax poetic about a city that gets more than its fair share of fanatical press. I just mean to point out the challenges of living in a city a bit less connected to its agricultural blessings. Georgia is a largely agricultural state, and Atlanta is beginning to see much more local produce, meat, cheese, and specialty products now than just five or so years ago. The problem is, all of these great foodstuffs are isolated in specialty shops, expensive restaurants, and our, mostly small, and mostly competitive, farmers’ markets. Our grocery stores, even Whole Foods, are saturated with Mexican and Californian produce, and the names of these far-off origins are hidden or non-existent on the store shelves. Consumers on a budget or with strict shopping schedules (as much as I hate to admit it, many well-intentioned people just can’t make it to a farmers’ market on Wednesday afternoons or early enough on Saturdays to catch the good stuff) have little choice but to buy their citrus from California, even with excellent choices available from Florida, or their apples from Washington, even while Southern heirloom varieties are beginning to make a comeback.

In the past few months, I’ve been doing my best to discover or re-discover the alternatives. Because there are sustainable eating options in Atlanta, and they don’t all break the bank. It just takes a close eye and a willingness to explore new stores.

In the spirit of Southern hospitality, here’s a list of where I like to do my shopping:

Your DeKalb Farmer’s Market
Not a farmers’ market at all, this warehouse of a store is more of an international grocery metropolis. They don’t pay much attention to seasonality, but they do a great job of listing from where every product was sourced and stock more organics than Whole Foods. They’ve begun to carry cage-free eggs (I know, not the same as true free range, but it’s a start), organic milk from grass-fed cows, heritage pork and grass-fed beef. They also carry a huge variety of grains and flours, many from Kentucky (it’s not super local, but at least you know that it’s from the Southeast). Oh, and everything is dirt-cheap.

Whole Foods
Okay, so I talk a lot of shit about WF, but they have been stocking more local products lately. I’ve found local Johnson Farms milk for only $5.99 a gallon (many of the smaller stores who carry their milk charge upwards of 5 bucks for just a ½ gallon), Atlanta Fresh yogurt, and local free-range eggs for decent prices. They’ve also begun to rate the animal-friendliness of their meat producers, and the meat guys are totally willing to ask any questions about the source and raising practices of all of the farmers. Bonus points? They now carry local beef, pork and cute French-style chickens. The chickens get a 2 (out of 5) on their ethics scale, and the both the beef and the pork get a 4. I’ve tried the pork, straight up and in sausage form, and it’s pretty good. They also carry a bunch of local beers, and some of the stores stock Sweetgrass Dairy cheese. Sometimes you can find local produce, but it’s still pretty Cali-saturated.

Decatur Farmers’ Market
I haven’t been here in a while; my nanny job keeps me busy during their Wednesday afternoon hours, but you can find some awesome greens, pickles, salsas, bread and mini-pies most weeks. It’s still pretty small, but it has grown every season, and I’m sure it will be pretty excellent once spring produce begins to come in full force. Also, I just saw that they'll be expanding to a Saturday market in addition to the Wednesday market, beginning in May (yes!!).

Morningside Farmers’ Market
You’ve got to get here early on Saturday mornings; lines begin to form way before the 8 am opening time. Prices tend to be higher here (because of the neighborhood?), but, man, I’ve bought some beautiful vegetables on my visits. A couple of the farmers sell eggs, and there’s a meat guy there most weeks (I haven’t tried these proteins, but I’m sure they’re good).

Alon’s Bakery
When I get done at the Morningside market, I hop across the street to my favorite bakery since … forever. Alon’s has grown considerably since we first started buying their cookies when I was 6 (?). They make several varieties of hearth-style breads, decadent pastries (the mini-cookies, in oatmeal raisin, chocolate chunk, and double chocolate are, um, the best?), and stock a few different local cheeses amongst the European selections. They also carry Johnson Farms dairy products, Atlanta fresh, and local eggs, but these all carry a hefty price tag.

Sawicki’s Meat, Seafood, and More
This one-woman powerhouse of a store carries local eggs and dairy, as well as local and specialty meats and seafood. You can also ask for just about anything meat-wise and she’ll order it for you.

Pine Street Market
Housemade sausages from local pork? I think yes. Plus the owners are totally cute.

The Mercantile
It’s a bit farther from my house, and they stock a lot of the same products as Alon’s, but the cheese monger is more friendly, and super knowledgeable (and they have samples!).

Where do you like to shop in Alanta?

Farm Fresh

I originally sat down to write this post on December 9. I typed two sentences, thought about a recipe, got up to get a cup of tea, and immediately got distracted by the gigantic epic that was to be my month of December. Whoops.



Long story short, I spent this last month orchestrating the big move back to The South, capital S. There was packing and selling and more packing and driving to be done—and then all of a sudden it was Christmas and I was in North Carolina with my entire extended family and tomorrow is the last day of 2009.




Excuses, excuses.

But now I am back on the couch in my parents’ house, new dog in tow, beginning Job Search 2.0, reminiscing about this


Earlier this month I made a quick trip to Palmetto, GA, for an interview/work day at Serenbe Farms. I dug up sunchokes (aka Jerusalem artichokes), plucked radishes and got super muddy. It was exhilarating spending all day outside, touching and digging and sniffing out delicious food in its most primitive form.

The farm is part of a unique little community being built about an hour south of Atlanta. It’s planned and suburban, yes, but it’s also 100% focused on sustainability, organic farming and alternative ways of interacting with our environment. All of the homes are built to maximize energy retention and minimize carbon footprints. The streets curve in such a way that it takes longer to drive than to walk. The farm and the two restaurants have this amazing exchange program—the farm sells the restaurant excess produce and the restaurants give back their waste in the form of compost—it’s a complete cycle. Most of the residents participate in the CSA program, and the town farmer’s market brings organic foodies from all over each week. The farm even does educational programs with elementary schools in the area, and as far as I’m concerned, the more kids who want to dig in the dirt, the better. The residents have a bit more money than most, but I honestly think that all of this is a good thing. If all of us with the resources to contribute to improving the food system were as conscious about it as those in Serenbe, change would come much faster.

Perhaps one of the best parts of this little jaunt was the schwag I brought home from the interview, like these little guys


Mix together these babies with some spinach (or more seasonal salad greens, preferably dug up from your garden), kohlrabi and a citrusy dressing and you’ve got a salad that’ll brighten up even the snowiest of December days (I’m talking to you, Portland).


Also on my plate is that vegetable tart made with pureed sunchokes, sautéed Swiss chard and onions, and a sprinkling of Parmesan. The onions, olive oil, flour and cheese were from the regular grocery, but almost everything else came from my cold and muddy hands.


Talk about local.

Radish and Kohlrabi Salad with Citrusy Dressing

1 head kohlrabi, cut into a thin julienne using a mandoline or very sharp knife
6-8 French radishes, thinly sliced into transparent rounds
Seasonal salad greens, enough for four people
¼ teaspoon each of grapefruit, lime, lemon and orange zest
about ¼ cup mixed citrus juice (I used lemon, lime and orange)
pinch of brown sugar
olive oil
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Assemble radishes and kohlrabi on top of greens. Season with salt and pepper. Mix the zests with the juice and sugar. Slowly whisk in the oil to taste (I like about a 50-50 ratio, but most people find that a bit too acidic). Add salt and pepper. Lightly dress the salad right before serving.

Sunchoke and Chard Tart

Olive Oil Tart Crust (I used Clotilde’s, from Chocolate and Zucchini, with a 50-25-25 mix of all-purpose flour, whole wheat flour and cornmeal)
olive oil
1 pound (I think … Just fill up a cookie sheet…) sunchokes, peeled and cut into 2-inch long chunks
3 cloves garlic, peeled
¼-½ cup stock of your choice
2 bunches Swiss, red, or rainbow chard, stems and leaves separated
2 sweet onions
¼ cup dry white wine
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Prepare the tart crust and chill in the fridge for about an hour.

Place the peeled sunchokes on a baking sheet with the garlic cloves. Season with salt and drizzle with a little bit of olive oil (just enough to keep them moist and to prevent sticking). Roast until fork tender (I honestly can’t remember how long I cooked them, but I think it was probably 20-30 minutes). Take out of the oven and let cool until you’re able to touch them without screaming in pain.

Meanwhile, prick the crust all over with a fork, line with aluminum foil and fill with dried beans. Cook for about 7-10 minutes, remove the foil and beans, and cook 7-10 minutes more until ever so golden brown. Let cool until you’re done with everything else.

While the sunchokes are cooling and the crust is baking, chop up the chard stems into 1-inch long pieces and the leaves into bite-sized pieces. Slice the onion into a thin julienne. Heat about one tablespoon of olive oil over medium-ish heat in your biggest and best saucepan. Once it shimmers, add the onion and the chard stems. Saute until they soften and then add the wine. Cook until most of the wine evaporates. Season with salt, and add the chard leaves. Saute until the greens soften and then remove from the heat.

At this point, your sunchokes should be cool enough to handle. Place them and the garlic into the bowl of a food processor. Drizzle in a bit more olive oil and ¼ cup of stock. Puree until smooth, adding more stock and/or oil until smooth. Add about 2/3 of the cheese, pulse to combine and taste for seasoning. Add salt if necessary.

Pour the sunchoke puree into the tart crust. Spread with a spatula so that it evenly covers the tart. Carefully spread the chard and onion mixture on top, again trying to make sure that it is even. Sprinkle the rest of the cheese on top and bake (still at 400 degrees) for about 15 minutes or so, or until everything is hot and bubbly and the cheese is melted and browned. Let cool for 10-15 minutes so that it doesn’t explode everywhere. Serve with the radish and kohlrabi salad to all of your locavorious foodie friends.

Last gasps of summer, first winds of fall

Today is one of those rare fall days in Portland where the sun is shining, the leaves are brown, and the nippy wind brings not rain but pleasant, subtle shivers. Wearing a jacket isn’t so bad today–it doesn’t need to be waterproof or have a hood. It’s almost real fall. But, as the weathermen keep reminding us, it will probably start raining tomorrow, so pull out your rainboots and umbrellas now.

Harrumph. I like real fall, one filled with dry piles of leaves, warm sunshine piercing through the chilly winds, and wool pea coats–a fall when you can still spend time outside without catching hypothermia or water-logging your cell phone. But there are bonuses to our never ending rain. There are coffee shops and bookstores, fireplaces and hot chocolate. Oh, and a great excuse to spend all day in the kitchen. I love all of the seriously slow food that comes with the cooler weather–rich braises, roast chickens, apple pie, and, above all, soups, soups, soups. I’ve worked up a batch of chicken stock already waiting in the freezer for the first rain-soaked day. I’ve armed my pantry with dried beans and grains, and I’ve bought boat-loads of garlic. I’m totally ready.

But first, in one last homage to the crisp salad days of summer, here is what I like to call a transition salad: Filled with the early-fall bounty of my final CSA shipment, this salad blends the best of both seasons with sweet, raw Zephyr squash and musky, rich mushrooms. I added shaved fennel for crunch and served it up with a local aged gouda, crusty bread, and thin slices of a yellow Bartlett pear. It may match the yellow leaves outside, but each crisp bite was almost enough to trick me into believing it was still September.


Transition Salad
Serves one

5-10 Cremini mushrooms, sliced thinly
1 small zephyr squash (or any other fresh summery squash), sliced thinly, on a bias
½ bulb fennel, shaved thinly
1 scallion, white and light green part only, sliced thinly
olive oil
sesame oil
about ½ lemon
kosher salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

Combine the veggies in a serving bowl. Drizzle a small amount of both oils (you just want enough to thinly coat each component). Toss. Squeeze as much lemon juice as you need to brighten the flavor (the only way to know for sure is to taste). I used the juice of half of a not-very-juicy lemon. Toss and season with salt and pepper. Serve with your favorite cheese, bread, and a thinly sliced pear (or apple). I recommend building a bite with all of the components together.

All Work and No Play?

Hey guys.

Life seems to be running on fast forward these days. What with restaurants and writing and schmoozing and new-job hunting, this blog is the last thing I think of on my long list of to-dos. I know that I’m lucky to have all of these great opportunities right now, and I am working hard to take advantage of my many activities. But I miss this blog.

I want to be able to continue to post as regularly as possible, but I don’t want to have to compromise its integrity by throwing up videos and links to other stories when I don’t have time to write them myself. So I can no longer promise regularity right now.

However.

I have been meeting some really really awesome people and attending some really really awesome events in the past month or so while working at the Willamette Week. And, lucky for you, I don’t have the space/expertise/bargaining power/what have you to get to publish all of my experience. So here’s what I’m going to do–all these missed opportunities for the Willy Week will become stories here. I want to be able to tell the rest of Tressa Yellig’s story, I want to bitch about the food quality at the Indulge event, I want to share with you Chris Kimball’s dirty little secrets (hopefully he has some, and hopefully I’ll find out about them next week!). So I will.

So stay tuned for Secrets of an Arts and Culture Intern … beginning very soon.

Today, however, I want to talk about my CSA. Well, my soon-to-be-former CSA.

I was totally pumped about joining a farm share program and signed up with Hood River Organics as soon as I moved back into my house. The first couple of weeks were pretty sweet–so much local, organic, fresh (great buzzwords, all) produce delivered once a week, straight to my front door. But I have quickly realized that this is going to be a long mushroom season and that I can only do so many things with the gigantic purple radishes that keep showing up. I like to eat a huge variety of foods, and it simply isn’t cost effective for me, as a single buyer, to order what amounts to bulk quantities of a few types of vegetables. So I’ve cancelled my subscription and after this week, will return to New Seasons for my weekly grocery run.

The one great thing about CSA monotony, however, was that it forced me to be more creative in the kitchen. I made mushroom tarts, kale quiches, and a totally insane beet and coconut chocolate cake. My most successful venture, which I share with you below, has been radish bread. Going through the fridge, I found six or seven baseball-sized radishes on the verge of mushy. Not wanting to waste, but oh so tired of radish salads and sandwiches, I thought that they might work as a substitute for carrot or zucchini in a quick bread. I looked up my favorite carrot cake recipe, changed it around a bit (reduced the sugar and fat, making it more bread and less cake), and threw in grated, drained radish. The consistency seemed right and the bread smelled awesome in the oven (albeit strangely like bacon-banana bread).

The verdict–a slightly tangier version of zucchini bread–was totally delicious and surprising. (Apparently radishes turn from purple to green in the oven. Any food scientist (Sally) out there know why?) I imagine any unfortunate root vegetable hanging out in your crisper (turnips, parsnips, celery root) would work similarly. So much more exciting than salad.


Radish Bread
(Very loosely adapted from Slow Like Honey)

The original recipe calls for cream cheese frosting, but I found that this doesn’t need it. It’s moist and sweet enough on it’s own. But should your sweet tooth call for extra decadence, mix a softened block of cream cheese with a softened stick of butter, a couple of cups of powdered sugar and some lemon juice and call it done.

1½ cups all-purpose flour
½ cup whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¾ teaspoon salt
2-3 cups grated, salted, and drained radishes (I do this in a food processor, toss them with a generous pinch of kosher salt, and let them drain, under the weight of several bowls in a colander, for about 30 minutes)
½-1 cup chopped walnuts
½ cup unsweetened coconut
½ cup raisins
scant ¾ cup sugar
scant ½ cup canola oil
½ cup pear or applesauce
1 tablespoon molasses
4 large eggs

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Butter and flour a bread pan.

Whisk the flours, baking powder, baking soda, coriander, cardamom, cinnamon and salt in a medium bowl. In another bowl, stir together the radishes, walnuts, coconut and raisins. In a third bowl, beat the sugar and oil together on medium speed of an electric mixer until smooth. Beat in the pear/applesauce and molasses until well combined. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Turn the mixer to low and slowly add the flour mixture. Make sure to mix only until the dry ingredients are combined–don’t overwork the gluten in the flours! Fold in the radish mixture, making sure that all of the components are well distributed.

Pour the batter into the pan and bake for about 50 minutes. I put foil over the top about halfway through because the top had already reached a great color of brown. Insert a toothpick in the center to make sure it’s cooked through–you want it to come out clean, but just barely. Dry bread is no one’s friend.

Let it cool in the pan for about 5-10 minutes, and then carefully remove the cake and cool to room temperature (ha!) before eating.

Family Style

I’ve always been of the belief that summertime meals are the greatest of all seasons. Some may argue for the soul-warming benefits of the hearty stews and braised meats of winter, the sweetly inviting aroma of roasted vegetables in the fall, or the refreshing first salads of spring. I would grant these meals as thoroughly enjoyable, but the best? I think not.

Summer meals have the benefit of vast arrays of colorful fresh produce, and encourage eating in varied abundance. As you already know, in my family, we support colorful eating, and there is no time better than now to have a colorful meal, no place better to eat such a meal than outdoors, and no way better to prepare and eat it than with a bunch of people – family style.

A couple of weeks ago, my parents, brother, sister, and I fixed a taco spread with flank steak, a pepita chimichurri, black and white beans, and grilled local veggies. Another night my parents and I feasted on chilled cucumber soup (the cucumbers picked fresh from the garden), caprese salad, fresh avocado, and bread and cheese. The meal lay somewhere between snacking and dining, an embrace of all things casual and fresh.

Later that week, my aunt, uncle, and cousin roared through, bringing my grandmother into town for a trial stay at an assisted living home. Earlier that day, my mom had stopped at a fruit stand and picked up fresh okra, limas, and lady peas (of all summer vegetables, fresh peas are one of the greatest gifts, especially when they’ve been pre-shucked). I had been itching to try another one of David Tanis’s recipes,* a variation of succotash, using jalapeño butter instead of plain. His recipe called for green beans and zucchini, but I subbed in the limas and okra, and used extremely fresh (and cheap!) local white corn.

My dad threw pork ribs (marinated in Mojo sauce instead of BBQ, for a more subtle and less sticky flavor - you can actually taste the pork!) on the grill, my mom made another caprese salad, and we sliced up some crusty bread. American summer food all the way, baby.

For dessert I baked a raspberry-blueberry galette. I used cornmeal in my crust again – I’m coming to think that even a small addition of cornmeal adds a wonderful crumble to the crust, with just a slightly nuttier taste that helps to balance the sweetness of the berries. My cousin was a huge fan, and fought (and won, mind you) with my dad for the last piece.

For your next summer meal, here is my version of the succotash – use as fresh ingredients as possible! It's the difference between good food and great eats.

Okra Succotash
(loosely adapted from A Platter of Figs … again)

about 3 cups fresh lima beans
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 Vidalia onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
6 ears of corn, shucked, and kernels cut off
about 3 cups okra, washed and then sliced into bite-sized pieces
salt and pepper
½ stick butter, at room temperature
1 jalapeño, minced (use the seeds if you want it spicier, or leave them out)
zest and juice of 1 lime

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, add the lima beans, and gently simmer for about 20 minutes, or until just under al dente (you’ll finish cooking them with the rest of the veggies, so stop when they’re almost-but-not-quite done). Drain and set aside.

Heat the oil in a large, somewhat deep skillet or pot over medium. Add the onion and cook until soft. Add the garlic, corn, okra, and limas. Season with salt and pepper. Turn the heat up to high and cook for a minute or so. Add about a cup of water and cover the pan. Steam the vegetables for about 5-7 minutes, or until they’ve reached your ideal consistency.

Meanwhile mix together the butter, jalapeño, lime juice, and lime zest in a small bowl. When the vegetables are done, mix in the butter and serve right away, or let sit and serve at room temperature, with other summer treats.

*I promise I source my ideas from other places as well. I promise my next post will have something different!!

Three Colors

Sometime when I was in middle school, my mother grew tried of cooking for the family every day of the week. I can imagine that it would get boring after awhile, cooking the same meals over and over, catering to our still undeveloped picky tastes. On top of this, she had decided to go back to work, and it seemed only fair to share the kitchen burden. So one night after dinner, she pulled out the calendar and had each of us (my father, brother, sister, and me) pick one day a week in which we would each cook dinner. Five of us meant that all of the school nights would be covered, and with teenagers in the house, these would be the only realistic nights for a family meal anyway. I can’t remember what my original day was; I’m pretty sure it changed every once in awhile, after quitting gymnastics, beginning dance class, or joining the cross-country team. In any case, I think we were all pretty nervous about the change in meal quality in the beginning. My sister, Sally, was something like eight years old at the time – frozen chicken nuggets and Kraft were her favorite foods. I’m not sure if my brother, Sam, hadn’t cooked much more than nachos. I was enamored of baking and not much else. Not exactly nutritious.

Instead of starving, we started to read cookbooks. My sister learned properly cook pasta. My brother learned to grill. I learned how to chop an onion. In a matter of months, we all had a few recipes under our belt – Sally had taco night, Sam had his own version of gyros, and I had roasted chicken and black beans and rice. As it turns out, we were all naturals in the kitchen, and while not every night was an exciting culinary adventure, we were eating well and getting excited about food.

From the beginning my mother had set some ground rules.

Well, actually, it was one rule: every meal must have three colors. Shades of brown did not count, and neither did artificial colors, like Skittles or M&Ms. For the longest time, I could not understand why she didn’t specify three food groups – I always made my colors match up this way, because the food pyramid seemed to be the epitome of healthy, balanced eating. And I still generally eat at least three food groups at every meal, but not always. The colors are what have really stuck with me.

When I left for college and was forced to eat cafeteria food I learned that there is something about a multicolored meal that is always fulfilling. I believe that our eyes sense a balance in the composition of our meals when they are varied in this way. Multiple food groups are not always so visually stimulating. If you eat a plate of brown vegetable, chicken, and rice mush, you might get your protein, veggie, and starch, but you’re not getting any pleasure out of your food. It’s all the same texture, it’s all the same consistency, it’s all the same color. It’s gross, and it’s boring.

As soon as I moved off-campus and off-board, I started eating three colors again, and was happier and healthier for it. Thanks to my mother’s rules growing up, I knew how to cook, and I knew how to cook well.

In celebration of colorful food, here’s my rendition of David Tanis’s spinach cake, which is actually more like a mousse or a quiche without the crust. It’s a bright green, fluffy, surprise of a dish, filling enough for a light lunch or as an assistant to roasted chicken and strawberries for dinner. The mousse is also the best at room temperature, so make it early in the day and let it sit out until you’re ready to eat.

Spinach Mousse
(adapted from A Platter of Figs)

2 medium leeks, cleaned, and chopped into a small dice
2 tablespoons, or a little less, unsalted butter
salt and pepper
about ¼ teaspoon nutmeg
2 pounds spinach, cleaned and chopped into 1-inch (or so, it’ll be processed) pieces (if you’re using pre-washed spinach, drizzle a little bit of water over it once it’s been cut to help the steaming process)
2 cups milk (the recipe calls for whole, but I used 2% lactose free, and it was great)
6 eggs
about ¼ teaspoon cayenne
Parmigiano (I forgot this, so I ended up eating it cold on the side, and that works too)

Melt the butter in a large pot (use the biggest stock pot you can find, 2 pounds of spinach is a lot!) over medium heat. Add the leeks and season with salt and pepper. Sauté until soft but still green, and definitely not crispy. Turn up the heat, add the nutmeg. Layer the spinach in the pot, alternating with a bit of salt. Push it down and cram it all in there (trust me here; the spinach cooks down fast). Cover tightly and let steam for a minute. Stir the spinach around so the raw pieces on top can get closer to the bottom. Cover again and let steam for about another minute. You don’t want to cook the spinach completely; instead it needs to be just wilted, and still very very green. Turn the entire contents of the pot, including the juices, onto a shallow platter to let cool.

Heat the oven to 400°. Once the spinach is cool, taste and adjust seasonings (this is your last chance to do so, unless you like to eat raw eggs). Mix the eggs and milk together. In a blender or food processor, puree the milk mixture with the spinach mixture in batches. (If you use a food processor, be careful to not overfill. You’ll make a huge mess. Trust me.) Include some of the juices from the pot as well. Add the cayenne.

Pour into a buttered baking dish or a well-seasoned cast iron pan. Grate a bit of cheese on top if you’re using it, and bake for about 45 minutes, uncovered, until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cool completely and serve with at least two other colors.

food shopping/eating in the sun

My friend Janet goes food shopping. At the food store. I used to think that she was so strange, to talk about the grocery store in such a way. The grocery stores of my childhood sell so much more than food–pharmaceuticals, shampoo, dog toys, bank accounts. You can outfit almost your whole life at these stores. And I never shopped in Wal Mart. These stores are the Krogers, the Publixes, the A&Ps, the Whole Foods–the stores for everyone. Grocery stores.

And then I moved to Portland. I learned that you could buy your vegetables from one place, your beans from another, and your meat from still another. It takes longer, and you have to walk farther, but shopping changes. It becomes a scavenger hunt, a quest for the best. It is fun.

It is food shopping.

My favorite food store is the Eastmoreland Market. A few blocks from my house, it is both my last minute, I need flour to bake this cake I already started place, and my 3 in the afternoon, wandering the aisles looking for dinner inspiration place. They stock super local produce, cure their own bacon, and make delicious sandwiches. They import delicious fancy treats from Italy and Spain to hide in my pantry for a particularly cold and rainy day. They sell the best chocolate (raw, 82%, smooth, not sweet, with just the right amount of bitterness). They are tiny, they are family owned, and they are expensive. I usually don’t mind spending the extra two dollars though, to support the owners, and to support myself. Shopping there makes me unfathomably happy.

Earlier this week, I had to defend my senior thesis in front of four of my professors. At Reed, it is tradition that seniors “bribe” their orals board with food, drinks, and gimmicks. Since my thesis was partially about the South, I made pecan pralines (more on the fate of these later) and galettes–one with peaches, and one, just because it was in season, with rhubarb. Of course I made extra dough.

In a celebration of the completion of my thesis, I went to the Market for treats in which to fill the extra dough. Spring has finally come to Portland, and the produce section, across the back wall of the store, was overflowing with green. Spring lettuce, asparagus, and artichokes. Beautiful. I bought some of everything that tasted good (they encourage sampling!), Manchego, and a chocolate bar for later. Walking home, I crafted the galettes in my head…

I spent my afternoon working on these, rolling the dough, caramelizing the onions, standing by the oven savoring the changing smells wafting through the kitchen. Avery came over later and we ate them on my deck, in the much-needed sunshine, with a red-leaf salad.


The first galette – asparagus, blanched and then lined up in rows, sprinkled with sun-dried tomatoes (dry-packed, never in oil!) and the last of my Parmigiano-Reggiano – fell a little flat. I think it needed something creamier; maybe a goat cheese would have been better. It certainly was beautiful though.

The second galette was heaven. I used the cornmeal paté brisée, and filled it with the tiniest golden fingerling potatoes, sliced thinly into rounds, the Manchego layered into the potatoes, and covered with caramelized onions (a mixture of a Walla Walla sweet, a cipollini, and a baby red). Right after it came out of the oven, I scattered on a bunch of gardencress (a newly-discovered delight; Andrew said that it tasted like mushrooms, I found it to be a developed peppery mustard) and let it wilt. I don’t know if I’ve ever made something more delicious. At one creamy and flaky, sweet and bitter, with a whiff of sharpness from the cheese, made even better when eaten outside, with your hands.


Sunshine Galette

½ recipe cornmeal paté brisée (from Martha Stewart)
About 1 ½ cups assorted onions, sliced into very thin half-moons
A large handful fingerling potatoes
About ¼ cup Manchego cheese, grated (mine was young, aged only about 3 months, so it was still somewhat soft)
About ½ to ¾ cup gardencress, or maybe arugula, or another strong-flavored green, washed
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Caramelize the onions slowly over a low flame. This should take around an hour. You want them to be sweet and turning golden brown, but certainly not burnt. Stir every once in awhile to make sure they don’t burn or stick. I cooked them in olive oil, but they would certainly be delicious in butter as well. I never know the best time to salt the onions, so I gave them a generous pinch about halfway through cooking.

While the onions are cooking, wash and slice the potatoes as thinly as possible. I wish I had a mandoline, but I don’t yet (this would make a nice graduation present, hint hint), so I made do with a sharp knife. Salt generously and set aside.

Wash the gardencress, and discard any wilted or brown leaves.

Flour a clean countertop and roll out the crust dough (this should have been sitting in the fridge for a couple of hours chilling, if you’re making it the day-of, but you can make it ahead up to a couple days, as long as its well-wrapped). Since the galette is free-form, the crust can be any shape you want, but make sure that it is nice and thin, somewhere between 1/8- and ¼-inch. Carefully move to a parchment lined baking sheet. Depending on the fragility of the dough, I either fold it in half (if it is nice and strong), and pick it up gently to move it, or I roll it up on the rolling pin, and then unroll it onto the pan (this works better than folding if the dough is especially delicate). Cover the crust and refrigerate until the ingredients are ready.

Heat the oven to about 375°.

Once the onions are cooked, pat the potatoes dry with paper towels, and season them with pepper. Arrange the potatoes on the crust, leaving about an inch of crust on all sides. I did this in two layers, alternating with the cheese, but you should arrange them in whatever way makes you the most excited. Top the potatoes with the onions. I made enough for a generous mound. Gently fold the crust edges up over the potatoes and onions, folding and pressing with your fingers to seal when necessary. This is supposed to look rustic, so don’t worry about uniformity.

Bake the galette for about 20-30 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown and all of the insides are bubbling and golden. The onions on top will get crispy, but this is a good thing. Once it is done, move the pan to a cooling rack and immediately top with the gardencress. Let cool to room temperature before cutting into four pieces. Eat with your hands while sitting outside.