Julia Shanks Recovering Chef and Urban Gardener
I can't take it anymore! I'm tired of looking at the sage plant… tired of trying to give away gallons of leaves…. tired of trying to justify its existence in my yard. Yes, it makes a nice border for the patio… and yes, I like to use it in marinades a pastas. But enough's enough!
So, this afternoon, I whacked it. And lo and behold, I have more room for tomatoes, cucumbers or any other summer vegetable my heart desires.
Yay! What a relief!!!!
As I pulled out my tape measure the other morning to thin some plants to
precisely 5 inches apart, an onlooker might think I’m quite anal about tending
to my vegetable garden. Perhaps.
But in some ways I am also quite lazy. One
thing I don’t do is label the plantings. I figure the vegetables will present
themselves when they’re ready.
While the initial sprouts of cucumber and
zucchini look similar, the flowers and vegetables dispel any similarities. And
since I have not reached the level of sophistication of watering or fertilizing
plants on different schedules to suit the individual needs, I really see no
point in taking the extra step to label the garden.
This year, I planted several
new crops, including what I thought was going to be radishes. As the shoulders
of the root began to push out above the surface of the dirt, I thought,
“Perfect, ready to harvest.” So I began pulling up the first few, only to
discover I had in fact planted turnips. Whoops! And being turnips, they still
needed to grow a bit larger.
The turnip greens, however, can be cooked now. A
search of the web yields recipes mostly for a southern style preparation with
some form of pork product. As much as I love pork, I’m realizing that many of my
favorite people don’t eat it, so I’m making a concerted effort to post more
recipes without it. Jody
Adams suggests a simple preparation: sautéing the greens in extra virgin
olive oil with lots of garlic and chili flakes.
For a more substantial meal, I
offer this recipe:
White Bean and Turnip Green
Soup with Chicken Sausage (a variation of Tuscan Kale Soup)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
4 garlic cloves, peeled
and coarsely chopped
½ celery stalk, coarsely chopped
1 carrot, peeled and
coarsely chopped
2 cups cooked white beans
5 cups chicken broth, water or
combination of the two
1 piece of parmigiano reggiano rind
1 sprig fresh thyme,
chopped
½ tsp. Black pepper
1/2 pound smoked chicken sausage, sliced
1 carrot
1
pound turnip greens (or kale), coarsely chopped
2 tsp. salt
1. Heat oil in a large pot
over medium heat. Add onions, garlic, celery and carrots, and cook until soft,
about 4 or 5 minutes. Add beans, liquid, cheese rind, and thyme. Season to taste
with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Cook uncovered for
about 20 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, brown sausage in batches over medium heat.
3.
Stir in turnip greens and sausage. Cook for 10 minutes or until greens are
wilted and tender.
4. Add water, if necessary to thin soup. Adjust seasoning
with salt and pepper to taste.
I never know how much fiddleheads and morels I’ll be able to get each year, so I always make sure to cook them at least once each Spring. But with the temperamental prices and my cooking schedule, I never know if the second opportunity will arise.
The first cooking, I keep simple. I want to savor the flavors and textures, uncluttered. The second cooking, I tend to be more “creative.” An elegant way to serve the morels is atop an asparagus vichyssoise.
Asparagus Vichyssoise with Sautéed Morels
1 qt. chicken or vegetable broth
1 tbs. olive oil
2 small leeks, chopped
1/4 cup potatoes, diced
24 asparagus spears, trimmed, tips reserved
2 sprigs parsley
1 cup spinach
salt and pepper to taste
Morels
1/2 pound morels, wiped clean
1 large shallot, peeled and diced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, chopped
1/4 cup dry sherry
For the Soup:
1. Heat olive oil in large pot. Sweat leeks and potatoes. Add asparagus, parsley and chicken broth. Simmer for 15 minutes or until asparagus and potatoes are tender.
2. Put 1/4 cup spinach in the bottom of a blender. Ladle soup into blender and puree. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Repeat process until all the soup is pureed.
3. Bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. Blanch the asparagus tips for 1 minute. Drain and run under cold water to lock in the color.
4. Garnish soup with asparagus tips and morels.
For the Morels:
1. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the morels. Sprinkle shallots, garlic and thyme on top. Season with salt and pepper. Let cook for 3 minutes without stirring or shaking. Stir a little and cook for another minute.
2. Deglaze the pan with sherry. Cook for another two minutes until the sherry is absorbed. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
If I have a third chance, I will serve sautéed morels with seared foie gras. I still have a small piece left over in the freezer.
Though summer unofficially started this past weekend, the farmers’ markets and produce aisles still say spring. I don’t let the season pass without getting at least one taste of those wild ingredients that only grow this time of year – ramps, fiddleheads, morels and shad roe. And, of course, I fill up on artichokes and asparagus. Even though they are available year-round, their flavors peak now.
My favorite spring mélange is asparagus with morels and fiddleheads. Earthy, sweet, crunchy and creamy flavors that marry perfectly. Morels are conical shaped mushrooms that grow in pine forests, and spring fields after a winter forest fire. Occasionally they grow in my garden, too.
The fiddleheads are tightly coiled ferns that haven’t unfurled yet. The coils push through the soil trapping all sorts of dirt in them. This makes cleaning them a bit of a challenge – I soak them in several changes of water, transforming them from murky brown to bright green. They are rumored to have toxins in them which necessitate a par-boiling.
I prepare the fiddleheads simply: after soaking them in three changes of water, I boil them for 2 minutes in salted water. Let them cool in an ice bath to lock in the bright green color. I then sauté them with olive oil and garlic. I serve them with asparagus or as a side dish for salmon. They have a creamy, nutty and earthy texture and a nice crunch too!
Up next: Asparagus Vichyssoise with Morels and Fiddleheads.
After the enchiladas, I had left-overs of everything except the chicken and the slaw. What better way to utilize everything than to make nachos. I cut the tortillas into pie-shaped wedges, fried them in a little canola oil and then topped them with the leftovers. It hardly felt recycled.
Rick Bayless’s recipe for mole (pronounced mo-LAY) cautions the reader that it will require 26 different ingredients. The first time I made this Mexican chili and chocolate sauce it took me three hours. The second time, only 1 ½. Now, I can make it in a half hour.
Of course, I take short-cuts. Mr. Bayless recommends giving each ingredient individual attention: dry roast, fry, and then soak 4 kinds of chilies. Toast each spice separately and then grind. Blacken the tomato. Fry onions, garlic, stale bread, tortillas, almonds and raisins. Did I forget anything? I had intended to take a photo of all the mise-en-place, but after the photo, I realized I forgot half the ingredients.
Mole originates from Oaxaca (pronounced wha-HA-ka) Mexico. What we know in the US is only one of the seven varieties available. Mole is the Mexican version of curry… “The original Nahuatl word molli means ‘mixture.’” And like curry (whether it’s Thai, Japanese or Indian), it’s a mix of spices and aromatics that blend together into an intoxicating sauce.
I made the “mole coloradito oaxaqueno” version – which is the variety most commonly seen in the US. There’s also green, yellow, black, red (and obviously a few others whose names I can’t find). It pairs perfectly with enchiladas, pupusas or other Mexican dishes with a masa harina base.
I use the mole for enchiladas. It freezes beautifully. So if you take the time to make it, make lots! Then you will more easily enjoy it on future occasions.
Chicken Enchiladas with Mole Sauce
Filling
1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken thighs
¼ cup balsamic vinegar
1tsp. dried oregano
½ tsp. cumin
3 scallions
Salt and pepper to taste
Combine chicken with remaining ingredients, except scallions. Bake in a 350 oven for 20 minutes or until chicken is cooked through. Cool. Shred meat and toss with scallions.
Mole
(the lazy approach — for a more authentic recipe, see Rick Bayless’s “Authentic Mexican”)
1/2 lb. dried chilies (pasilla, mulato, poblano or any other combination), seeded and soaked in boiling water for 1 hour.
1/4 cup sesame seeds
1 tsp. coriander
1 oz. chocolate
1/8 tsp. clove
1/2 tsp. fennel seed
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tomato
1/2 onion
1 garlic clove
1 corn tortilla
1 slice stale bread
1 qt. chicken stock.
1/3 cup almonds
1/3 cup raisins
1/4 cup oil
salt, sugar and red wine vinegar to taste
1. Heat a large sauté pan. Add 1/2 of the oil, nuts, raisins and tortillas. Fry until they begin to turn golden. Toast the bread.
2. In a blender, puree everything together, except remaining oil. Thin with chicken stock or water as needed.
3. Heat a large sauce pot. Add oil. Fry the sauce and continue to simmer for 30 minutes. Season to taste with sugar, salt, and vinegar.
For assembly:
8 – 8” tortillas
1 cup plain oil
Shredded Monterey jack cheese
Sliced scallions
Sour cream
1. Dip each tortilla in mole sauce.
2. Heat oil over medium high flame. Fry mole-coated tortillas, one at a time, in oil until soft, about 1 minute
3. Lay the fried tortillas down on a board. Fill with ½ cup of shredded chicken and roll. Put in a baking sheet. Continue until all tortillas are filled and rolled.
4. Drizzle extra mole on top. Sprinkle cheese on top.
5. Bake at 400F until cheese is melted and sizzling.
6. Remove from oven and garnish with scallions.
I served the enchiladas with black beans and red cabbage slaw
My spring garden is just coming into full swing: I'm harvesting salad on a regular basis and cutting mint for drinks and dinner seasonings. The tarragon and scallions make regular appearances in my cooking. The radishes will be ready in less than a week. I planted cucumber seeds and jalapenos in the last few square feet of garden space.
Meanwhile, the tomato plants grow patiently on the deck, waiting to be transplanted into the yard for their final growing phase. The first flower bloomed yesterday: a predecessor to the summer fruit.
For the last few mornings, I've studied the garden trying to figure out where I can plant all the tomatoes, as well as the basil and eggplant I have waiting in pots on the deck and in windowsills. I don't want to disturb what's already in the ground.
So much to grow, and so little space. The brussels sprouts are tucked away in the back corner –and will take a full six months to mature. Kohlrabi, the nemesis of many home cooks, is a personal favorite, and occupies a few feet in the front of the yard. The kale, which I have not grown successfully before, seems to be growing nicely in a cooler patch of the garden.
I planted beets for the first time this year. Unfortunately they are not doing very well. It's all my fault, really. I know exactly what happened. When I was planting the lettuces a few months ago, I spilled a handful of seeds right over the beets. The two have been battling for space ever since, and the arugula was winning. Until I stepped in and pulled up the arugula. Hopefully the beets will recover and grow, despite the stunted start.
And then it hit me! I know where I can plant the rest of my vegetables! As I was trying to capture harvesting lettuce in pictures (but failed), I noticed a row of arugula is starting to bolt. That is, the temperatures have gotten so warm that the arugula wants to go to seed and its growth will slow down. I will pull up that row of plants and replace it with eggplant. Because this patch bolted sooner than the others, I know it’s warmer than the rest of the garden and will be a great spot for the heat-loving summer crops.
Like most women, I vacillate between wanting to lose 20 pounds and being content with my weight. When I "adopted" Katie from Eat this, I excitedly looked through her recipes for new ideas to cook healthy. She cooks with a lot of whole grains, many that I know of, but don't typically cook. Maybe I can finally make realistic modifications to my diet and lose some weight.
Last night, I brought dinner to a friend. She prefers the style of Katie's cooking – lots of whole grains and mostly vegetarian — so it seemed the perfect opportunity to make one of her recipes. Did I choose the healthy and beautiful looking Lentil Soup with Spinach? Or the Pinto bean, avocado, tomato and wheatberry salad? No. Of course, I opted for the Roasted Veggie and Cheese Pasta. The least healthy of all her delicious recipes.
And let me tell you, it was indeed delicious! I'll confess, I made a few adaptations… wanting to use what was in the fridge… I used fresh dug parsnips and carrots instead of the recommended peppers, zucchini and eggplant. And I added ramps instead of garlic and onions.
So, if you're craving virtuous and delicious recipes, check out Katie's blog. If you're looking for healthy twists on your favorite recipes, check out Katie's blog. You won't be disappointed.
And by the way, Katie is giving away jars of Tupelo Honey. Just leave a comment on her blog between now and Friday, May 22 to be entered to win. As if you need another reason to read her blog.
Bolting Arugula….
See the woody stem? As the temperatures rise, the leaves get spicier and their growth rate diminishes significantly. The plant wants to go to seed.
Not Bolting Arugula….
I planted lettuce seeds on March 5th (or so) and harvested my first salad less than 60 days later. The lettuce patch is now in full production, and I’m cutting about a gallon of lettuce every other day – a mix of arugula, mizuna, tatsoi and green leaf.
I grow lettuces for many reasons, but the big one is the yield I get for the square footage. Lettuce falls into the category of “cut and come again.” Meaning, after I harvest a salad, the lettuce will sprout new leaves. By contrast, plants like broccoli yield one head per plant. Better still, I can plant 6 – 12 “heads” of lettuce in the same area that a single head of broccoli would require. To harvest: cut about 1 ½ inches above the root base, leaving the smallest leaves intact. Immediately put the lettuce in water to keep it from wilting irreparably. I usually take a large bowl with some water out to the garden — as I cut the lettuce, I toss it with the water.
A friend made an interesting commentary about growing lettuce – it’s one of the few crops that can’t be preserved for the colder months. With so much lettuce, I’ve been able to share with my neighbors – for Tommy and Paul, and for the neighbors that snow-blow my driveway in the winter.
Despite the profusion of lettuce, I’m not ready to drown out the flavors with an intense dressing. I simply season with olive oil and lemon juice, and perhaps freshly shaved Parmigiano-reggiano and prosciutto.