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Archive for April, 2011

Winter squash keeps so well over the (duh) winter season that I am still using very well preserved squashes that have been mellowing in my (cold) basement since November. I’m astonished at how well they’ve survived, particularly the very large green Hubbard squash that I just roasted. At the cusp of the seasons, the combination of rainy weather and trees dripping pollen has led to nasty head colds and I decided that ginger was the antidote, specifically ginger squash soup.

I’m always looking for ways to garnish my soups, sometimes with croutons or herbs, and sometimes with sweet or savory preserves. I had just made an amazing kumquat and mango jam, courtesy of a recipe from Monica Bhide (who graciously acknowledged my post). It seemed just the right combination with the squash and ginger. Delicious.

Ginger Squash Soup

1 medium onion, diced

1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced

Vegetable oil

4 c pureed roasted winter squash

2 c (or more) water, vegetable broth or chicken stock

Salt

Heat the vegetable oil in a saucepan and add the onion and ginger, cooking it over medium heat until the onion is translucent and the ginger aromatic.  Add the squash and liquid, cover the pan and cook over medium heat for 20-25 minutes or until the ingredients are tender. Check periodically and add more water if needed. When the squash is completely tender, puree the mixture in a food processor or pass through a food mill. Return to the pan and adjust seasonings (add salt if needed).


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Candied violets are such a Victorian conceit, sweet little nuggets that deserve to be ever so sweetly and delicately placed on little cakes or lemon tarts. I couldn’t resist exploring my lawn this spring, having already made dandelion salads, dandelion jelly and violet jelly, all absolutely delicious dishes free for the foraging. It turns out that we have several types of violet invaders on our property: two large varieties, one very violet and the other more magenta, a tinier and bluer version, almost the color of pale lilacs, and white ones tinged with pale violet throats. The bluest one made the best candy because of their smaller size. 

Pick the violets at midday at the peak of their flavor, after the dew has dried and before they warm in the sun. Pick them with long stems, since you need the stems as handles during the process. Before candying them, make sure they’re clean. I shook them in a colander to remove loose first and the occasional tiny ant. You can mist them and dry them thoroughly on paper towels. I wasn’t worried about dirt so I skipped that process.  

The basic method is, one flower at a time, to paint the petals completely with either an egg wash (beaten egg white) or simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water cooked until the sugar and cooled), then spoon super-fine sugar over them to cover all of the surfaces. I used the egg white method and applied it with a tiny, very clean watercolor brush. After you’ve prepared the flower, you can remove the stem or, as I did, wait until the flowers are dry and then use the stem to help transfer them to an airtight container for storage.  I dried mine on a paper towel over a cooling rack (to let air circulate), but since some stuck to the paper, I would try parchment paper next time. 

This wasn’t as tedious a process as I expected and I ended up with a few dozen candied flowers in under an hour’s time.   




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What a coincidence, the  week of the Royal Wedding. A perfect combination of tradition and today’s idea  of  the environment. Violet jelly: I transformed sprightly flowers into a glistening substance with a jewel-like violet-magenta color, and an incomparable honey-like flavor of lush flowers, subtle, slightly sweet.  Astonishing, actually. The just-picked flowers are gently shaken in a colander to release small dirt particles, and then misted to clean them.  Simmering the blossoms in water releases the color into the liquid, which at that point was dark violet leaning toward gray because of the color of the small green bracts. With the addition of sugar, powdered pectin and a touch of lemon juice (to encourage the pectin), the color jumped to magenta (from the citric acid in the pectin).  The jelly was cooked to perfection in less than 5 minutes. 

The best time to pick the violets is midday, after the dew has evaporated and before the sun is too hot. They are most aromatic at that time. Make sure to pick the violets from an area that has not been sprayed with chemicals. Mine came from the prairie that we call our front lawn.  

Violet Jelly

2 c violet flowers (no stems)

2 c water (equal in volume to violets)

½ c sugar

1 tsp lemon juice

1 tsp powdered pectin (Sure-Jell) dissolved in 1 tbsp cold water

Shake the flowers gently in a colander to remove small particles of dirt and gently mist them to clean. Place the flowers and water in a saucepan and bring just to a boil. Lower the heat to medium and simmer for 10 minutes to release the color and flavor into the liquid. Drain the liquid, pressing down on the flowers to get the last drops.

Place a saucer in the freezer, which you’ll use to test the gel.

Return the violet liquid to the saucepan and add the sugar, lemon and dissolved pectin.  Bring to a boil and cook rapidly for about 3 minutes. Test for gel by placing a drop on the frozen saucer. If it wrinkles when touched, the gel is set. If it’s runny, continue to cook until the gel test is set. This will take about 5 minutes altogether. Do not overcook, The gel will set after you remove it from the heat. Pour into hot clean jars.

Makes about two 4 oz jars of jelly.



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I love free stuff. Think about everything that’s free to the gardener: rainwater, sun, breeze, soil, seeds, and weeds. We’re so lucky. Even many of the plants thought to be weeds are edible. I weeded my garden of chickweed and made dinner. Lambs lettuce will be coming along soon, and purslane. Not to mention ramps (which I’m currently avoiding due to over-harvesting). Right now, dandelions are aplenty. After days of feasting on salads made of the leaves, it’s time to enjoy the flowers and make dandelion jelly. 

Dandelion jelly is made from the puffy yellow petals. You pull the blades from the green bract that holds them together. I pinch the bract and pull off the petals, concentrating on the center section, since the outermost petals have a green stripe as the petals transition to the bract. The yellow pollen (I was competing with the bees for the flowers) will stain your hands; I bet I could have made an Easter egg dye from them.  I was avoiding the green sections since I wanted the jelly to be as yellow as possible. 

To make jelly, you cook the petals in water, and drain the liquid into another pan. Add sugar, pectin and a little lemon juice (which activates the pectin) and boil until it gels. The result is a honey-like substance.  I made a tiny experimental batch, but this could be produced in enough volume to preserve. I typically avoid powdered pectin in favor of my own “green apple jelly” but I used Sure-Jell here as a test run. 

The recipe – and some of the advice — came from Ava Chin’s excellent “Urban Forager” column in the New York Times.

Dandelion Jelly adapted from Ava Chin, NYT

2 c dandelion petals (no leaves or bracts)

2 c water

1 c granulated white sugar

2 tsp lemon juice

1½ tsp pectin (I used Sure-Jell dissolved in 1 tbsp of water)

Place a saucer in the freezer to chill (this will be used to test the gel).

Combine the dandelion petals and water in a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat. Lightly boil for 10 minutes. Pour into a strainer and let the liquid drain out into a bowl or another saucepan.  Add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil, cooking until it passes the gel test: a drop on the chilled plate should be wrinkly then touched).



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Early in the season, when the dandelions first arrive to take over our lawn, we can weed and feed at the same time. Actually “lawn” stands for a patch of green under a great big black walnut tree between our house and the street. There is some grass in the mix, but we affectionately think of our yard as a prairie, full of all kinds of growing things that get mowed down, combined with leaves, composted and tilled into the garden as compost.  We don’t use chemicals of any kind, though black walnut trees are notorious for suppressing certain vegetation. Not so dandelions or violets. 

When they are young, wild (meaning not the cultivated variety) dandelion leaves are very tasty. Although they’re fine added to a mixed green salad, my favorite way of serving them is wilted in a bacon and cider vinegar dressing. You don’t have to use pork bacon for this. My best version is with duck bacon from d”Artagnan. The pretty fatty duck breast is cured perfectly and is flavorful. When I first traveled to the Middle East, I was taken aback by seeing bacon on the menu, only to be reassured that it was beef bacon.

After rendering the fat from the bacon, add some minced onion or shallot and cook until translucent, add a little sugar (I prefer brown sugar) to the pan, and deglaze the mix with cider vinegar, adding a little vegetable oil if the bacon is lean, as mine typically is. Pour the warm dressing over the greens and toss to wilt. For an extra treat, I like to add tomatoes tossed in wasabi cream, a recipe I concocted for Paper Chef, a blog challenge that sadly went dark a few months ag

Wilted Dandelion Greens with Bacon Vinaigrette

Handful of washed dandelion leaves, or other bitter greens

1-2 slices good quality bacon

1 minced shallot or half a small onion (optional)

1 tsp brown sugar

1-3 tbsp cider vinegar (depending on fat yield

Vegetable oil (if insufficient bacon fat)

Assemble the greens in a serving bowl since you will want to serve this immediately after dressing it.

Make the warm dressing. Render the fat from the bacon over low heat. Remove the bacon to drain and add a little vinegar and sugar to the pan. (If adding onions, soften them in the fat before adding the vinegar.) Pour the warm mixture over the greens, crumble on the bacon and toss to coat the greens.


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Alternative Easter Basket

Happy Easter! Look what the Easter Bunny brought us: mixed salad greens growing in a great big pot of soil.  Ready to “cut and come again,” this will last for quite a while, at least until the greens in our garden are ready to harvest.  And yes, we also had jelly beans and chocolate eggs.

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It’s still mango madness at our local organic produce store where I went to search for end-of-season organic kumquats.  Lovely yellow “champagne” mangos in great stacks. So tempting. I was planning on poaching kumquats in the heavy syrup left over from the spiced mangos that I canned last week and was considering a mango chutney or jam, when I discovered a Monica Bhide (Modern Spice) recipe for “Kumquat and Mango Chutney with Onion Seeds.” The so-called onion seeds are nigella, sometimes referred to as black cumin.  I didn’t have any nigella or a good solution for obtaining some on short notice, so I used cumin seed instead, probably producing a different taste altogether.

Bhide recommended using a cup of pureed canned mango as the base, but with the mountains of fresh mangos in the market, I used two ripe yellow fruit, yielding 1½ cups of puree.  I sliced the kumquats crosswise into 3/32-inch disks, picking out the pesky small seeds as I went.  I added a little salt, which brings up the flavor, and probably should have added a touch more pepper. This is a good balance between sweet and tart, a balance I would like to strike as we head into canning season with rhubarb and strawberries coming right along. I can imagine this as a condiment for fried dumplings but it’s also going to be good on toast!

The original recipe suggested storing the chutney in an airtight container in the refrigerator, but this has enough sugar and acid content, so I processed most of it in a water bath canner. It yielded 6 4 oz jars.

Kumquat Mango Jam adapted from Monica Bhide

2 ripe champagne mangos, peeled and pureed (to yield about 1½ c puree)

12 oz (1 dry pint) organic, preferably unwaxed kumquats

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 tsp nigella seeds (I substituted cumin seed)

1 tsp fennel seed

1 c sugar

½ c distilled white vinegar

½ tsp red pepper flakes

¼-½ tsp salt

If you are canning this via a water bath process, prepare the kettle, jars and lids.

Peel and puree the mango in a food processor. Measure our 1½ c (This doesn’t have to be precise.)

Wash, dry and slice the kumquats into slices that are just under 1/8-inch thick, picking out the seeds as you go.

Warm the oil in a deep pan and add the nigella and fennel seeds. When they’re sizzling, add the mango, kumquat, sugar, vinegar, red pepper flakes and ½ tsp salt, stirring to combine. Bring to a low boil and cook, stirring occasionally to avoid sticking, until it is thick like jam. Taste and add a little more salt to spark the flavor if necessary.

If you’re keeping this in the refrigerator, let it cool completely before storing in an airtight container, for up to three weeks.

If you’re canning, it, ladle the hot jam into hot jars and seal with sterilized lids. Process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes (for 4 oz or 8 oz jars) after the water comes to a boil. Boil for 10 minutes, turn off the heat, remove the lid, and let sit for 5 minutes before moving the jars to the counter to sit undisturbed until cool,

Makes about 1½ c or six 4 oz jars.


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Savory corn sticks are perfect little accompaniments to soup and chowder, and also make good breakfast bread served with tangy jam. I’ve been experimenting with dried dill weed and seed for the Spice Rack Challenge, with less success than snipped fresh dill, which is readily available (even organic) all year round. I have my own frozen dill pesto too.

I bought a pair of old heavy cast iron corn stick molds at a rummage sale a few years ago, which are as picturesque as they are useful.  If well oiled and heated in the oven for about 10-15 minutes before the batter is added, they produce a lovely crust on the cornsticks.

I adapted this recipe from one in Carolyn Dille and Susan Bellinger’s book, Herbs in the Kitchen. Their recipe called for the addition of corn kernels, which I omitted, adjusting the amount of baking powder accordingly.  I made these two ways: with dried dill weed and seed, and with fresh dill. Both were good, but the fresh dill version had a cleaner, more pronounced taste.

Dill Corn Sticks adapted from Carolyn Dille and Susan Bellinger

Vegetable oil

1 c stone-ground yellow cornmeal

1 c all-purpose flour

1 tsp baking powder (increase to 1 tbsp if using corn kernels)

½ tsp salt

2 eggs

1 c cold water

Optional: 1cup corn kernels

5 tbsp melted butter

3 tbsp fresh dill, snipped, or 1 ½ tsp dill weed and ½ tsp dill seed

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Generously oil two cast iron corn stick molds and place them in the oven for 10-15 minutes.

Combine the dry ingredients.  Lightly beat the eggs and add the water. Combine the dry and liquid ingredients, just to mix. Add the melted butter, the corn if using, and stir until smooth. Fold in the dill.

Remove the pre-heated molds from the oven, spoon the batter into each cavity, filling to about ¾ capacity. Bake for about 20-25 minutes, until the sticks are golden brown.

Makes 21 sticks without the corn.


 


 

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The Spice Rack Challenge this month features dill, in honor of the coming spring season. The challenge in general is supposed to focus on dried ingredients. However, I like dill as an herb only in its fresh form but appreciate its dried seeds as a spice. Seasonings are often lumped together colloquially as “spice,” but actually, herbs and spices come from different parts of a plant and are cooked differently. Herbs represent the green parts: leaves and stems. Spices are from the woodier sections of plants, such as: seeds (cumin), mature flowers (star anise), bark (cinnamon) and roots (ginger). Because they are tender, herbs are typically, though not always, added toward the end of cooking so that their flavor is still present. Spices, whether ground in combinations like curries or whole like cumin seed, are added to the oil- or fat-based sauté of aromatic ingredients such as onions and garlic or thrown in the pot with the liquid early in the game.  

I preserve fresh dill in the freezer ground up as pesto, little logs wrapped in plastic and then paper, squeezed out and chopped off as needed. Dried dill weed does nothing for me, even when I tried it for a garnish for my stew by reconstituting it several ways — in sour cream, water and vinegar. No luck.  As dead as a batch of sweeping compound.  However, I was able to take advantage of last summer’s excellent dill vinegar, another way to preserve herbs.

So, it turned out coincidentally (or not… brilliant thinking on the part of Mother’s kitchen?), this was a perfect, full-revolution weekend for dill seed.  I planted some in my pot garden and used some in a stew of various roots – kohlrabi, potatoes, carrots and Chioggia beets — yet another attempt to thin the refrigerator and cellar before new crops arrive. I sparked up the stew with dill vinegar preserved in the summer. 

While I typically make some version of this as a soup, I decided to try a stew in order to maximize the spicy effect of dill seed. I added it to the initial sauté, a move I wouldn’t make with its cousin caraway, which tends to become bitter when cooked for a long time. (I add caraway at the end.) The dill seed was a perfect complement to this vaguely Viennese vegetable mix.

Roots Stew with Cabbage and Dill Seed

2 tbsp butter or vegetable oil

1 large or 2 small leeks, cleaned and finely diced (or use 1 small onion)

2 carrots, peeled and cut into ¼-1/3 inch cubes

3 kohlrabi, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes

1 large or 2 medium waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes

1 tbsp dill seeds

Approximately 2 cups chicken broth, preferably homemade

¼ small savoy cabbage, cored and shredded

3 medium Chioggia beets, steamed and cut into1/2-inch cubes

Salt and pepper to taste

1 tbsp dill vinegar

Optional finish (omit the vinegar above)

½ sour cream

1 tbsp red wine or dill vinegar


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I know the dark days are over when I can pick fresh mint from my garden to garnish the ice cream made from the last jar of vanilla peaches in the pantry. So, for the last course, I thought I’d offer one of the quickest and most clever uses of my pantry stock.

Jewel-like jars of lightly poached summer fruit – peaches and pears in a vanilla-infused simple syrup or slightly spiced cherries in red port wine – make a near instant dessert throughout the dark days of winter. Obviously, the fruit can be spooned on top of a rustic cake or a bowl of vanilla ice cream. However, to satisfy the cravings of a certain other member of our household, I like to turn it into sorbet or ice cream.

A quart of peaches can simply be blitzed in the blender, chilled and processed as sorbet in an ice cream maker.  Smaller quantities –12 oz or pint jars – are pureed with 1 cup of local heavy cream (or a 14 oz can of coconut milk for the non-dairy types who crave cream). The actual work time, including cleanup, is under five minutes. You need to allow time for the mixture to be thoroughly chilled and for it to process and then harden but that’s not hard to work into a schedule. 

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