Farmer's Market Forays

The Final Chapter: From Farmer's Market to Farmer

2009-08-06T08:38:00.000-07:00

As the sporadic nature of my recent posts over the past few months might indicate, I have been on to other things. For this reason and many others, this will be the final post of Farmer's Market Forays. As ironic and backwards as it may be, I find that every summer I go to the market much more infrequently than I do the rest of the year. The primary reason for this is that I am trying to keep up with the produce flowing from my own backyard! It was, in fact, my love for gardening and all things farm related that led me out to Rice, Washington last week where I spent four nights and five amazing days living and working on a farm.The Quillisascut Farm School for the Domestic Arts is the official name of the program I, and 13 other students, participated in. Owned by Lora Lea and Rick Misterly, the farm is an amazing example of truly sustainable living. This buzz word, "sustainable", doesn't have much meaning when you hear it tossed around in an urban setting like Seattle. How can we truly "sustain" all of these homes, chemicals, and cars? But on the farm, the full implications of the word were apparent. On one hand, sustainable means that the people can sustain themselves by eating products procured nearly exclusively off of the farm. But it also means that the farm could continue to produce indefinitely because the land and the animals are treated with the utmost respect. Seeing this practice in place, this unique way of living and eating, is what had the biggest impact on me. But first, a few highlights from farm school.

Goats
Life at the farm seems to revolve around the goats. They provide us with milk, cheese, and meat, and, like everything at the farm, they are treated with the greatest respect. Our first morning schedule read "5:45 am: Butcher goat". Welcome to the farm, indeed. Rick had already killed the five month old billy goat, and we stood around in an eerie silence observing as he methodically and meticulously proceeded to take off its suit of skin and then remove all of the organs, etc. It was fascinating work, and not the least bit gory. After the butchered goat hung in the walk-in for a few days, we learned how to break it down into all of the various cuts of meat that you might find on your plate. Again, fascinating.

Milking was a challenge, to be sure. It's one of those things that you have to do over and over again before you get the feel of it. I was pretty disheartened at first when Lora Lea had two full buckets of milk in the time that it took me to get 1/4 of an inch at the bottom of my bucket, but I finally started to get the feel on my last goat.

Lora Lea taught us how to make four different kinds of cheese with the goats' milk: a "farmhouse" style (similar in texture to a feta), a soft chevre, ricotta, and fresh mozzarella. I absolutely loved the patience and magical science that is involved in turning milk into decadent cheese. We used the fresh mozzarella on our pizzas one night, and they also sent us home with two packages of the cheeses we had made.

Food
Life on the farm is all about food. 24-7, all of our energies are in some way going towards either the harvesting of or the production of food. And with 15 people working towards a common goal, you can be sure that we ate well! Always in use was their gorgeous stone oven. With an oven on one side and an open grill on the other side, this was used to bake bread, cook pizzas, and grill meats. The bread we baked was a true artisan type, with a pre-ferment the first night and a long slow rise the next day. Oh, for an oven like that in my backyard!

Our typical protein of chicken, goat, or lamb was always supplemented by the freshest of fresh vegetables and herbs from their garden (which we worked in on occasion). We also harvested huckleberries and learned all about the honeybees who lived in hives on their property. Citrus fruits would never grow at that latitude, so the acid of lemons was replaced by fresh verjus from their grape vines. All food preparation was led by the amazing chef Karen, who taught us endless ways to be creative with what you have in the kitchen. We were divided into "teams" and put in charge of the various meals. This kind of meal planning started with first looking into what was available, and then discussing what to do with it. This approach makes such perfect sense but is unfortunately in sharp contrast to the-start with a recipe then hunt for out of season ingredients- approach that us city dwellers often rely on. As an example of the food we ate on the farm, the lunch team that I was on put together a bread salad (to use up left over bread ends) with tomatoes, arugula, and other herbs, a fresh fava bean-white bean soup, and an apricot tart with fresh ricotta. I also ate some new things, including beef heart and goats kidney and I learned that eating on the farm is all about using everything. Speaking of, in addition to preserving food by canning (we made apricot jam), we also learned about making sausage and how to use the mysterious caul fat.

I truly felt that my experience at the Quillisascut Farm was all about getting back to "the way it used to be" or perhaps "the way it should be", depending on who you're talking to. Life is simple and unhurried on the farm. It forces you to slow down and appreciate what you already have, rather than always racing to get what you don't have. The products that come off of a farm like this are unbelievably good. So good, in fact, that it almost doesn't seem right to lump a Quillisascut chicken and a McDonald's hamburger both into the food category.

But farming and the farm life isn't for everyone. So lucky for us that those farmers are willing to travel great distances to share it with us at Farmer's Markets! And so I will continue to shop there frequently, and I will continue to harvest vegetables from my small urban plot, as I encourage you to do as well. And once I get an extra freezer, I will also be buying larger hunks of meat from farms like Quillisascut so that I don't have to rely on those silly shrink-wrapped things they sell at the grocery store. So for now, eat well, shop wisely, and enjoy what you already have. Thanks for your support!

Spring Garlic

2009-05-31T17:25:00.000-07:00

Spring garlic, sometimes referred to as fresh garlic, is nothing more than the immature, baby garlic plant. Its stalk is extremely tall and lanky, its bulb small and tender. This bulb, if left in the ground, would eventually develop into individual, pungent cloves of garlic with a thick skin surrounding it all. But for a fleeting few weeks in the spring, the garlic plant is entirely edible, bulb, stalk, and all. For some reason, I've never noticed spring garlic before. In years past, we've thoroughly enjoyed garlic spears during this time of the year, but they are nowhere to be found this year. Magically replaced with spring garlic, instead!

We've had spring garlic a few times now, but the only way we've cooked it is on the grill. For those of you who have grilled any type of sweet salad onion before, the result is very similar. All they require is a sprinkle of salt and pepper and a quick rub of olive oil before grilling slow and low until thoroughly tender throughout. To eat, I just put the entire bulb end into my mouth, bite down and pull out all of the delicious garlic. They taste absolutely amazing! Even up into the green stalk, the soft, tender inside tastes like sweet, roasted garlic. It's the perfect partner to anything else you might be grilling, as it is not overwhelmingly garlicy at all. But spring is almost over, so go grab some while you can!

Knotweed

2009-05-06T20:14:00.000-07:00

It is a beautiful time of year at the market right now. Brimming with tulips, voluptuous lettuces, and new growth of all kinds, it is a welcome change from our previous dark months. The excitement is palpable; summer is coming! On a recent trip there, I loaded up on some of the usuals like eggs, kale, and goat cheese before stumbling into this oddity, Knotweed at Foraged and Found Edi bles. I was told that it was similar to celery, but hollow. At $4 a pound, how could I pass it up?Knotweed, more commonly known as Japanese knotweed, is literally a weed. It is in fact an invasive species in areas where it grows, and most of the literature about it has to do with how to get rid of it. It was the Japanese who decided to eat it to control its aggressive tendencies, but it is only worth eating for a few short weeks in the spring when it is short (6 inches tall or so) and tender. After that, it apparently more closely resembles bamboo, both in appearance and texture. Knotweed is hollow and has small nodes and leaves along the length of its shaft. The leaves are not edible and should be removed before eating. Knotweed is a member of the same family as sorrel, buckwheat and rhubarb.

It turns out that a pound was, well, too much knotweed. Yes, it is somewhat similar to celery but it is also incredibly tart, the kind of tart that makes your face get all knotted up. Maybe that's why it's called knotweed??! Imagine eating a stick of raw rhubarb as you would a piece of celery. That is knotweed. Well, with a bit more "weedy", dirty flavor. Knowing that rhubarb is great with a ton of sugar, I decided to treat it as I would rhubarb after our first use as a Bloody Mary stir stick proved to be too offensive for a Sunday morning. So I threw some into a pie with some strawberries and a bunch of sugar. The pie was delicious when eating the strawberries but the bites with knotweed just tasted like dirt. I'm sure the knotweed added to the overall texture and depth of flavor of the pie, but I guess there's a reason you don't find any knotweed pies at your local bakery; they would have to call it dirt-weed pie. Fortunately, it didn't ruin the rest of the fruit. I want to say that it would make a good chutney due to all of the acidity but I'm not willing to spend half of my Sunday making jars of something that may end up tasting like dirt.

Sunflower Greens

2009-04-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

I have a new favorite food—sunflower greens. They are exactly what they sound like, the green, first-growth of the sunflower plant. To be even more specific, these greens are grown by first soaking the unhulled sunflower seeds in water before planting them in soil. After about eight days, and before the second set of leaves emerge, they are tall enough to harvest. That's it. It sounds simple, but the results are remarkable.

At first glance, the sunflower greens reminded me a little of Miner's lettuce or purslane, as both bear a slight resemblance to succulent plants. Both have thick (edible) stems which are light green in color, and darker green leaves on the top. But the differences ended there. The sunflower greens actually tasted thick; in fact, I could have measured the thickness of the leaves had a ruler been handy. They were remarkably toothsome and substantial for just some measly greens. They almost reminded me of crisp peanuts when I was chewing them, oddly enough. And their flavor? Sunflower oil and spinach. I definitely felt like I was eating something green and good for me, but without the heavy roughage texture that some "health food" contains.

It turns out that in addition to tasting wonderful, sunflower greens are extremely good for you. That green "spinach" flavor I tasted? Chlorophyll, which apparently does good things for humans as well as plants. They are also loaded with vitamins such as A, B-complex, D, E, and a slew of minerals. But the biggest surprise for me was the amount of protein that these greens contain. Sunflower greens have just slightly less protein than an equivalent amount of chicken meat. Vegans take note—eat your sunflower greens!

Gingered Carrot Leek Soup

2009-03-23T18:30:00.000-07:00

An oversized bag of carrots from Nash's Organic Produce and these beautiful mini leeks were the inspiration for last night's dinner, Gingered Carrot Leek Soup. I'd had the carrots for a few weeks now and well, they needed to go. The leeks looked just like green onions, but their taste and smell revealed that they truly were leeks. I made sure to gently saute them in a little bit of butter and olive oil to soften and sweeten them without cooking away their springy, fresh flavor.

I must admit that since the days at my grandma's table long ago, I have never been a fan of cooked carrots. Is it their mushy texture or the completely different "cooked" taste they take on that resembles nothing whatsoever the flavor of a fresh, raw carrot? Afraid of revisiting these food memories, I tried to spice the soup up with some ginger. I added "ginger juice" by squeezing the pulp of grated ginger to extract its very essence. Spicy? no. But it sure added a wonderful element of flavor to what turned out to be an absolutely delicious soup. No "cooked carrot-ness" at all.

Gingered Carrot Leek Soup
2 bunches mini leeks, sliced thinly
1 Tbsp. butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 cup white wine
4 cups vegetable (or chicken) stock
About 1 1/2 pounds carrots
1 large piece (about 4 ounces) fresh ginger
1 cup low-fat milk
1/4 cup cream

2 Tbsp. plain yogurt
1 Tbsp. grated ginger
salt and pepper to taste

Heat large stock pan over medium-low heat. Add olive oil and butter. Add sliced leeks and cover pan cover with a lid. Gently saute for about 10-15 minutes, stirring every 5 minutes or so, until the leeks soften and the edges begin to brown. Increase the heat to medium high and de-glaze the pan with about 1/4 cup of the wine, scraping until all brown bits come up. Add remaining wine, stock, carrots, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until carrots are tender when poked with a fork, about 30-40 minutes.

For the ginger juice, peel the large piece of ginger and grate into a (double-thickness) piece of cheesecloth set over a small bowl. Gather all of the grated ginger together in the cheesecloth and squeeze until no liquid remains.

Remove pan from heat. Using a hand-blender, puree the carrots until smooth (alternatively, blend in batches in a blender). Return the pan to low heat and add the milk, cream, and ginger juice. Add more milk or water if too thick. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

For garnish, combine the yogurt, grated ginger, salt and pepper. Drape over the soup and serve!

River Valley Ranch Feta

2009-03-15T20:56:00.000-07:00

This feta from River Valley Ranch Cheese was SO good, and so unlike the regular feta you get at the store. It actually tasted like it came from milk, with loads of flavor and lots of wonderful acidity and tang. I've bought their aged cheeses in the past, with their perfectly semi-soft interiors. But perhaps it was my desire for something young and fresh that drew me to the little tubs of fresh feta cheese. Well, that and I was looking for something to sprinkle on top of the freshly foraged Miner's lettuce from Foraged and Found Edibles! I was so excited to see this harbinger of spring and its tender green shoots. We've enjoyed its later season cousin purslane in summers past, but Miner's lettuce seems especially precious in this cold and nasty spring we are having so far. How anything can grow in this rain and snow, I don't know. But grow it does, with all of the vitamins and antioxidants that we are craving at this time of the year. And yes, the feta sprinkled on top was the icing on the cake.

So there are some signs of spring, from the sunny daffodils to the fresh feta and the green, green Miner's lettuce growing on forest floors. Cheers to that!

The Same Old Kale and Potatoes

2009-03-08T17:43:00.000-07:00

I am so ready for spring and all of the color that has been lacking from the market for months now. Berries, lettuce, tomatoes, herbs — I could go on and on about the things that I am looking forward to. But instead it's March and there I was at the market last week with nothing but meat, cheese, and the same old kale and potatoes. The most exciting things I found were these Russian Banana fingerlings; exciting because of their name, but it turns out that they're not all that special after all. They are apparently easy to grow and quite prolific, making them a friend of the farmer. Their yellow skin and banana shape are undoubtedly where the "banana" part of their name comes from while the "Russian" connection is due to the fact that they originated in the Baltic area. They are said to be a waxy, moist potato, but we found them to be more on the starchy side. To prepare the Russian Banana fingerlings, I halved them lengthwise then browned them in duck fat on the stove top before roasting them in the oven. They were not as crispy as I had hoped, but still an excellent potato overall.

Winter sucks, but at least there's always kale and potatoes.

Geoduck

2009-01-26T10:02:00.000-08:00

Without a doubt, the geoduck (pronounced gooey-duck) is the oddest looking creature I have ever eaten. It is essentially a giant clam, but its extremely long (and phallic) siphon makes it look more like something you would expect to see on B-rated horror movie than on your dinner plate. And the 2-pound specimen I bought from Taylor Shellfish Farms was not cheap either. At $12 a pound, you pay for its rarity. Taylor's Shellfish farms the geoduck, but according to him, most of his inventory is sold in Japan where it undoubtedly fetches an even higher price tag. I've seen the geoduck at his stand at the market a few times before, but I finally got up the nerve this weekend to tackle the task.

The most daunting part of eating a geoduck is preparing it. Following the directions of the expert I bought the geoduck from, here is what I did:

After blanching the entire clam in boiling water for about one minute, I ran it under cold water, then pulled off the outer membrane of the siphon.

The siphon was then ready to be cut off and sliced for sashimi.

To get to the meat inside of the clam, I first ran a small knife around the outside of the shell,

then pulled out the meat until the (quite obvious) innards came apart from the flesh.

To prepare the clam meat, I cut it into small hunks (after first making sure to rinse off any sand) and sauteed it quickly with green onions and oyster mushrooms. I was told not to overcook it, to be careful as you would with a scallop, so I put the geoduck in after the mushrooms were mostly done cooking and let it saute for only about 3 minutes or so. Not wanting to overwhelm its flavor in any way, I finished it off with a tablespoon of butter and a light sprinkling of salt and pepper. We served the geoduck, both cooked and sashimi, with some rice and baby bok choy from the market.

The concensus? Surprisingly good. Something about the exoticness of the geoduck made it seem like it was going to be difficult to stomach. I was just coming off of the flu when I prepared this, so granted, it probably wasn't the best timing to be trying something out of the ordinary. But, not only was it not scary to eat, it was actually quite delicious. My biggest complaint was with the sashimi-ed siphon, which I didn't cut nearly thin enough. In hindsight, I should have sliced it into paper-thin pieces instead of chunky rounds. Because of this, the sashimi was my least favorite part. It was very briny, like an overly briny oyster, and a bit too crunchy. A dip in soy sauce helped to mellow out the flavor, but unfortunately we were out of wasabi, which was sorely lacking. The cooked clam, on the other hand, was a delight. The meat was interesting, as some pieces were more like a chewy clam in texture and others were almost buttery-tender. Granted, my sickness-dulled taste buds couldn't detect much in the way of unique flavor, but it did almost seem to be a cross between chicken and clam. It was certainly more of a texture thing, with most of the flavor coming from the mushrooms and butter.

While I had success with the clam meat, I feel like I need to give the siphon another chance. That, and I'd like to have the benefit of all of my taste buds! So for those reasons, the geoduck is certainly something I will try again in the future.

Mangalitsa Fat

2009-01-03T20:00:00.000-08:00

Remember last year when I paid a bunch of money to try the new and improved pork, mangalitsa? Well, knowing that the fat from the mangalitsa was the most prized part of this pig, I saved the copious amounts that cooked off of my roast by putting tablespoon-sized lumps of the chilled, solidified fat in the freezer. I've used the fat throughout the year, whenever I remember it mostly. But the other night my final tablespoon of mangalitsa fat transformed an ordinary chicken thigh into an extraordinary meal. I made sure that the chicken was very dry, then doused it liberally with salt and pepper. The fat was heated until it was almost smoking, then I browned the chicken on each side for about 5 minutes before tenting the pan with foil and putting it in the oven. I cooked it at 375° for about 15 minutes, flipping it once. I can't explain how the fat made the chicken taste so delicious, but it was just, well, extremely tasty. The fat had created a crispy and succulent crust on the outside (even despite the fact that it was skinless), while the meat inside was juicy, tender, and dripping with flavor. The chicken was just your average grocery store bird, so maybe all of their claims about this miraculous fat are right? Who would have thought that something we take for granted every day, simple fat, could be so significant and transformative. So save your fat!

Celeriac

2008-12-18T14:44:00.000-08:00

While living in France as a sixteen year-old exchange student, I quickly grew to crave all of the fresh vegetables I had come to take for granted as a part of my California upbringing. Fresh leafy greens, silky avocados, the crunch of a raw carrot—these are good, fresh foods, right? France has good food of course, but where were the vegetables? The closest thing I ever got to a green vegetable on my plate was the knobby, ugly, celeriac. By the time it made it to the dinner table, the celeriac had been cooked to near oblivion, so that it in no way resembled a vegetable. It probably was boiled and then mashed before being served on my plate alongside the usual slab of beef. I have since come to appreciate celeriac and I was excited to try my hand at preparing it when I saw it at them market last week.

Celeriac is the gnarly base of a plant that is specifically cultivated for its root. Thus, try as they might, the green tops of the celeriac plant would never grow up to be the celery stalks we are used to. I’m not sure why, but this underground cousin of the traditional “American” celery has never caught on here. Once you trim off the tops and cut away its thick skin, the flesh is creamy white. Its flavor is less assertive than green celery stalks, with just a slight celery-parsley flavor.

Celeriac can be eaten raw or cooked. To eat it raw, the trimmed root should be grated or sliced thinly before being tossed in a salad, for example. Cooked, celeriac can be boiled, roasted, braised, sautéed, or puréed. I found a great recipe idea for roasting celeriac with apples to go alongside a roasted chicken in Aliza Green’s book Starting with Ingredients. The combination of the sweet apples and spicy celeriac, complimented by the delicious apple-cider reduction sauce, was fantastic. The following is an adaptation of her recipe.

Roasted Chicken, Celeriac and Apples with Apple Cider Glaze
Serves 6

2 cups apple cider
2 cups chicken stock
2 sprigs thyme
½ cup chopped onion
2 bay leaves
1 tsp. peppercorns
1 tsp. coriander seeds
1 tsp. fennel seeds

Combine all ingredients in a small sauce-pan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium low and simmer gently for about 15 minutes, or until the liquid is slightly syrupy and reduced to about 2 cups. Strain and reserve.

1 large celeriac, trimmed, peeled and cut into wedges
2 large Fuji apples, peeled, cored and cut into wedges
juice of 1 lemon
2 small shallots, thinly sliced

Cook celery root for 2 minutes in boiling, salted water. Drain and reserve. Toss apple wedges with lemon juice then add the blanched celeriac and shallots.

Preheat oven to 425°. Rinse and pat dry a whole chicken. Cut in half and place in a large roasting dish. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and fresh, chopped rosemary. Top with about 2 tablespoons of olive oil then rub it into the chicken. Scatter the apple-celeriac mixture on top of the chicken and roast for about 45-60 minutes, turning once. Served on top of polenta/ potatoes/rice with the warmed sauce drizzled on top.

Goat Sausage

2008-12-14T17:05:00.000-08:00

I've heard of sausage made from pork, beef, or chicken, but goat? What an ingenious idea! The creative folks at Toboton Creek Ranch have done just that, turned their healthy goat meat into a most delicious sausage. Since grilling the sausages wan't an option, I instead browned them on the stove top, then finished the cooking in the oven. We were very impressed with the flavor of the sausage. Definitely distinct and unlike any other meat in flavor. The sausages were also juicy, tender and redolent with spice.

It was a full-on farmer's market meal. To go along with the sausage, we had roasted spud nuts from Olsen Farms and sauteed red kale from Nash's Organic Produce. The final result wasn't very photogenic, but it sure was delicious!

One Great Meal and One I'd Like to Forget

2008-11-23T11:24:00.000-08:00

While we've certainly had more than one great meal since I last wrote (which I do apologize for not keeping up to date lately!) one market-inspired dinner in particular stands out. It featured almost exclusively products from Olsen Farms (save for the lovely bunch of kale from my new favorite $1 kale lady)–one giant bone-in leg of lamb and some beautiful "red fingerling" potatoes. I seared the lamb, carmelized a bunch of onions and garlic, then covered it all with some wine and stock and left it to braise in a low (300°) oven for several hours. The fingerlings were sliced horizontally in half (they had a gorgeous pinkish flesh) then tossed with some garlic, rosemary, salt, pepper, and olive oil. I roasted them at 400° for about 30 minutes, then added the kale which had been blanched and sliced. The lamb cooking liquid was cooked down to create a succulent sauce for both the potatoes and the meat. Talk about a hearty and satisfying meal! The lamb was tender and packed with flavor, while the texture of the fingerlings was unlike any potato I'd ever had; firm yet tender, neither waxy nor mushy. Truly a memorable meal, thanks to such quality ingredients.

Now for the awful experience. Despite being previously unimpressed with Washington Black Truffles, I was nonetheless lured into buying some recently from Foraged and Found Edibles. I bought two of the little black nuggets, one of which I shaved over some fresh pasta for dinner one night. It was fine, but nothing stellar. Mostly, it just tasted like dirt without any of the truffle flavor that I love about the European ones. The second truffle I shaved over the leftover pasta to have for lunch later in the week.

So it was a day or two later when my husband and I both heated up our respective pastas while at work. When I pulled mine out of the microwave, I immediately noticed that something didn't smell right. Not only that, but the pasta had turned nearly black in color. Thinking that was quite odd, I took a bite, albeit with some trepidation. The taste was way off, more like something from the sewer than the yummy pasta I was looking forward to. But it was all I had to eat, it'll be fine, right? So I took another bite. This time my mouth started to feel a bit tingly, so I wisely put down my fork after about the third bite and just threw the rest of it away. Within five minutes I knew I was going to be sick. It was that fast. I felt awful, and the worst thing was that the nasty smell of my nasty lunch kept lingering, making me feel even worse. I made it home before becoming horribly sick for the rest of the evening. My husband had nearly the exact same experience, except for the fact that he had to leave work early because he was so sick. Unfortunately, we both ate lunch around the same time, so neither one of us could have warned the other.

I love Foraged and Found Edibles, and I so appreciate that I can buy wild things that most people may never even try. Growing up with a father who foragered mushrooms, I also understand the risks involved in eating wild things. After doing tons of online research and trying to talk to the owner of Foraged and Found Edibles (who was predictably quite defensive), I have come up with a possible theory on what made us so sick. I don't think it was the mushroom itself that was "bad" or poisonous, but perhaps there was some bacteria on the outside that remained after I brushed it off. Maybe it was growing in some dirt that was harboring bacteria? Who knows. What I do know is that while I will continue to buy wild and foraged things, I am done with Washington Black Truffles.

Sea Breeze Farm Chicken

2008-10-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

What a rough week. Not only was I sick with no time to be sick, but even worse, we had bad chicken. I had picked up the bird from the lovely folks at Sea Breeze Farms (whose raw milk I have really enjoyed in the past). Since I last wrote about them, they have upgraded to an enormous refrigerator case with a glass front at their stand. It is brimming with all sorts of meats, milks, and eggs. Having never tried any of their poultry, I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of price. I anticipated it would be more than a grocery store chicken, but not that much more! My scrawny little bird, which couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds, came to $23! Okay, I was thinking, you've got to try everything once, right? And, I was convinced that I was taking home a truly special bird. Sure it may be small, but a chicken raised in a completely organic, free-range, old-fashioned sort of way must taste phenomenal, like the "truly chickeny" chicken that Julia Child always raved about, right?

My mistake I guess. I chose a very French style treatment for my bird, with lots of herbs, butter, and lemon. I roasted it until it was just barely pink next to the bone, then let it sit under some foil to allow the juices to set. It smelled delicious, but on first bite I could tell it wasn't what I was hoping for. The flavor was just like your average chicken. The meat itself was a far cry from the tender and juicy bird I had been anticipating; it was tough and chewy, with some pieces being downright inedible. What went wrong? Did I just get a particularly ornery, hardy bird? Was it too old (although the farmer did tell me that it was only eight weeks old)? Is it that free-range style chickens are too lean? I don't have the answer, but at the same time I certainly don't want to discourage anyone from supporting our local farmers. I guess every now and then, you're bound to get burned. Too bad this experiment left us with so many dirty dishes.

Bluebird Grain Farms

2008-09-22T19:46:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons to go to the farmer's market, chief among them the beautiful produce you find there grown by local farmers. Add to that the products that you can't normally buy at most stores, and I'm there. Bluebird Grain Farms falls into this latter category; while you can find their flour and grain products at local PCC stores, they are not readily available elsewhere. Apparently the rest of the world has yet to catch onto the incredible versatility, flavor, and nutrition benefits of these wheat alternatives. Although Bluebird Grain Farms does sell some common grain products such as wheat and rye, I know them more for their Emmer flour.

I used to refer to this grain as farro, but I learned recently from the helpful staff at the Bluebird Grain Farms stand that the word farro actually means "grain". Emmer is a type of grain or farro. That being said, many places use the terms Emmer and farro interchangeably, most notably in Italy where it is quite common, and with good reason. It is really good — more substantial than your standard white flour (and undoubtedly significantly better for you) without any of that dry or "healthy" taste sometimes associated with whole wheat baked goods. I have used it in cookies, quick breads, and this time, crepes.

I would highly recommend making these crepes. They are super simple and fast, and can be filled with anything you want, savory or sweet. Our apple-leek filling worked perfectly with the slight nuttiness of the Emmer in the crepes (and it paired extraordinarily well with a chilled Prosecco!). So find yourself some grains and get cooking!

Emmer Crepes — Combine 3 eggs, 2/3 cup Emmer flour, 1 cup whole milk, and 1/4 tsp. salt in a blender. Whirl until all ingredients are combined. If time allows, let sit for 30 minutes or an hour at room temperature, then whirl again in the blender before using.

To make crepes, heat an 8-inch skillet over medium high heat. Add about 1/2 Tablespoon of butter and swirl until melted. Use one hand to tip the pan while pouring about 1/4 cup of batter into the pan with the other hand, swirling constantly until the batter is evenly distributed. Cook for about 1-2 minutes, flip with a spatula, then put your choice of filling along the center of the crepe while it is still in the pan. Fold the sides in onto the middle, then slide the ready crepe out of the pan and onto a plate.

Cranberry Beans

2008-09-16T20:02:00.000-07:00

I am a huge fan of beans of any variety, so when I see fresh ones, I am sold instantly. In this case I was drawn towards these fresh cranberry beans largely because of their beautiful coloring. The pod and beans both have this incredible marbled look that is quite striking. Unfortunately, the beans don't maintain their color when cooked; I'm still trying to work on that one.

Cranberry beans are a variety of shell beans, meaning that they must be shelled before being cooked. Even though this can be a bit tedious, I thoroughly enjoy the process of shelling beans. Find a sunny spot, put a cocktail beside you, and this otherwise monotonous task becomes a relaxing meditation. Once shelled, the beans must be boiled in water. Mine took about 20 minutes until they were tender when poked with a fork. The beans should be strained when done, then they are ready to use in anyway and in anything you wish. Since we still had a plethora of tomatoes and basil, I combined the above ingredients with the cooked cranberry beans, added some salt, pepper, garlic, and our best olive oil to make a delicious side dish.

The fresh cranberry beans had a wonderful flavor, almost nutty. They were a bit on the dry side however. I'm not sure if this is typical of cranberry beans or if it was caused by another factor (older beans? over or under cooked?). Regardless, they were a fun new way to get our daily dose of fiber.

Artichokes

2008-09-08T20:03:00.000-07:00

You know that there was someone who was the first person ever to eat an artichoke. In the history of humankind, in the stats of the universe, who is first on the list? Who would have thought that that prickly and hostile plant was actually edible, not to mention tender and delicious when prepared properly? Whoever it was, they lived a long time ago because people have been eating this relative of the thistle forever now. There is some work required to get to the part that is actually worth eating, however. The first time I tried to prepare small, whole artichokes in their entirety (as opposed to pulling off individual leaves like you might with the larger globe artichokes), I ignorantly thought I could just cook the whole thing and end up with something good. Instead, I ended up with a mouthful of fibrous prickles.

So, if you want to avoid the whole fibrous prickle thing in your mouth, the following steps might be of help to you if you are in the market for eating, and enjoying, artichokes.

1. Select several small (about 3-4 inches tall, including stem) artichokes. Prepare a large bowl of cold acidulated water by adding the juice of one lemon or 2 Tablespoons of white vinegar into the bowl.
2. With a sharp knife, cut off the top 1/2 inch or so of the artichoke "flower". Next, use your fingers to snap off the outer leaves. Continue turning the artichoke and snapping off leaves until you get down to the very light green-yellow leaves. You will also notice that they are much more tender.
3. Use a peeler to peel off the rough ends where the leaves used to be attached to the stem, peeling off the skin of the upper 1/2 inch of the stem as well. Cut off the stem below this peeled area.
4. You should be left with a significantly smaller product than your original artichoke. Place it immediately into the acidulated water to prevent it from browning. Keep it submerged in the water until you are ready to cook it.

At this point, the artichoke should be ready to use in any number of ways. I decided to boil them first (for about 10 minutes, or until tender), then I drained them and sliced them in half. At this point you will also need to use a spoon or a small knife to scrape out the somewhat hairy fibers from the middle. Next, I heated some olive oil and butter (about 1 Tablespoon of each) in a skillet and let it heat until most of the milk solids from the butter (that foamy white stuff) had disappeared. When that was hot enough I gently placed the artichoke halves in flat side down and let them cook undisturbed for about 5 minutes. When they were beginning to brown nicely on that side, I added a bunch of thinly sliced garlic, then flipped the artichokes and cooked it a few minutes more, adding white wine at the end to deglaze.

We had also carmelized a big onion on the grill, so I chopped that up and served it with the artichoke over the wonderful cedar plank cooked Loki salmon. There were just a few bites of the artichoke that were still a little tough, but mostly it was tender and full of sweet, acidic flavor. Yes, it was work getting to the good part but it's the kind of work I happen to like.

Chilies

2008-09-01T20:54:00.000-07:00

Needless to say, these beauties came from the east side of the mountains, Royal City, Washington, to be exact, where it has not been soggy and sunless for the past few weeks. The Tonnemakers Farm booth was brimming with hot weather crops recently, including peaches, nectarines, and impressive mounds of chilies. Not only did they have most of them categorized into mild, sweet, or hot, but many of the signs even included their often creative monikers.

From top to bottom, you are looking at two "mild" Mariatchi chilies, two"sweet" Godfathers chilies, and the small ones on the end came from the "Very Hot" bin. Should I be worried?

My favorite way of enjoying most chilies requires roasting them first. If the grill is going, we will char them over the coals. But in light of our recent sorry-excuse-for-August weather, these chilies went into the oven, under the broiler. I put them directly on the oven rack, fairly close to the broiler element. I also left the oven door ajar just a tad so that the heat would stay on continually. When charring chilies this way, the smell of burning chili flesh will usually remind you that they are in the oven. Don't panic; they're supposed to burn. I prefer to use tongs to turn them until they are nicely blackened on all sides, then slide them into a plastic bag where they will "sweat". The longer they can cool down in this bag, the better. But it probably takes at least 15 minutes of sweating before the skins will just slide right off.

After they were out of their skins we set up a taste test. Here are the results.

Left: "Sweet" Godfathers--fruity, good medium spice
These would be great stuffed or even used for chile rellenos.

Middle: "Mild" Mariatchi--no spice, grassy, and a bit fibrous
Good for salads, soups, or in a quesadilla.

Right: "Very Hot"--fruity (citrus flavors?), smokey, definitely hot
Good for anything you want to add spice to.

I then proceeded to cut off the ends, scrape out the seeds, and chop all of the chilies up to create a salsa for our grilled flank steak. The thing I loved the most about this salsa? The chilies retained so much flavor even though they had spice. The spice was certainly there, but it didn't overwhelm any of the food. I could taste the grassy, fruity nuances that we picked up on in the taste test and I enjoyed every bite!

Blackberry Jam

2008-08-18T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure which epitomizes summer more for me, blackberries or peaches. Both fruits are treats I look forward to all year long, so I suppose it's fitting that in my recent dive into the world of canning foods, I first canned peaches, then blackberry jam.

My first-hand experience with blackberries came at an early age, when I annually harvested bowls and bowls full of the succulent fruit in Northern California where I lived. There, and in every other place I've ever lived, these aggressive Himalayan blackberries grow wild anywhere there is dirt. When freshly harvested and sun-warm, these berries are incredibly sweet and intensely flavorful. I do have a few meager bushes I like to pick from in August in Seattle, but they hardly produce enough to make anything substantial out of. Sure, I could do some more intensive and deliberate urban foraging, but why not just forage at my local farmer's market?

So it was that I bought a half-flat of blackberries (technically marionberries, a type of blackberry) from a farmer last week. They were on their way out as far as ripeness goes (some beginning to mold) and as a result they were on sale for $12.00. I knew I wanted to make jam, so on my way home I went to the store and bought this very old-fashioned looking thickening agent which is made exclusively from citrus extract. It contained two packets, one powder to create a calcium water which activates the other packet of pectin powder. I followed the simple directions that came with the pectin and ended up with an amazing product. The consistency was perfect, cloying without being too thick, and the flavor was intensely summer blackberry. Here's what I did:

Blackberry Jam
Yields just over 4, 1-pint jars of jam

Wash 5, 1-pint Mason jars and their lids and rings. Sterilize in boiling water and keep warm in the water. Wash well a half-flat of blackberries. Put berries into a large pan and add 1/4 cup lemon juice and 2 teaspoons calcium water. In a separate bowl, combine 1 cup sugar and 2 teaspoons pectin powder. Bring berries to a boil, then whisk in the sugar mixture, stirring constantly for about 1-2 minutes until the all sugar and powder is dissolved. Remove from heat.

Fill jars to 1/4 inch from the top. Carefully wipe the rims with a damp towel, then screw on the lids and put the jars in a large pan. Cover with water and bring to a boil; boil for 10 minutes. Remove the jars from water and allow to cool on a towel. Make sure the jars are sealed by checking the lids which should be sucked down and not give at all. The extra jam (my batch made about 4 and a half jars) we put in the fridge to eat now.

Goat Cheese

2008-08-11T10:22:00.000-07:00

I have become addicted to this goat cheese. It is from Port Madison Farms on Bainbridge Island and their many varieties of fresh chevre seem to disappear within hours after arriving at home. We have tried their chevre coated in truffle-salt, crusted with peppercorns, and most recently, infused with herbes de Provence. All are delicious. At $6 a log, the Port Madison stand is one of the first I go to every week at the market now.

Most weeks, we enjoy this cheese in its simplest preparation, smeared on a piece of crusty bread. Every now and then I have enough left over to add to an omelette on Sunday morning which, I might add, is superb. But I decided to actually cook with it this week, to find some way to take advantage of its rich flavor and bright acidity. I immediately thought of a recipe for Goat Cheese Naan that I've had for years now. I can't remember where I first found it, but it is a baking powder dough that is quite simple to make. In addition to goat cheese, it also calls for plain yogurt. If I had really been thinking, I would also have bought the goat cheese yogurt from Port Madison, since I continually hear good things about that. So, I guess you'll have to learn from my mistakes and load up on both cheese and yogurt next time you go to the market. You won't regret it.

Goat Cheese Naan
Makes 4 naan

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbsp. plain yogurt
1/4 cup goat cheese

Sift first 3 ingredients into a bowl. Mix in yogurt and cheese. Knead until smooth and elastic, about 5-10 minutes. Form into a ball and return to the bowl; cover with a clean kitchen towel.
Let the dough rest for about 2 hours (the dough will not rise).

Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and divide into four equal parts. Alow the dough to rest for a few minutes more, then roll or pat each ball into a 6-8 inch round.

Heat a skillet over medium-high heat. Add about 1 tablespoon of olive oil, then one round of bread. Cook about 3-5 minutes per side, or until browned. Remove to a packet of tin foil to keep warm and sprinkle with salt if desired. Repeat with remaining bread.

Cabbage

2008-08-06T11:06:00.000-07:00

I decided recently that the humble cabbage is too often overlooked. After one bite of a traditional American coleslaw in which the poor cabbage is drowned in a sugary, mayonnaisey concoction, it's little wonder that most Americans don't think too highly of this member of the Brassicaceae family. Yet in many other cultures, raw cabbage is allowed to shine in its own right with maybe just a light dressing to highlight its characteristic crunch. This type of treatment is exactly what came to mind when I saw these adorable baby cabbages at the market. An Asian slaw, perhaps?

Seeing as how we actually had some hot, hot weather yesterday, an Asian slaw was exactly what sounded good for dinner to go along with our Thai grilled chicken and sticky rice. To make the dressing for the slaw, I put the juice of one lime, 3 tablespoons of nam pla, 2 cloves of chopped garlic, 3 finely chopped serrano peppers, and about 2 tablespoons of finely grated ginger into a large bowl. After washing the outside of the cabbage heads well, I sliced them as thinly as I possibly could, then added this to the bowl and tossed it very well with the dressing in the bowl. I let that sit for about 30 minutes, then added some chopped, fresh basil, mint, and cilantro before serving. Delicious! So please, give cabbage a second chance!

Drunken Woman Lettuce

2008-07-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

Can you believe the size of this lettuce? Yes, it really is just one head of lettuce. One head of beautiful, voluptuous, Drunken Woman lettuce that was so large it could barely fit into the bag. It came from Let Us Farm, a farm (with no web-site that I can find) in Oakville, WA specializing mostly in unique and interesting lettuce varieties. I have to admit that I was first drawn in by the name, but upon closer inspection I started noticing the perfect crispness of the leaves and the impressive symmetry of the way each leaf seemed to unfurl in a continuous circle. The two dollars I spent on this head of lettuce yielded the equivalent of about four "regular" heads that you might find at the grocery store. This steal of a deal gave further evidence to support some interesting stats I read recently about how it is actually less expensive to shop at farmer's markets than at a grocery store. (Open up the pdf at this link to get the full scoop.)

So, we have a lot of salads to eat this week. Last night we tried the Drunken Woman with some Romesco vinaigrette and a bit of blue cheese and toasted hazelnuts sprinkled on top. When torn apart, the leaves of the Drunken Woman appeared to look similar to a common red leaf lettuce, but there was no mistaking its superiority once I took a bite. It had much more substance and crispness, the perfect vehicle for any number of vinaigrettes or toppings. Who knew lettuce could be so inspiring?

Squash Blossoms

2008-07-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

We first ate the delicate flor de calabaza, or squash blossoms, years ago in Mexico where they were tucked between two tortillas in the ubiquitous quesadilla. While they have been an integral part of many "ethnic" cuisines for years now, squash blossoms are only fairly recently becoming quite trendy in the states. I would like to think that this is due to the rise in farmer's markets and the increasing availability of a previously uncommon product. Or, perhaps it's because farmers finally got tired of having so much zucchini come August! Whatever the reason, I was delighted to find a basket brimming with squash blossoms while at the market this past weekend. They offered both the plain flowers (the "males") as well as the flowers with the baby squash still attached (the "females"). (It turns out that only the female flowers have "babies". The male fruit of the squash plant flowers and then fades away after its pollinating job is done.) I eagerly filled up my bag with some of each, and headed home to consult my recipes.

In Mexican cooking, the squash flower is used in a myriad of ways. Besides being thinly sliced and used as a vegetable in soups or quesadillas among other things, the blossoms are often stuffed with some sort of filling and either baked or fried. It Italy where they are also quite prolific, the squash blossom is stuffed and then usually battered and deep-fried. In fact, most of the recipes I found were for stuffing and frying. Not only do I not have the equipment or the desire to deep-fry in my kitchen, but my whole goal here was to actually taste this delicate flower, not cover it up with a bunch of cheese and deep-fried flavor. So frying was out, but stuffing was definitely in. Being in the Mexican frame of mind, I continued down that path and decided on stuffing them with a mixture of masa (corn flour) and goat cheese before baking them in the oven.

While many recipes use a cheese-only filling, my hope was that the masa would thicken the filling enough (while still remaining soft) so that it could stand up to the longer baking time required to cook the baby squash completely. So rather than being the star, the goat cheese (also from the market) was instead there to lend a bit of richness and bright acidity to the filling. I also added some toasted and very coarsely crushed pine nuts, chopped oregano, and a splash of cream. As the flowers themselves are extremely fragile, I used a pastry bag to pipe the filling into the center of each one before coating the outsides in olive oil, salt and pepper and then baking them. The results? Even better than expected! The subtle flavor of the corn from the masa really seemed to compliment the earthiness of the squash, and the filling was gentle enough not to overwhelm the flowers. Although the blossoms themselves didn't have a very distinct flavor, their crispy tips and soft and silky texture certainly did stand out. And, it was a very fun meal to cook and eat. I guess next year I ought to plant more zucchini in my garden, if only to harvest their lovely flowers!

Masa-Goat Cheese Stuffed Squash Blossoms
This recipe makes enough filling to stuff approximately ten flowers.

Gently clean squash blossoms by rinsing off any of the baby squash under water. Do not get the flowers wet, but instead brush off any dirt and open them carefully to remove the pistil inside.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

For the filling, saute one small, minced shallot for about a minute in olive oil. Add 1/2 cup of beer and let come to a boil. Stir it for about one minute while the beer foams and the alcohol cooks off, then add 1/2 cup of water. Once it boils again, whisk in 1/4 cup masa harina. Cook over low heat while stirring constantly for another few minutes or until all of the lumps are gone and the mixture is thick. Add more water to thin if it becomes too thick. Remove from the heat and add several tablespoons of goat cheese, then stir to melt slightly. Add 2 tbsp. each of toasted and coarsely crushed pine nuts, chopped oregano (or other herb) and cream. The filling should be close to the consistency of cookie dough.

Use a small spoon or a pastry bag to scoop or pipe the filling evenly into each prepared flower. Place flowers on a baking pan, sprinkle with olive oil, salt and pepper, then toss carefully to coat. Bake for approximately 30-40 minutes or until the squash is tender when poked with a fork.

Tsoi Tsim

2008-05-28T20:38:00.001-07:00

One of many "mystery" greens I've discovered lately, Tsoi Tsim is apparently a Vietnamese name for this Asian green. I can't find any information about it, nor does the farmer know anything other than the very basics. Tsoi Tsim is only about six inches tall, stems and all, and the small, oval leaves are tender and sweet. The texture of the leaves reminds me slightly of arugula or baby spinach, the main difference being that Tsoi Tsim produces much better results when exposed to heat; when either blanched, sauteed, or steamed, it maintains its beautiful, bright green color and hardly wilts at all in comparison to other similar greens. The stems also are very tender and completely edible. I chopped off only about two inches from the bottom before wahing the greens thoroughly and then coarsely chopping the rest.

My first attempt with Tsoi Tsim was a stir-fry. Quickly sauteed like this they were the perfect addition to the mushrooms, tofu, and other Asian-inspired ingredients that made their way into my pan. My curiosity still not sated, I hunted down another bunch at the market the following week. Whether it's because I know it's an Asian green or because it truly does lend itself well to that cuisine I'll never know, but the Asian meal that I made this time was a simple soup, my take on pho, I suppose. After bringing some homemade chicken stock to a boil, I added some frozen gyoza, a few shrimp and the washed and chopped Tsoi Tsim. While the soup simmered for a few minutes, I flavored it with oyster sauce and nam pla. We of course self-applied hot sauce at the table. The soup was amazingly delicious, especially considering that the whole thing took about ten minutes. The greens floated delicately on top and their flavor and texture was subtle but distinct. Tsoi Tsim is a sweet, tender, and undoubtedly very healthy green that is not slimy, bitter, or fibrous in any way. I would whole-heartedly recommend adding to your repetoire, should you be so lucky to come across it!

Celery-Potato Salad

2008-05-19T20:31:00.001-07:00

Wow. It's been a rough month. An awful illness knocked out our household for a few weeks, then BAM! We were shocked out of the cold drizzle by this crazy-intense heat wave that rocked the west coast. Saturday was way too hot for Seattle in May. But no matter, I was more than happy to be at the market, outside, soaking it all up. My heat therapy, I call it. The summer weather also got me in the mood for gardening, so while at the market I bought four different varieties of tomato starts for the garden, plus two kinds of basil and a purple-leafed plant called chiso (apparently with an allspice/clove flavor that goes well in salads--who knew?).

As far as local produce goes, it's kind of a weird time right now in the Pacific Northwest. The summer plants are still too young to be producing, and we're all sick of the winter staples. The only thing that really called out to me was the beautiful young stalks of celery. They called them "celeriac", but that was most certainly a misnomer. Celeriac is the root of the celery plant, and these were quite obviously the tops of the young celery plant. In fact, they were mostly leaves with a few young, tender stems tying them all together. So don't ask why, but after my celery purchase I somehow jumped to potato salad! Yes, to go with the grilled ribs and mint juleps! What better way to eat our way through a 90 degree day? So I found some beautiful red potatoes (which also had a purplish-hued flesh) and turned everything into a potato salad. I even made my own mayonnaise from scratch for the very first time. I've always been afraid of it (is there really that much oil in it?), but Julia coached me through. It was extremely easy, with the aid of my Cuisinart, and oh so worth it. The olive oil that I used was the star, and it complimented the subtle potatoes and crunchy celery perfectly. A satisfying end to a beautiful day.

Cabbage Tops

2008-05-04T09:42:00.000-07:00

While hardly a catchy or romantic name, "cabbage tops" seems to be the best descriptor of this leafy green vegetable that I can find. "Cabbage tops" is what the farmer was marketing them as, but I have since also seen them referred to as "cabbage rapini". The problem is that I can't find any reference to any form of this usage of the cabbage plant. Rapini is usually associated with broccoli, and broccoli raab/rabe/rapini are known for having tall, slender stalks with dark leaves and scattered clusters of tiny buds or flowers. The entire plant--stems, leaves, and flowers--can be eaten. My "cabbage tops" looked very similar to broccoli rapini. It turns out that cabbage and broccoli are both members of the Brassica oleracea family, so the similarity would make sense. I am still confused, however, about whether these "cabbage tops" are really tops of a cabbage plant or a separate thing altogether, as the broccoli rapini plant is. I guess I have something to talk to the farmer about next week!

Just like broccoli rapini, the farmer told me to eat every part of the plant, stems, flowers, and all. The particular bunch I bought was from a red cabbage variety, thus their beautiful dark purple hue. After washing them thoroughly, I trimmed the stems and chopped up the whole bunch to put into an Asian noodle dish, along with some red bell peppers and mushrooms. The flavor of the cabbage tops was obscured somewhat by the intensity of the soy sauce and other sauce ingredients, but I could detect a slight bitterness that helped to add depth to the noodles. The texture also was very appealing, with the crispness of the stems contrasting nicely with the leafy greens. Turns out that the mysterious "cabbage tops" are worth looking into!

Cabbage-Top Noodles

In a small bowl, combine together 1/4 cup rice vinegar, 1/4 cup low-sodium soy sauce, 1 tsp. sugar, 2 Tbsp. lime juice, 2 Tbsp. nam pla, 1 clove minced garlic, and as many minced thai chilies as you can handle (we recommend 4)!

Cook your choice of Asian noodles according to package directions (I used Marco Polo Chinese Style Noodles, a wheat noodle variety).

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat and add 2 Tbsp. of peanut oil. When hot, add 1 bunch of green onions, white parts only (finely chop some of the green tops for garnish). Saute until soft and beginning to brown, then add 2 thinly sliced portabella tops (or other mushrooms of your choosing). Once mushrooms begin to brown and have lost most of their moisture, add chopped cabbage tops and one thinly sliced red bell pepper. Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Add 1/4 cup rice wine to the pan, then quickly cover with a lid. Allow to steam for about 5 minutes or until vegetables are cooked thoroughly.

Toss cooked noodles together with the sauce and the vegetables. Garnish with green onions.

Verpa

2008-04-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

I have been eagerly anticipating the arrival of morels at the market this spring. As they are one of my favorite mushrooms, I was quite excited when I rounded the corner and saw a big basket of what I thought were these early spring delicacies at Foraged and Found Edibles.
"Morels!" I exclaimed.
"No, those are verpa" the guy said.
"They look just like morels" I replied.
"Not to me they don't. To me it's like the difference between broccoli and cauliflower."
As I began to pick through the basket and gather up a small stash of these mystery morel-wanna-be's, a woman came up and I overheard nearly the exact conversation that I had just had with the mushroom expert only moments ago. So, at least I wasn't the only one; it's always more comforting to know that your ignorance is shared with someone else.

Upon closer inspection at home, I could tell the difference between the verpa bohemica (also known as Early Morel) and a true morel. Right off it was apparent that the verpa had a much higher water content as they appeared more moist and fungus-y looking than the usually dry morel. This was also confirmed by the mushroom expert who had told me to cook them for a long time in order to cook off all of the water. Another difference was that the stem, while being hollow just like a morel stem, was totally separate from the pine cone like cap. It attached at the very top and came out quite easily when pulled apart. I realize that my observations are hardly scientific or precise, but it's interesting to note how two things which appear to be so similar at first glance can really be quite different upon further inspection. A good reason to leave things such as this up to the experts.

After consulting my mushroom "bible" All That the Rain Promises and More... by David Arora (check out the awesome cover) I found yet another reason to let someone else pick mushrooms for me. Not only does Mr. Arora say that verpa are not recommended to eat, he also says that they can be poisonous if eaten in large amounts! While some might see this as a reason not to eat these mushrooms at all, I on the other hand, was excited that I could try something that I would never otherwise have tried on my own. Having faith in your mushroom expert is a very good thing.

As with nearly all mushrooms, I find that the simplest preparation is the best. I first cleaned the verpa very well, discarding the stems, and then chopped them coarsely. I heated a little butter in a pan, then sauteed the mushrooms until the water had evaporated and it looked like they had dried out a bit. After flavoring them with salt, pepper, and fresh thyme, they made the perfect filling for an omelette. I am glad to report, as you might have guessed, that we were not poisoned. In fact, they were quite lovely. Not moist or slimy at all, just simple and earthy. A good replacement to hold me over until the true morels are truly ready.

Fiddlehead Ferns

2008-04-08T10:03:00.000-07:00

While perhaps not as scary or threatening as the stinging nettles reported on a few weeks ago, Fiddlehead ferns are certainly not your average vegetable. They really do come from ferns, copious amounts of which blanket the forests and parks here in the Pacific Northwest. The fiddlehead part refers to the tightly wound coil of the young fern shoots. There is about a two week window in the spring where this new growth is tender enough to eat, just before it unfurls into the common fern frond. It is at this point when the Fiddlehead ferns can be harvested for consumption (by professionals, of course), as they were by one of my favorite purveyors, Foraged and Found Edibles.

Wanting the ferns to maintain their crisp texture, I knew that cooking them for a long period of time was certainly out of the question. We first started by rinsing them thoroughly and then trimming off the bottom of the stem ends. As we already had the grill fired up, I decided to give them the simple treatment of olive oil, salt and pepper before putting them into a "grilling skillet" (just a pan with holes in it so that you can grill small things without losing them). Once they were mostly tender when poked with a fork, we pulled them and served them alongside a delicious pork chop and some grilled bread.

At first bite, this unusual vegetable struck me as tasting very similar to asparagus, or perhaps a cross between an asparagus and a green bean. But then the bitterness came. I don't think I cooked them long enough. They still tasted mostly raw, and their texture was closer to celery than that of a perfectly cooked asparagus. So I will attribute the bitter aftertaste to user error, not an inherent flaw of the fiddlehead. Next time I try them, I'll perhaps blanch them for a minute or two before grilling or sauteeing them. So if you're ever in the market for a whimsical-looking side dish, hopefully you can learn from my mistakes and try your own hand at the Fiddlehead ferns!

"Real" Milk

2008-03-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

Since my trip to France when I was 16, I haven’t been much of a milk drinker. Prior to that trip, I loved milk and would guzzle it down by the glassful with any meal. But in France, the milk was, well, different—warm, thick, a bit off-tasting. I guess it kind of tempered my enthusiasm for the drink, especially when served “straight up." But even though I now prefer a glass of red wine with my dinner and soy in my coffee, there sure is nothing that quite beats a glass of cold milk with something gooey and chocolatey. Mmmm… brownies.

So, the raw milk that I bought at the market from Sea Breeze Farms turned out to be a perfect excuse to make rich, decadent, brownies! Raw milk is something I’ve been curious about for awhile now, but my knowledge about it was fairly limited. I knew that it was unpasteurized milk and that consequently the health risks were much greater than with pasteurized milk. But when I recently read an article in Seattle M agazine about a local producer of raw milk, it suddenly made so much sense to me to drink “real” milk. Like all other things American, our government has spent the past several decades trying to protect us from our own stupidity, our own carelessness. People drank milk straight from cows for centuries, and suffered no ills. But suddenly dairy farms got big, farmers got sloppy, and people got sick.

However, smart dairy farming is back. Some farmers are now taking better care of their cows and more precautions with their processing methods. As a result, many small dairy operations, such as Sea Breeze Farms, are now selling "real" milk once again. Raw milk costs quite a bit more than its pasteurized counterpart because the licensing requirements are apparently extremely rigid and require lots of expensive equipment for cooling and cleaning. But if you're someone like me who only drinks milk in their coffee or with the occasional brownie, the overall cost is nominal. With that in mind however, the flavor and quality of the milk did not blow me away. I guess I expected it to taste different from the normal grocery store variety, somehow thicker and richer. It wasn't. The consistency was the same and I could only detect a slight richness in the flavor when I really looked for it, and what uniqueness there was certainly didn't stand up to the chocolate. However, despite the similarities in taste, I know that by buying "real" milk I am supporting not only one farmer, but also an entire philosophy of raising animals. For that reason, I will continue to buy my one small carton of raw milk every so often. Well, that and it goes well with brownies.

Cherry-Chunk Fudge Brownies

1/2 cup (1 stick) plus 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
5 oz. bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
2/3 cup flour
1 1/2 Tbsp. cocoa powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
3 large eggs
2 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/3 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup dried cherries

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease an 8-inch square baking pan.
Melt the chocolate and butter together over a double boiler or in the microwave, using low heat and stirring frequently. Set aside to cool.

In a small bowl, stir together the flour, cocoa powder, and salt. Mix both sugars into the melted chocolate mixture. Whisk in the eggs, then add the vanilla. Add the flour mixture to the chocolate and stir until just combined; add the chocolate chips and cherries, then turn out the batter into the prepared pan.

Bake for about 30-35 minutes, or until the center feels firm and a toothpick inserted into the sides comes out clean (the center should still be moist). Allow to cool completely before serving.

(This recipe is adapted from Nancy Baggett's book The All-American Cookie Book.)

Stinging Nettles

2008-03-25T18:17:00.000-07:00

Do you see them? Do you see the little hairs that sting you with their acid? I first encountered these little buggers when we had recently moved to the Northwest. Playing disc golf one day, I ignorantly waltzed into the dense shrubbery in my shorts to find my Frisbee. Suddenly I felt like there were biting ants attacking me, burning up and down my legs. They didn't have these nasty plants in California where I had grown up! Old folklore says to rub the fronds of a neighboring fern on the nettle "bites" to quiet the burn, but whatever it was, the sting eventually faded away. I learned my lesson about nettles that day, but you can imagine my surprise when, not too long after my "nettle incident," I opened up my menu all those years ago at the local establishment Le Gourmand to find Nettle Soup as a specialty!

After the chef's reassurance that the stinging part of the nettles disappeared with cooking, we tried the soup and were pleasantly surprised by its subtle grassy flavor, not to mention its completely sting-free texture. With that soup in mind, I procured a bag of nettles from Foraged and Found Edibles last weekend (after first getting over my excitement that one of my favorite vendors had returned to the market!). The nettle plants grow wild all over the Northwest and other temperate climates, and their fresh, young leaves are best early in the spring. As you can imagine, washing them creates quite a dilemma. The small leaves, all tightly bunched into a plastic bag, are just waiting to get you, reaching out with their hairy antennae. For once feeling slightly afraid of my food, I turned the plastic bag inside out and used it as a glove to wash them in a bucket of water. Although they did have some rather thick and fibrous-looking stems, I wasn't about to pick through them. Rather, I just dumped the whole lot into an already boiling pot of stock with some shallots and garlic in it. I then boiled the leaves for about 15 minutes, blended it all up and then strained it. Much of the green roughage didn't make it through the strainer, so the resulting soup was significantly paler in color than its original ingredients. No matter, though. A splash of cream, a little salt and pepper, and the nettle soup was perfect. Uniquely grassy and herbaceous in flavor, I can now say that nettles are my friend.

Naughty Nellie

2008-03-11T20:01:00.001-07:00

A blog devoted to cheese is more than overdue. Yes, I've mentioned it in the past, but cheese also deserves to be in the limelight every now and again, right? It just so happens that I've been eye-balling the stand at River Valley Ranch for several weeks now. Their goat cheeses look beautiful, and part of me is always envious of someone who can milk their own goats one morning and have a lovely log of cheese to show for it the next. Needless to say, their fresh cheeses are very fresh. However, I was tempted by the cheeses that had been given a bit more time to develop; the cow cheeses. The Tipsy Cow was the first one that got my attention, perhaps because of its name but more likely because of the gorgeous texture throughout and the slightly purple hue of the rind which apparently comes from soaking in red wine. But knowing what a big beer fan Gibson is, I finally settled on the Naughty Nellie, the rind of which is washed with Pike Place Brewery's beer of the same name.

Eager to give it a try that evening, I left it out for several hours so that it could come to room temperature, thereby allowing us to fully appreciate all the subtle nuances of this lovely cheese. The texture was exactly what I like in a cheese; soft but not runny, yet at the same time hard enough to slice thinly with a cheese slicer. Quite like butter, actually. But the flavor was a bit, well, unfortunate. It seemed like it had potential, but either we got a bad batch or the Naughty Nellie beer is just too much for a simple cow's milk cheese. It was very acidic and tangy, to the extreme. A bite of it kind of made me pucker, actually. But although unique in its flavor, I love a cheese that makes you stop and think. Nellie was a bit too naughty for my tastes, but that doesn't mean I won't try River Valley Ranch cheeses again.

Jerusalem Artichokes

2008-03-08T14:08:00.000-08:00

Neither an artichoke nor from Jerusalem, this tuber from the sunflower family is one of those rare produce items that is most happy when everything else withers from the cold. Although it is in season from October through March, this past week was the first time that I have picked it up at the market. Perhaps it's because it's so brown, plain and unassuming looking. Who knows. But there it was, tucked in among the kale and cabbage. A good alternative to potatoes, I thought.

Before I could cook with it, however, I had to refresh my memory on its misnomer of a name. It turns out that the Jerusalem part was really a mispronunciation of the Italian word for sunflower, girasole. And since its brown exterior has more resemblance to ginger root than an artichoke, I'm not sure where that name came from. In an effort to clear up the confusion, many produce vendors are now calling it a sunchoke, although I still see it most frequently labeled by the name Jerusalem Artichoke. I also had to do a bit of research on how to cook it since it had been awhile. Even though its white flesh looks somewhat like a potato, it certainly doesn't cook like a potato would. In my opinion, it is somewhere between a cross of a potato and a jicama, with a seemingly much higher water content than a potato. Because of this, you can eat them raw, although I wouldn't really recommend it. I thought they might be good as a thin, crisp, galette-style side dish. After first peeling them, I sliced the little chokes thinly, then heated up some fat in a large saute pan and spread them out in a shallow layer. After letting the bottom layer brown undisturbed for awhile, I beat one egg and about a quarter cup of milk together then poured that over the top. Finally, I put a thin layer of my favorite new find from Trader Joe's on top, beer cheese. Yum. Then the whole pan went under the broiler until it was puffy and bubbly.

It's hard to go wrong with anything with melted beer cheese on top of it, but after my first bite I was quickly reminded why I hadn't cooked with Jerusalem Artichokes in such a long time. They're really not that good. They're certainly not bad, but just not exciting in the least bit. No flavor of their own to speak of, and a weird, watery crunch where there doesn't seem like there should be one. Interesting, but not great.

Kale Cakes & Pork Chops

2008-02-19T09:26:00.000-08:00

What follows is a time-line of our dinner last night, from the raw ingredients to their finished form.

Beautiful, beautiful kale!
The purpley-one is Red Kale and the long, skinny dark-green one is Lacinato Kale.

These funny looking parsnips are actually from my garden. I finally got around to digging them up and it's apparent that I should have done a better job of thinning them out. Many were too small to use, but there were also plenty that were a decent size. (On a side note, I learned earlier that parsnips require a freeze to convert their starches to sugars. I tried one in the fall and it was horrible--chalky and dry. But now they are sweet and tender!)

I turned all of this into Parsnip-Potato Kale Cakes (recipe follows).

We ate our Kale Cakes with the most delicious pork chops from Samish Bay Cheese. They are a farm up near Bellingham that raises beef and pork in addition to making cheese. They call their pork Whey Tastier because they also feed their pork the residual whey from their cheese-making process. I am more than happy to participate in that kind of recycling!
To keep the pork chops from drying out during cooking, I first brined them for about two hours in a solution that was 1/4 cup kosher salt, 1/8 cup sugar and about 3 cups water. Before cooking I rinsed them, patted them dry in paper towels and then sprinkled with pepper (no salt!). To cook, I seared both sides of the meat in olive oil over medium-high heat and then put the pan into a 350 degree oven for about 5-7 minutes. While the meat was resting, I deglazed the pan with about 1 cup of ruby port. I let it reduce until it was slightly thick and glazey, then combined it with the juices from the resting meat.

Everything was "whey" tasty. The meat was tender and juicy, and the Kale Cakes were crisp on the outside and warm and comforting throughout. The only negative was that the cakes soaked up all of the delicious pan juices too quickly. Not only did this create a soggy cake by the end, but we also ran out of juice to dip the pork into. I can think of worse problems for a Monday night.

Parsnip-Potato Kale Cakes
Serves 4

2 bunches kale
1/2 pound parsnips, peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces
1/2 pound potatoes, peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces
4 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 tsp. red pepper flakes (optional)
1/4 cup grated parmesan
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg, preferably freshly grated
2 eggs
1 cup breadcrumbs or Panko
About 3 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. butter
salt and pepper

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the potato pieces and boil for about 10 minutes. Add the parsnip pieces to the potatoes and boil another 5-10 minutes or until both are soft when poked with a fork. Fish out the potato and parsnip pieces with a strainer and allow the water to return to a boil.

Separate the stems from the kale leaves and wash the leaves thoroughly. Add the kale leaves to the boiling water and let boil for about 5 minutes, until slightly wilted. Drain and transfer immediately to a bowl of ice water. Allow to cool. When the kale is cool enough to touch, grab fist-fulls of it and squeeze out as much water as possible. Lay it out on paper towels and press firmly to dry. Bring the kale together into a tight bunch on a cutting board then chop finely.

Heat 1 Tbsp. of olive oil in large saute pan over medium heat. Add 3 cloves of the garlic and the pepper flakes; saute briefly, 30 seconds or so, then add the chopped kale. Cook, stirring frequently, until the garlic is cooked and any moisture has been evaporated, about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat.

Meanwhile, beat 1 egg in a large bowl. Using a potato ricer, squeeze the cooked parsnips and potatoes into the bowl with the egg (or alternatively, mash the parsnips and potatoes in a separate bowl and then add to the egg). Add the kale, remaining garlic, grated parmesan, and grated nutmeg. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Mix thoroughly—hands work best for this!

Beat the other egg in a small bowl and place the breadcrumbs in another bowl.
Divide the potato/kale mixture into four even balls. Working one at a time, press one ball into a flattened disc in the palm of your hand, about 4 inches in diameter. Dip it into the egg, then roll it in the breadcrumbs to cover. Set on a piece of waxed paper and repeat with the remaining kale cakes.

Heat 1 Tbsp. olive oil and 1 Tbsp. of butter in a large saute pan over medium-high heat. When oil is hot (just beginning to smoke), add two kale cakes to the pan, pressing lightly with the back of a spatula to make them a bit thinner. Fry about 3 minutes a side. Remove to a plate, then heat remaining oil/butter and fry remaining two cakes.

"Low-Key" Salmon

2008-02-13T19:49:00.000-08:00

So now that we all know how to pronounce the word, there are a few things that need to be known about the locally run Loki Fish Co. For starters, their fish is freakin' awesome. So fresh and delicious, even for Seattle standards. At the market it comes either frozen, smoked, or canned. I've tried all three and any form it comes in is delicious. I've really enjoyed the canned salmon in the past; its pastel-pink flesh packed in oil is light and flaky with that indescribable "umami" flavor. This time, however, I went with a frozen piece from one of their coolers.

But what really makes Loki Fish stand out is their approach to fishing. The owner Pete Knutson, who runs the business with his sons, fishes along the coast of Southeast Alaska and the Puget Sound. Because it is such a small organization, the fish are apparently handled with the care never seen on those giant fishing vessels. After being caught, they are immediately processed, frozen, then flown to Seattle within 48 hours after arriving at harbor. So while technically their fish is sold "frozen" rather than "fresh", it is probably much "fresher" than most fish you might buy from a larger operation. They claim that they can have their fish on ice within 45 minutes of being caught, while a large-scale fishing boat might take 2 to 3 days to do that! Gross! But another benefit of running a smaller fishing business is that it can be done in a sustainable way. They are able to fish year after year in the same places because they are fishing respectfully rather than greedily--taking only what is needed instead of depleting the source entirely. For that reason, we can all breath easy knowing that we are eating salmon to help save the environment!

I didn't want to do too much with my hunk of salmon because I know how fragile and subtle it can be. I made a little "pouch" out of tin foil, topped it with some olive oil, salt, pepper, and chopped chives, then baked the whole thing at 325 degrees for about 20 minutes. The results were amazing. So moist and tender with not the least hint of fishiness. But the best news is that Loki fish is available not only at local Farmer's Markets, but also at restaurants and some grocery stores like PCC. So whether you want to save the world or just enjoy some good fish, find Loki fish if you can.

Goat

2008-02-09T13:55:00.001-08:00

Part of the reason I love going to the Farmer's Market so much is because of the things I find there that are unheard of elsewhere--truffles, purslane, sea beans, mangalitsa, to name a few. But I'm beginning to feel a bit guilty (and carnivorous!) when I realize that nearly all of my new finds in recent expeditions have been meat. After all, isn't it kind of ironic to be buying big hunks of meat at a traditional mecca of vegetarians? Well, whatever. I am loading up on lots of veggies (mostly lettuce and kale this time of year), but the products that have really stood out lately are meat. This time it was goat.For some reason, goat has never caught on here in the U.S. I've enjoyed it in Mexico in the form of the soul-warming stew birria and at a local Caribbean restaurant as a spice-laden curry. But have you ever seen it at your local grocery store or on the menu at a non-ethnic restaurant? I can't think of a time when I have, but after my experience with the goat meat I bought from the owners of Toboton Gourmet Goat Meat, I'm beginning to wonder what's wrong with U.S. consumers. The leg roast that I bought was excellent; succulent, tender, and very juicy. It was somewhat similar to pork (just trying to compare it to something familiar), but with a much firmer texture and less fat throughout. It is also remarkably good for you. The information leaflet that came with my purchase boasts that goat is the healthiest of all meats, even besting chicken in the low fat and cholesterol race. All the more reason not to feel guilty, right?

Unlike my mangalitsa experience, this purveyor provided me with lots of great ideas on how to cook the goat meat. I followed her suggestion to coat the outside with a spice rub (some chile powder, cumin, sugar, salt and pepper) and wrap the entire roast in foil as a way to lock in the moisture. I placed the roast in a 275 degree oven and let is roast for about two and a half hours. Trying to go with the sort of Southwest theme from the spice rub, I served the thinly sliced meat atop these corn "cakes" that I tried to make-up. They were totally uninspiring (much drier than I had hoped for), but the meat was delicious. And by using the remainder of the roast in sandwiches or burritos for lunches the rest of the week, the $20 I spent on the roast seems like quite a deal.

Even Brauts Like to be Grass-Fed

2008-01-29T20:17:00.000-08:00

Who doesn't love a brautwurst every now and again? When I saw that my favorite grass-fed beef guy of Olsen Farms was selling them, I knew I must have some. They came already frozen which is great since I can race through all of the other perishables first and then pull them out of the freezer when the larder is empty. And that is exactly what I did the other night. But you can't have brauts without kraut, right? So first I picked up a lovely jar of very Jewish and very Brooklyn sauerkraut to go along with it. It felt a bit counterintuitive to accompany such a local ingredient with something made 3000 miles away, but hey, what the hell? It all made for a simple but delicious Monday night dinner.

Having previously praised both the philosophy and the flavor of grass-fed beef, I was eager to try how it tasted once it had been turned into something else altogether. Besides the selfish reasons of flavor and an easy dinner, I also felt like I was kind of doing my part. You know, for the team--for the environment. After all, if they didn't turn all of those beef scraps into sausage, what else would they do with them? Isn't this the original recycling? Anyway, my environmental conscience aside, the brauts were great. I seared them first and immediately noticed that they were missing any of the normal fat and grease oozing from within. The pan was completely dry and lacking any juices whatsoever. Was this a good thing? I wasn't sure. After I got sick of them smoking so much in the pan, I dumped in the strained sauerkraut and a touch of water, then covered the whole mess and let it cook until we were ready.

The missing juices didn't seem to have any negative affect on the flavor. I'm assuming then, that we were eating a much healthier braut than your average grocery store variety. It makes sense that the leaner grass-fed beef would produce a leaner, more healthy brautwurst. So that's good and all, but it actually tasted great as well. Full of flavor and spices with a firm but tender texture. Further proof that happy cows make happy food.
Another word on the kraut. Upon further reflection, I think that I have been incorrectly using the term "sauerkraut". The jar of Ba-Tampte brand that I bought at my local market is actually called "new kraut" and this enigmatic product seems to be a kosher mystery. Even the web-site is ridiculously vague, with nothing but images of their products! All we can figure is that "new kraut" is well, newer and has been aged less than traditional sauerkraut. Therefore, it is less sour and is more mild. We instinctively knew this when we were eating it, and we both commented on how it tasted a bit sweet and had less bite than normal. The texture was also more firm, with a more pronounced raw cabbage consistency. It wasn't until I looked at the jar later that I realized that these differences were on actually on purpose!

Washington White Truffles

2008-01-27T16:51:00.000-08:00

Last November was the first time I had ventured into the world of Washington truffles. The results, if you remember my story (see Washington Truffles), were not so enjoyable. The little black nuggets were anything but inspiring, unless of course you are a worm and enjoy that dirt flavor thing. Anyway, despite my misgivings I was lured into trying another variety of Washington truffles from the market, the white ones this time. I tried to politely ask if they were more similar to the European kind (therefore implying that they were less like the dirt kind) which he assured me they were. They certainly weren't much to look at, with the largest one being about the size of my thumbnail, but still worth a try, right?

Shortly after returning home with my score I knew that they were indeed different from the aforementioned black truffles because my entire refrigerator suddenly smelled like truffles. It was amazing. Going with the simple is best theory again, I made home-made pasta which I adorned with nothing more than good olive oil, garlic, parmesan, salt and pepper. I heated the olive oil in a small pan into which I threw the thinly shaved pieces of truffles and let them fry for a few minutes before removing them. I then did the same with some thinly shaved garlic pieces and tossed it all together with the pasta. The truffles, as I had hoped, infused the oil with some of their unique flavor and the pasta turned out fantastic. The white truffles were a winner! So I guess I don't have to go to Europe for good fungus after all.

Mangalitsa

2008-01-21T14:00:00.000-08:00

After nearly two months of a "winter break" from the market, I returned this past week with dubious expectations. Too cold for anything to grow, and certainly too cold for the poor vendors to stand outside for four hours, what would there be besides some squash and a few crazies? Turns out that the market is surprisingly full of life in January, or at least it was on this day. The main difference I noted from the fall market was the lack of produce stands (no big surprise there) which seem to have been replaced by meat. From my grass-fed beef guy to Loki salmon to the pig people on Vashon Island, I'd guess that nearly half of the stalls were selling some kind of meat. However, the biggest delight of all, and the longest line I might add, came from a stand claiming to sell Mangalitsa.

I know, I know, what the hell is Mangalitsa? Previously unheard of by you, me, and most of the Western world, Mangalitsa is a breed of pork more common in Europe. A new company from Eastern Washington called Wooly Pigs imported the breed from Austria, and they claim that they are the first purveyor of Mangalitsa in the New World. "MANGALITSA DEBUT!" proclaimed the sandwich board out front of their stand. Too overcome by curiosity to pass it up, I had to have some of my own to try. The owner (I assume) was incredibly exuberant about his new product. He implored every passer-by to try his product. "PLEASE, try the Mangalitsa! Yes, please! Try the Mangalitsa!"as he cooked up samples of his ground pork. Of the choices (bacon, pork loin, etc.) I decided to go with the pork shoulder, thinking that that particular cut might offer us the most unadulterated taste of its purported unique flavor.

How to cook this expensive cut of pork was my next decision. "Cook Mangalitsa slow and low! Brining, slow roasting and braising work well. Grilling is risky!" read the flyer that came with my purchase. After further research at home, I found even more information on how dry and tough the meat can become if cooked like "normal" pork. It turns out that Mangalitsa, while having plenty of lovely, marbley fat throughout, has a different type of fat than the more modern breed of pig. The Mangalitsa fat is higher in unsaturated fats which, while of course being better for us, might also contribute to a dryer, tougher texture if not cooked properly. I finally decided that braising was my best bet for the "slow and low" approach to my hunk of pork shoulder (see more info on braising in My Quest for the Perfect Beef Short-Ribs). The cut I got had some bones, but not too many, so I just cut it into four manageable hunks, browned it, then partially submerged it in wine, stock, and veggies and cooked it at 225 degrees for several hours. The next night, I reheated it gently and then pulled the meat out of the pan and reduced the juices a bit. In an effort to keep it simple so as to allow the meat to shine, I served it with some Red Russian Kale, my favorite "spud nuts" (mini potatoes), and white beans.

After all of the talk about how different and amazing this meat was, I have to say that I had pretty high expectations. Expectations unfortunately, that it didn't quite meet. Don't get me wrong, the meat was incredible. Super tender, juicy, and full of flavor. And while it did have a slightly different flavor and reminded me of the boar I so loved eating while in Italy, the difference was very subtle. My husband said that he would have assumed it was beef it he hadn't known better. So it definitely was not your average pork taste, but was it worth the $25 a pound? When the Mangalitsa makes it to a market near you, I'll let you be the judge of that.

Washington Truffles

2007-11-25T09:33:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-24T14:26:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-06T19:38:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-23T21:47:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-15T19:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-01T20:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-25T10:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-17T14:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-17T14:19:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-10T17:25:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

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!).