Blackberry Jam

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.