Washington Truffles

Truffles are one of life's great mysteries. Their scent and flavor is nearly indescribable, and the fact that they grow underground (being a species of underground ascomycetes) only further adds to their enigmatic personality. I have been hooked on these tubers since my first intoxicating whiff years ago, and now I seek them out in not only their raw form (once or twice I've found whole, fresh, black truffles at Central Market in Shoreline), but also in the myriad other ways that they can be found: truffle oil, truffle cheese, and truffle honey, yes honey, among a few. It was actually when traveling in Northern Italy that I came across the truffle honey, as a matter of fact. It was in a very "medieval" restaurant in a very "medieval" town (San Gimignano) that we were served this heavenly honey with pears and pecorino for dessert. Amazing. It's fitting that my moist poignant truffle moment came when I was in Europe. For many years, it seems that Europe has claimed ownership of the truffle. In particular, the French region of Perigord is known for its black truffles while the Italian area of Piedmont boasts the best white truffles. (As a side note, it was a 1.5 kilogram specimen of these white Alba truffles that sold for $160,000 last November!)

Recently, however, I have begun to hear about stateside truffles as well. Here in the Northwest, Oregon truffles are probably the most common ones, but apparently the word is out and the hunt is on because they seem to be everywhere suddenly. The Herbfarm restaurant in Woodinville even has an entire "Truffle Treasure" dinner featuring truffles from Oregon, Washington, and B.C. So was I surprised when I saw a basket brimming with the little black fungus recently at the Farmer's Market? Not exactly, but I certainly couldn't pass them up. I saved my last $8 for one ounce of the black gold and headed home, feeling like I'd just found a treasure chest full of loot in my own backyard.

I knew the truffles would be subtle, so I wanted something very simple to complement them, not overpower them. Pasta seemed like the perfect vehicle for enjoying their unique flavor. I decided to make homemade pasta because its texture is so much lighter than the dried, store bought kind. Making pasta from scratch is amazingly simple, assuming of course, that you have a pasta roller (I tried rolling it by hand once, and that was definitely not simple!). The pasta I make consists of only three ingredients, and it results in a remarkably more flavorful and fulfilling final product. So worth the extra effort. Anyway, I doused the cooked pasta with some good olive oil, then added some lightly sauteed shallots and minced garlic to the whole mess. I shaved the truffles as thinly as I possibly could with my knife and sprinkled them on top. The pasta was great but the truffles were just okay. They just sort of left me shrugging my shoulders as if to say "not too bad, but not too great either". They didn't have any of the other worldly qualities that I've grown accustomed to with their European counterparts. They just tasted and smelled earthy, dirty, and well, like a mushroom. Sorry Washington, but for now I guess I'll have to stick with the foreign stuff.

Fresh Pasta Dough

4 ounces semolina flour
4 ounces white A.P. flour
2 eggs at room temperature

Combine both flours together into a bowl. Make a well in the middle, and crack the eggs into the well. Fill one of the half egg shells with water and add that to the eggs as well. Using a fork, whisk the eggs until they are thoroughly beat together, then gradually begin to bring in the flour "walls" from the sides. Continue to work the dough in this way until it all comes together. When it gets too stiff, use your hands to knead the dough gently until it is smooth and uniform. Shape into a disc, cover with plastic wrap and set aside. Follow pasta roller directions for how to roll out the dough.

My Quest for the Perfect Beef Short-Ribs

It was a cold, rainy, miserable day several Saturdays ago when I decided fix all the word's ills by making beef short-ribs for dinner. After all, what other food could be so completely comforting and restorative (for those of us who eat beef, that is)? With its rich, satisfying broth and tender, fall-off-the-bone meat, short ribs make me feel warm just thinking about them! So I procured a packet of ribs from my favorite grass-fed beef supplier at the market (see Happy Cows, October 9), Olsen Farms (their web-site has apparently not been updated to reflect the fact that they have branched out from their original potato-only business), and set off to make a satisfying meal.

After consulting several recipe books, I decided to loosely follow a recipe that called for braising the short-ribs on the stove-top (as opposed to in the oven). The recipe also included dried cherries which I am particularly fond of and I thought might make for a nice contrast to the rich beef. The results of this meal were entirely disappointing. The beef was tough, dry and rather chewy, and the cherries overwhelmed the nice red wine we had picked out to go along with the beef with their tartness and acidity. Disappointed, I was not deterred. Knowing what good short-ribs can be like, I returned to the market the following week determined to make another go of it.

I started first with the beef broth. I bought large marrow "soup" bones from my friends at Olsen Farms, along with another packet of short-ribs. I've made homemade beef stock in the past, but it's always tasted overwhelmingly greasy to me. This time, however, I roasted the beef bones in the oven first which served two purposes. In addition to deepening the overall flavors of the stock through the roasting of the bones, cooking the bones first also releases a ton of their natural oils. After roasting them, I poured off nearly a cup of fat! I was also able to skim off the fat from the stock pot as it simmered, as well as after the stock had been strained and chilled. So although beef bones may be extremely fatty, beef stock doesn't have to be. And while it may sound like an ordeal to make, the actual hands-on time required for making any stock is minimal. As long as you're home for nearly a whole day, little other attention is required on your part. (I've included at the bottom of this post a recipe for making beef stock from scratch. I highly encourage anyone who might be interested to try the homemade version over store-bought beef broth.)

The next thing I decided to change was the way I had braised the short-ribs. Braising refers to slowly cooking any meat in a small amount of liquid, and it can be done either in the oven or on the stove-top, provided that the heat is sufficiently low. When meat is cooked in this way, the tough connective tissues and collagens contained within the meat are broken down and the meat is magically transformed from an inedible hunk of meat into a tender, succulent, delightful dinner. Braising is a method of cooking that has been used for thousands of years, and the two keys to its success are low heat and time. I began to wonder if the stove-top method that I had tried was too hot and too fast. Even though the short-ribs had simmered for nearly two hours, if the heat had been too much for them, then they would have cooked all the way through before any of the collagen had had a chance to melt within the meat, resulting in a dry meat with tough, inedible connective tissues remaining. Sounds just like our dinner!

Armed this time with my vat of homemade beef stock and my oven set to a meager 250 degrees, this batch of short-ribs did not disappoint. Similar to the process of making beef stock, once I got the pan into the oven there was very little attention required on my part. Knowing that these types of braises or stews also do best with a day or two of sitting, I let it cook for about two hours in the oven the first night, and then two nights later when we were ready to eat it I returned it to the oven for another hour (after first bringing it to a boil on the stove-top). Not only did this help to deepen the flavors further, but it also made for an extremely good Tuesday night dinner! Yes, my experiment paid off. The beef was everything I hoped it would be; tender, juicy, and full of hearty, beefy flavor.

Braised Beef Short-Ribs

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 pounds beef short ribs, cut into individual pieces
salt and pepper to taste
1 tsp. whole coriander, crushed or cracked coarsely
1/4 cup flour plus 2 Tbsp.
1 large sweet onion, sliced thinly into rings
4 whole garlic cloves, ends trimmed, smashed and skin on
1 tsp. red pepper flakes (optional)
1 cup dry red wine
1 14.5-oz can stewed tomatoes
4 cups beef stock (for a homemade version, see below)
2 Tbsp. butter, softened
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh thyme
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Heat 1 Tbsp. olive oil in a large Dutch oven or stock pot over medium high heat. Sprinkle the salt, pepper, and crushed coriander over the pieces of short ribs, pressing them into the beef with your hands. Dust the ribs with 1/4 cup of the flour, and rub them some more until the flour and spices are evenly caked onto the ribs. Once the oil in the pan is hot (it moves around very quickly on the bottom of the pan) but not smoking, add the ribs. Cook for about 10 minutes, turning once or twice until evenly browned on all sides. Remove the ribs to a clean plate and reduce the heat to medium.

Add the remaining tablespoon of oil, then add the onions, tossing to coat with the oil. Cover the pan with a lid and allow to cook for about 20 minutes, stirring once or twice. Once the onions begin to soften and turn brown on the bottom, remove the lid and increase the heat to medium high. Continue to cook, stirring more frequently now, until the onions are evenly carmelized throughout. At this point, add the whole garlic cloves and the pepper flakes, and cook, stirring continuously, until the garlic releases its fragrance, about 1-2 minutes. Add the wine and deglaze the pan, scraping the bottom and sides of the pan with the back of a wooden spoon until the wine is reduced by about half. Add the tomatoes, the beef stock, and the browned short ribs. Allow to come to a boil, then cover the pan with a lid and place in the oven. Cook for 2–3 hours.

When the ribs are done, remove the pan from the oven and use tongs to transfer the short rib pieces to a clean plate; cover with foil and set aside. Bring the juices/beef broth to a boil. Add the remaining 2 Tbsp. flour to the 2 Tbsp. softened butter. Using a fork, mash them together to make a paste. When the beef broth has come to a boil, use a whisk to add the butter/flour paste to the broth, whisking continuously until the broth thickens slightly. Reduce the heat the medium low and simmer. Add the chopped thyme and parsley. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

To serve, place desired amount of short ribs into a bowl, and ladle broth over top.

Beef Stock

2 Tbsp. canola oil
About 4 pounds beef bones
2 large sweet onions (about 2 pounds), ends trimmed off, peel left on, and quartered
2 carrots, cut into one-inch pieces
2 celery stalks, cut into one-inch pieces
1 bunch of green onions, green tops only and/or one leek, roots trimmed, split lengthwise, rinsed well, and cut into 2-inch pieces*
2 large thyme sprigs
2 large parsley spring
2 bay leaves
1/4 tsp black peppercorns (whole)
5 whole garlic cloves, ends trimmed, smashed and skin on

Preheat oven to 475 degrees. Place a large roasting pan in the oven to preheat for about 10 minutes. Add about 1 Tbsp. canola oil to the hot pan and swirl the oil around to coat. Add the beef bones and roast for about 1 hour, turning once after about 30 minutes when the bottom side has browned completely.

Remove the bones from the oven and reduce the temperature to 400 degrees. Place the bones in a colander set over a baking sheet to drain (tongs work best for moving these awkward things around). Drain the fat from the pan and add 1 cup of water. Set the pan over medium heat and scrape the bottom to release the pan juices. Continue to cook and scrape until all drippings come off of the sides and the bottom of the pan. Add this fond to a large stock pot.

Transfer the bones to the stockpot and cover with cold water (about 5 quarts). Scrape off any fat that comes to the surface, then bring to a boil, skimming off any fat or impurities that rise to the surface. Simmer for about 3 hours.

Meanwhile, add the onions, carrots, celery, and green onions or leeks to the roasting pan and toss with the remaining tablespoon of oil. Roast for about 30-40 minutes, stirring once, until the vegetables are browned and carmelized. After the stock has simmered for about 3 hours, add the carmelized vegetables, the herbs, garlic, and peppercorns and simmer for another hour. Turn off the heat and allow to rest for at least 15 minutes. Pour the stock through a fine mesh strainer into a large, heat-proof container. If possible, prepare an ice bath (in your sink?) and set the container of stock into the ice bath. Stir both the ice and the stock frequently to cool it down as quickly as possible.

When chilled completely there should be a thin layer of fat on the top that can be easily scraped off. The beef stock can then be used as is or reduced further for a very rich stock.

*This can be a good chance to clean out the veggie bins of your refrigerator. Feel free to use any extra onion tops, etc., that you may have hiding out in your veggie drawer. As long as they are clean and not completely wilted, they’ll only add more depth to the stock. Plus, you can feel good about using things rather than letting them go to waste.

Souffle

Sometimes it's the simple things in life. The crackling fire, sun in the face, a good glass of wine. For me, it was eggs this week. One of the most primitive yet elemental of foods, eggs are often over-looked because of the fact that they are so pervasive and ubiquitous. Eggs are used in things; in cakes, cookies, cornbread. Occasionally they play the starring role on a Sunday morning plate where they are scrambled or neatly arranged in an omelette. Rarely, outside of breakfast, are eggs exploited for their true, hidden talents. They are amazingly versatile, for one. They can add complexity to an Asian noodle dish as well as whip up to great heights for a luscious meringue. Eggs also add needed fat and protein to many foods. Without them, cookies would be hard as rocks and pancakes would taste like paper.

We often take these amazing egg qualities for granted, and perhaps for good reason. The normal, run-of-the-mill grocery store egg is nothing to write home about. While it does have the same general abilities and qualities previously mentioned, on its own it is nothing outstanding. Compared to a "farm" egg, these grocery store wanna-be's are often, thin, flaccid, and lacking in flavor and color. We used to have a few chickens at our house when I was growing up. One of them even laid bright, aqua-green eggs. While I can't profess to remembering the flavor of these green eggs, I do remember that the yolks were a deep, golden orange, unlike anything I had previously encountered. As an adult, the most truly authentic "farm" egg experience I have had came when visiting friends in Olalla, WA who had their own chickens. These eggs too had intensely deep colored yolks and oh, the flavor! Rather than just being a vehicle for other tastes (like butter, bacon, etc.) these eggs were rich with their own "eggness". A truly different experience from store-bought eggs.

After reading Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma (see "Happy Cows, October 9), I have come to realize that just like beef, not all eggs are created equal. Even those claiming to be "cage-free" or "free-range" might not necessarily fit into our ideal of pastured animals roaming peacefully in a field. And in fact, many of the organic, cage-free eggs that I do buy don't end up tasting all that different from traditional grocery store eggs. So I was pleasantly surprised last week when I cracked open an egg that I brought home from the market (see "The Fullness of Fall, October 23) and its yolk nearly glowed with color. Not only that, but they made the most amazing scrambled eggs the next Sunday. The eggs were from Alm Hill Gardens, a farm north of Seattle in Everson which is, apparently, just a few miles from Canada. So what else could I do but go back and buy some more this week? I scooped up the last dozen they had (after only an hour of being open, mind you), bought some local cheese from Appel Farms and headed home to make a souffle.

While souffles may sound intimidating to make, they are really quite simple and fool-proof if you follow a few basic steps. After you've made the basic mix, all you have to do is add any combination of cheese, meats, or other goodies to your liking. The extras can also be frozen, which is what we used to do with our standard chocolate souffles that were always on the menu at the Seattle Golf Club when I worked there as the pastry chef. Just spoon the raw souffle mix into its baking dish, cover, and freeze. To cook, remove the souffles from the freezer about 15 minutes before baking, then bake according to the directions, adding about 5-10 more minutes of cooking time.

Basic Cheese Souffle
Serves 4

2 Tbsp. butter, plus more for coating the ramekins
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
2 Tbsp. flour
3/4 cup milk
salt and cayenne to taste
3 large eggs, separated
1 cup coarsely grated cheese (I used Cumin-Gouda)
1/4 tsp. cream of tartar

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and lightly coat four, 1-cup ramekins with melted butter. Sprinkle about half of the parmesan along the sides of the ramekins.

Over a medium saucepan, melt the butter, then whisk in the flour and cook for about 1 minute, stirring continuously. Whisk in the milk, and continue stirring over low heat until all lumps are gone and the sauce becomes smooth and thick. Remove from the heat and add the salt and cayenne, then the yolks. Let cool slightly then add the cheese.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites at medium speed until frothy, then add the cream of tartar. Increase the speed to high and continue beating until firm peaks form. With a rubber spatula, fold the whites into the yolk mixture. Spoon the souffle mixture into the ramekins, making sure that it is centered and nothing is clinging to the sides. Sprinkle the remaining parmesan on top and bake for about 20 minutes, or until puffed and golden brown. Serve immediately as they deflate incredibly fast.

The Fullness of Fall

This has been one of those weeks that not only reconfirms why it is that I live in this gorgeous part of the country, but also why it is that fall is my favorite season. Although a part of me wants summer to never end, the chilly fall air that signals the fall harvest also reminds me that fall is what it's all about. All of that winter planning, spring anticipation, and painstaking work in the fields is finally realized for a few short weeks in late fall, when the fullness of the harvest is right there, in your face. That's what I encountered at the market this week. Fall, in my face.

For some reason, these late-season crops excite me even more than the peak-of-summer excess of tomatoes, basil, and squash. The gorgeous greens, fungi, and fruit are all so fresh, tempting, and perfect; I am reminded of M.F.K. Fisher who experienced the same sensation in the markets she frequented in Europe. The gluttony of wanting all of this freshness overwhelms you, and you find yourself leaving the market with a basket that is ridiculously full--much more so than you had planned on. While I did manage to keep my purchases this week to a reasonable amount (no small feat, I might add), I was however so enamored with them that I had to show you the entire worth of my riches, so that you too might marvel in all that fall has to offer.

Clockwise, from left to right: the freshest eggs I've had in years, with deep golden-orange yolks, fresh black turtle beans, lovely Washington fresh organic Braeburn apples (so tart and juicy!), red Kale, fresh from the dirt carrots, the most perfect red leaf lettuce ever, a giant Bolete (fresh porcini) mushroom, monster jalapenos, and tomatillos. Oh, and I also bought some frozen Loki salmon which will be perfect with that commie kale.

Rather than throwing all of my treasures together into one "market" meal, I am trying to make it last this week by using bits and pieces every day. Sunday was a good day. We started off with simple, delicious scrambled eggs. Later that day we used the tomatillos, along with some of the chilis and garlic, to make a salsa verde for enchiladas. I also cooked up some of the fresh black beans for this meal and they were remarkably good; "Not dry at all!" was the quote of the day from my husband. I could definitely tell the difference in quality over your standard canned or even dried black beans. The apples have also been a daily treat, and the lettuce has made for delightful salads.

The freshness of fall is of course a mixed blessing. Nothing this fresh can last forever. Soon enough I will show up at the market some Saturday and the brilliant green treasures currently dotting the landscape will be long gone, replaced by monotone potatoes and mealy apples. But for now, it's there, so I will certainly enjoy it.

Bearded Tooth

Every now and then in life you stumble across something that is so bizarre, so grotesque, that you just have to have it. It could be that shell "painting" of the adorable cat or the pea-soup colored chair (yes, that's still sitting in our living room); for me this past weekend it was the Bearded Tooth mushroom. Beautiful in its hideousness, it immediately struck me as something I must have. Nestled there among all of the other delights at my favorite "Found and Foraged Edibles" at the market, even the proprietor was covetous of my purchase when I walked away with my six dollar, six inch beast of a mushroom.

A member of the tooth fungus family, the hericium erinaceus is prized for its edibility when it is very young and fresh. Apparently it turns sour with age. Fortunately mine must have been young and fresh because it was quite tasty and not a bit sour. Soft whitish in color, it was a giant ball of brain-like material; shooting off of the main core there were all sorts of dendrites or branches. These branches are apparently the "beard-like spines" that grow outwards as the root end hangs on for dear life to its host, which is most commonly an oak or other hardwood tree.

Regardless of its growing habits, I was quite happy to come across my new friend. My biggest problem with it was knowing how to clean it. I mushroom-brushed the outside, but that really did no good considering all of the open cavities within the branches for dirt and grit to hide. (As it was, I did get a few gritty bites. I'll have to ask the forager what to do about that next week!) I wanted to keep the meal very simple so as not to overwhelm the star of the night. So, after slicing it finely, I simply sauteed the Bearded Tooth in some olive oil and a touch of garlic. In another pan I cooked some beautiful chard leaves with a shallot and then poured four beaten eggs over the top of the chard and let that cook until it was frittata-like. To serve I merely put the sauteed mushrooms on top of the frittata pieces and there was a lovely weeknight dinner.

And how did it taste, you ask? Quite meaty, with an almost chicken-y taste or quality to it. It also had great texture, not slimy or soft in the least bit but rather firm and fleshy. All in all, a pleasantly bizarre find after all.

Happy Cows

I'm not a political person, but if there was anything that could get me to be political in any way, it would most definitely be food. The book I am reading right now, The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan, is threatening to do just that--turn me into a foodie with a cause! Well, maybe not quite that extreme. I'm certainly not going to be lobbying outside of any capitol buildings anytime soon, but the in-depth look at where our food comes from that Pollan is espousing has definitely heightened my awareness about the foods that we eat. Or rather, is this really food that we're eating? After thinking about all of the processing and synthetic additives that go into some of our more modern "convenient" foods, I'm beginning to wonder.

You may be like me in assuming that beef and most other meats are one of the few "unprocessed" food items left in the grocery store. After all, a cow is a cow, right? Well, wrong. Sure they all look the same, moo, produce milk and a lot of manure, etc., but not all cows are created equal. Pollan's account of his exploits into the industrial world of "Making Meat" truly frightened me. How is it that we turned this peaceful, dopey, ruminant from a grass eater into a depressed grain eater? Cattle are not supposed to eat corn; their digestive systems can't handle it. The other thing they can't handle is swimming in their own shit, which is why they are constantly sick and therefore pumped full of antibiotics and other chemicals. As a veterinarian said at one of these industrial meat factories "Hell, if you gave them lots of grass and space, I wouldn't have a job."

What I've decided after reading this eye-opening book so far is that not only do I want to avoid putting nasty chemicals into my body, but I most certainly don't want to support those who profit from these meat factories. Enter grass-fed beef. Argentina has been doing it for years, and finally a few small farmers here are realizing that letting cows eat what they're supposed to eat is actually a good thing. They don't get sick and therefore they don't need drugs. The cows are happy, the farmers are happy, I'm happy. So you can imagine my extreme delight when I stumbled into the "grass-fed beef" guy at the farmer's market this past Saturday. A small production based in Colville, Washington, he's probably been there all along but I just didn't notice. "Grass-fed" previously meant about the same thing to me as "organic"; a bit healthier and a bit more expensive. This Saturday was different. I was so excited that I quickly scooped up some "spud nuts" (tiny, thumb-nail sized multi-colored potatoes) to go along with my pound of frozen stew meat ($7) and rushed home to make a soul-warming stew. Was the meat all that extraordinarily different? Not necessarily, although a stew may not be the best vehicle for comparing quality of meat. It was, however, noticeably tender and very flavorful. Do I feel better knowing that I'm supporting happy cows? Absolutely.

Grass-Fed Beef Stew

1 large onion, diced
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 lb. beef stew meat, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 Tbsp. flour
1 Tbsp. whole coriander seeds
2 tsp. whole cumin seeds
1 Tbsp. chili powder
Salt and pepper
4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed with the back of a knife
1-2 serranos sliced thinly (if heat is desired)
1 cup red wine
4 cups beef broth
1/2 pound small potatoes (or large ones) cut into 1 inch pieces

1 delicata squash
Salt, pepper, olive oil

Heat 1 Tbsp. olive oil in large pan over medium low heat. Add onion and cook with the lid on for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Once the onions begin to brown slightly around the edges and turn translucent, remove the lid and turn the heat to medium. Continue cooking and stirring frequently until the onions are brown throughout. Remove onions to a place and return the pan to the heat.

While the onions are browning prepare the beef. Using a spice or coffee grinder, grind the whole coriander and cumin. Add the beef to a bowl and toss with the flour, ground spices, chili powder, and salt and pepper until all of the dry ingredients are absorbed by the beef.

After the onions have been removed, heat the remaining olive oil in the pan and add the beef. Cook over high heat without stirring for about 5 minutes. Turn once, and cook until the other side is mostly brown, another 4-5 minutes. At this point the flour mixture and onion goo should be getting nice and gummy on the bottom of the pan. Add the garlic and onions and cook, stirring frequently, for about 1-2 minutes or until you begin to small the garlic and chilies. Add the wine and quickly scrape the bottom and sides of the pan as the wine deglazes that wonderful goo--that's what gives it all of the flavor! Once the bottom of the pan seems mostly clean and the wine has thickened and reduced, add the stock and potatoes. Bring to a boil, then partially cover and simmer over low heat for about an hour, making sure that it is at a very slow simmer throughout.

While the beef is cooking, heat the oven to 350 degrees. Cut the delicata squash in half lengthwise, then scoop out the seeds. Sprinkle both halves with salt, pepper and olive oil and rub it evenly over the fleshy sides. Place the squash flesh-side down on a foil-lined baking sheet and bake for 30-45 minutes or until a fork is easily inserted into the flesh. Once the squash is cool enough to touch, cut the ends off and peel back outer skin with a knife. Then cut the flesh into 1 inch pieces.

To serve, add the squash to the finished soup and enjoy. This stew, as with all stews, is best cooked a day or two before it is enjoyed which makes it the perfect weekend project which can then be enjoyed on a busy weekday!

Cipollini & Fingerlings

I realize that it’s been ages since I last wrote. Eons. Yes I have been eating, but no, I haven’t been going to the Farmer’s Market. I realize that my actions are completely absurd. Why, you are asking yourself, does this crazy person frequent the Farmer’s Market when it’s rainy, cold, and there’s not a green thing in sight, only to forgo its summertime bounty? Chance for one reason, and poor planning for the other. Chance has taken me away from this fare city more Saturdays than I care to count in the past six weeks, and those weekends when I was in the neighborhood, the market was not (honestly, guiltily) top on my agenda for one reason or another. And although I kind of hate to admit this, I think that I actually prefer the market when it is not in full swing. There’s something so hard-core, romantic, elemental, about going out in search of food when it’s not really a nice day to be out at all. That, and the market is really a pain in the summer. Strollers, wanderers, lines, I don’t have the patience for it. What I like are those dreary spring or fall days when it’s just the farmers and me, or so it seems.

While there were certainly more people there than just the farmers and myself this past weekend, my husband and I found time in our crazy Saturday to stop in at Pike Place Market. After a quick lunch of clam chowder at Emmett Watson’s Oyster Bar, we fought our way through the tourists and, once breaking through the mobs, ended up at the peaceful and roomy Sosio’s Produce. (You think I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not. I’ve discovered that at Pike’s nobody thinks to get off the main drag. Everyone hangs out in the center aisleway, all bunched together like the sardines a few stalls down. But just a few steps into one of the “stalls” and you’re alone. Beautiful.) The produce guys here are awesome. They are so blessedly opinionated and passionate about produce.Very New York, as my husband says. The peaches, I’m sad to report, were officially done, but the produce they’ve been replaced with is (almost) as luscious and exciting. Potatoes and onions, among other squash etc. now fills the shelves. No, no, these are not your ordinary potatoes and onions but rather tender and fresh fall treats.

Fingerling potatoes are one of my favorite delicacies, mostly because you rarely find really small, really fresh ones. About thumb-sized, these are actually baby long white potatoes. When cooked they are remarkably “potatoey” in both texture and flavor, as opposed to a dry, flaky russet. Cipollini (pronounced with an Italian ch) onions are also small, which is only one of the many reasons that they pair well with fingerlings. Not true onions at all, these slightly flattened spheres are actually bulbs of the grape hyacinth. They are quite sweet and succulent when cooked, yet retain a slightly tart, bittersweet quality as well. They do require a bit of prep time, but it is so worth it.

Being incredibly fall-like this weekend, the weather provided me the perfect opportunity to pair these two. I decided to make a sort of hunter’s stew or “blorch” as my dad would say. What a perfect excuse to open up an old bottle of wine, sit in front of the fire, and enjoy all the best that the new season has to offer.

Braised Chicken, Cipollini, and Fingerlings
About 1/2 pound cippolini onions
2 links linguica sausage, thinly sliced
1 whole chicken cut into 2 boneless breasts, legs and things (reserve the wings and body for stock or another use)
About 1/2 pound fingerling potatoes, cut in half long-ways
1/2 cup white wine
2 cups chicken stock
1 14-oz can large butter beans (or simmer dried beans slowly until tender, but this takes about 3 hours and a ton of water as they tend to really drink it up)
2 Tbsp. fresh thyme, chopped
Olive oil, salt and pepper

Top prepare onions, bring a sauce pan of water to a boil. Add onions, skins and all, to the water and boil for about 4-5 minutes. Drain and quickly run cold water over them. When cool enough to work with, cut both tip and root ends off, then slide the skin off. It should peel off easily, but if the first layer of onions come off as well, that’s alright.

Heat large saute pan over medium high heat and evenly brown sausage pieces, turning occassionally. Remove sausage to a paper towel-lined plate. Season chicken pieces with salt and pepper and add to the remaining fat in the pan. Without turning, let brown for about 5 minutes, then turn and brown the remaining side. Remove chicken to plate with sausage.

Add about 2 Tbsp. olive oil to the saute pan. Arrange fingerlings flesh-side down in a single layer (as much as possible). Without turning, allow to brown for about 5 minutes, then stir and continue browning for another 5 minutes or so. Add white wine, deglazing brown bits on the bottom of the pan (about 1 minute). Place chicken on top of the potatoes, then cover with broth and onions. Cover and reduce heat to medium low. Braise, turning down the heat if it is bubbling too rapidly, for about 20 minutes. Uncover and add sausage, onions, beans, and thyme. Cover and continue cooking another 10 minutes or until chicken is thoroughly cooked and potatoes are tender when a fork is inserted in them. Season to taste with salt and pepper and enjoy!

Purslane

The market was in full swing last week, overflowing with summer's bounty. I can't resist the beautiful but pricey heirloom tomatoes--so juicy, sweet, and flavorful! Peaches are also a must right now, as are the candy-like Walla Walla sweet onions. This week I bought the young, small ones with the stems still attached, perfect for grilling. But my most thrilling discovery was purslane.

While I may be relatively new to the delights of purslane, others, especially those in Latin America, India, and the Middle East where it grows like a weed, are not. It is actually a type of leafy succulent (portulaca oleracea), and can be eaten in its entirety, stems and all. We ate it raw, just chopped coarsely, but apparently if you cook it as you might spinach it becomes "mucilaginous" which, I'm assuming means a bit thick and perhaps snotty? Whatever the case, many cultures use it profusely in soups and stews, as in the Mexican Verdolagas con Carne de Puerco. In addition to tasting quite good, a bit sour and even salty, purslane is also extremely good for you. It boasts more Omega-3 fatty acids than any other leafy vegetable, and is apparently loaded with good for you antioxidants and vitamins. Summer purslane is what is at the market right now; we fell in love with winter purslane, more commonly known as Miner's lettuce, early on in the spring months. It too is a type of succulent, and Miner's lettuce is also chock-full of healthy stuff; it even made it onto the "perfect foods" list. All I know is that both types of purslane taste terrific and make a deliciously crunchy and uniquely flavorful addition to a salad.

So what did I do with all of this "perfect" food? After thoroughly cleaning and picking through the purslane, I chopped it and splashed it with just a touch of champagne vinegar, my best olive oil, salt and pepper. Then I cut up big, meaty chunks of those gorgeous tomatoes and put them on top. I recently received some "finishing" salts as a gift, so I sprinkled the tomatoes with the coal-black Hawaiian salt, then doused the entire thing with olive oil. The only thing else we needed to round out our meal was those lovely grilled Walla Walla sweet onions and some chicken that had been marinating in herbs and garlic for a good part of the day. Delicious. Simple, but that seems to be a theme around here lately.

Garbanzos

Various things have conspired against my trips to the farmer's market over the past few weeks. Some weeks we were out of town, others we went but didn't have the time to make anything remarkable let alone write about it. And now the latest development, our kitchen remodel, has nearly brought all cooking to a complete halt in our household. I say nearly because we do (thank god!) have a grill and it is summer time. However, our "kitchen" currently consists of a table in the living room piled high with cutting boards, the microwave, and as many useful things as I could fit on it, while the refrigerator sits far away in the other room, the only lonely item in our once functional kitchen. Our "sink" is now the laundry room basin where the dish rack sits next to it on top of the washing machine. In case you're not getting it, I'm trying to paint the picture that our cooking lives are in complete chaos.

However, we are still stuck with the lovely dilemma that the food must go on--we must eat. And while our meals have been reduced to the most basic and simple of grilled foods, there is something wonderfully primal about cooking over fire because you have to. This subtle shift seems to result in food that is so entirely satisfying. At the end of the day when the workmen have gone and the dust has settled, there we are on our back patio, enjoying the small things in life--food, wine, each other.

So garbanzos? you're undoubtedly wondering. Sure, we're all familiar with the regular canned or dried chickpeas, but I found them fresh this past weekend at the farmer's market. A wonderful mess of fresh little pods at the end of their very dry and crispy stems and leaves. A wonderful mess, but a time consuming one as well; first finding all of the pods hidden among the leaves and then removing each little "pea" from its protective jacket was no small task. After all was said and done, my gigantic pile of garbanzo mess turned into a tiny bowl full of bright green chickpeas. It's no wonder that they were considered peasant food in ancient times. Who else would put forth so much effort for such a tiny little morsel?

They were all shelled and ready to eat, so now what? The farmer at the market said that she preferred to eat them raw, but in my opinion they seemed a bit chalky and well, raw. So I decided to blanch them quickly over my fancy propane burner. It took at least 5 if not 10 minutes of boiling before they were tender when poked with a fork. While they were cooking, I cut up one of those remarkably ripe and juicy tomatoes found only in the heat of the summer and slathered it with my very best olive oil, salt and pepper. I then added to the tomatoes some chopped up fresh mozzarella and the cooled chickpeas once they were done. I sprinkled some finely chopped basil on the top and voila! A fresh garbanzo bean summer salad.

After all that work, I'm sorry to report that the fresh chickpea was remarkably similar to its canned counterpart. Perhaps a bit more toothsome and flavorful, but the difference was barely discernible. Still, it was a fun process and a fun find.

Fava Beans

If ever there was a labor of love in the kitchen, surely it must be fava beans. I mean really, this vegetable does not want to be eaten. The long, fuzzy pods are completely inedible unless very immature; mostly the thick pods must be pulled apart to reveal the beans inside which are encased in yet another layer of tough skin. The beans must first be blanched before they will pop out of this outer skin. Only then are they ready to be thrown into a pasta, salad, or just enjoyed by themselves.

When I first brought home some favas years ago, I was blessedly unaware of the work that had to go into them. I shelled them and then cooked them up into something, who knows what now. They were practically inedible--all pasty and chalky. Instead of wondering what I had done wrong, I quickly jumped to the conclusion that favas were just gross (a conclusion which was further supported by viewing Anthony Hopkins' take on them in Silence of the Lambs!). It was sometime later that I stumbled across an article on favas, and realized that we had eaten the entire bean, skin and all. Ah well, live and learn, right. For some reason my husband keeps coming back to the table, despite the fact that I insist on feeding him inedibles.

Lesson learned--shell the favas from both of their intimidating protective layers! I know now that they are not gross, but rather a wonderful, tender example of spring at its prime. I only buy them when I am ready to invest some time in their preparation. While admittedly requiring a lengthy process, I find that I can get lost in the simple motion of popping them out of their skins. Quite Zen.

I decided that I needed a fava salad to go along with the garlic-spear soup. So after getting them down to their ready-to-use state, I simply sauteed up some thinly sliced pancetta (my newest obsession!), then threw a shallot into the left-over fat. After the shallot was nicely browned, I added the favas and then threw in some balsamic vinegar after they were slightly warmed. I tossed the fava/shallot/vinegar with some coarsely chopped spinach, then topped the entire thing with the pancetta and some pine nuts. Splendid.

Garlic spears

I first stumbled upon these rather threatening looking members of the onion family years ago at Pike Place Market. They looked so odd, so I just had to try them. They quickly became a favorite in our household for the fleeting few weeks that is their season in late May/early June. Mostly, my husband and I just grill them dressed with nothing more than olive oil, salt and pepper. Their grassy, asparagusy crunch is always a delight and one which marks spring's true entrance for me. The real garlic flavor comes when you bite into the beautiful flower/bulb like tops. It is almost like a whole roasted garlic clove encased within a tender green envelope. Soft without being mushy, garlicy without being overpowering, garlic spears are one of my "perfect" vegetables.

Garlic spears are actually the immature shoots of the elephant garlic plant. The farmer apparently cuts off the top 12-14 inches of the plant above ground (at the expense of the head of elephant garlic below, I wonder?). I have occasionally found these garlic spears at my local supermarket, so I don't consider them to be too rare. However, I was pleasantly surprised this week when I discovered "garlic tops" at the farmers market. These too, are the tops of the garlic plant, but because these come from just your regular garlic variety rather than the elephant kind, their tops are scaled down as well. The ones I found were a beautiful mess of slender, dark green stalks which curved into tremendous loop-de-loops at the top. They also had a flower bulb near the tip, but it was so immature and small that it was barely even noticeable.

What to do with all of this garlic goodness? Well, it was (what do you know) another dreary Saturday here in Seattle. As the weather didn't warrant firing up the grill which is my first instinct with garlic spears, I chopped them all up and made a soup. It was wonderful. Thickened slightly with some potatoes, the subtle garlic flavor was just enough to be noticeable while still allowing the other grassy undertones of the garlic spears to shine as well. For this soup I had two bunches of the thin garlic tops and one bunch of the thicker garlic spears. I chopped up every part of the smaller tops but saved the beautiful, flower-like tips of the garlic spears and used them as a garnish in the soup.

Garlic-Spear Potato Soup (serves 3-4)

1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 large, sweet onion, thinly sliced into discs
1/4 cup vermouth
4 cups (about) vegetable broth
2 medium-sized Yukon potatoes, peeled and quartered
2-3 bunches garlic spears, stems cut into 1 inch pieces and tops reserved
1 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 cup half and half
1 Tbsp. fresh thyme
salt and pepper

Heat oil in a medium-sized sauce pan over medium-low heat. Add onion discs and cover pan with a lid. Continue to cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for about 20 minutes, or until bottoms of onions begin to brown and onions appear soft and cooked through. Take off lid at this point and increase heat to medium. Stir the onions frequently until evenly browned and all of their liquid has evaporated.

Once the onions are evenly caramelized, add the vermouth to de-glaze the pan (stir constantly until all the little brown bits have come off the bottom). Add the broth and potatoes, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, partially cover, and simmer for about 15 minutes. Then add the garlic spears and simmer for another 30 minutes or until all vegetables are very tender. (Add more broth or water to the soup during this process if it does not seem to have enough liquid. There should be enough liquid to fully cover the potatoes.)

For garlic spear tops, preheat oven to 350. Toss tops with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and salt and pepper. Cook for 10-15 minutes or until the bulbs are soft and the tips are slightly charred or crunchy. Set aside.

Puree the soup until smooth, then return to low heat. Add half and half, thyme, and more broth (if necessary) until desired consistency is attained. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

After ladling soup into bowls, arrange garlic spears in the center of the bowls, garnishing with fresh flowers or more fresh thyme if desired.

Quilcene Clams

Quilcene Clams with Chorizo

1 link chorizo, cut into 1/4 inch pieces
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 medium-sized sweet onions (like Vidalia or Walla Walla), minced
2 cloves minced garlic
1 medium tomato, chopped
1 lb. clams
1/2 cup white wine

Preheat saute pan over medium high heat. Add chorizo and cook, stirring occassionally, until browned on all sides (about 10 minutes). Remove from pan and use a paper towel to wipe up excess grease.

Turn heat in saute pan down to medium and add olive oil. Add onions and stir until coated with oil. Cover with a lid and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring occassionally, allowing released steam to cook the onions. When onions begin to brown slightly at the edges, remove the lid and turn the heat up to medium high. Continue to stir and cook until onions are nicely browned on all sides and their released liquids have evaporated (about 10 more minutes).

Add garlic, tomato, clams and wine. Cover with a lid and cook until all of the clams have opened and their juices have created that irresistible brothy-goodness (about 5 minutes).

Sea beans

Classic Seattle June weather this weekend. 58 and raining--what a perfect day for the market! Despite the dreary drizzle, I was not alone in my persistence. The market was bustling with people and vendors alike, decked out in our Seattle parkas or hiding underneath temporary tarp roofs. Apparently there is sun somewhere, because the beautiful produce displayed obviously needs more than just water to do its magic.

This week's treasures included a flat of amazingly sweet yet tart strawberries, more of our favorite Miner's Lettuce, and the newcomer, sea beans! Also known as samphire, salicornia, and glasswort, sea beans are not beans at all, but they are common along both the Atlantic and the Pacific coasts. Although it has found relative obscurity in modern times, samphire apparently has had its day in the limelight throughout history. It went through a big pickling craze in England at one point, and the Greeks and the Romans also mention "steaming it lightly to be used as a vegetable." The 2-3 inch long "leaves" look more like green twigs, and the 1/2 pound that I bought from my favorite guy at "Found and Foraged" appeared to be an intimidating, spindly mess. Although the advice I got at the market was to blanch it and then serve it with or as a salad, after a bite of the raw sea beans I decided to forgo the whole cooking thing and just try it raw. The tender green shoots were wonderfully crispy and crunchy. When first biting into it, I tasted a slight grassy sweetness which was suddenly followed by a bright burst of salt. Unlike anything I've ever had before, it seemed to just call out for some asian-fishy thing. So that's what I did. Below you'll find the recipe for the sea beans, which I served with grilled black cod (also slathered with Trader Joes' Miso Mesquite sauce) and rice.

Asian-Inspired Sea Bean Salad

2 bell peppers, one red and one orange
1/4 cup Trader Joe’s Miso Mesquite sauce
1/4 cup rice vinegar
2 Tbsp. sesame oil
1 bunch chopped green onions, white parts only
1/2 lb. sea bean

Grill or broil peppers until blackened on all sides. Sweat inside a plastic bag for at least 10 minutes, then peel and remove stems and seeds. Cut into thin, julienned strips and set aside.

Combine sauce ingredients in the bottom of a large bowl. Thoroughly wash sea beans and add to bowl, along with peppers. Toss all ingredients together and allow to sit for at least 10 minutes before serving (do not salt!).