Summery Cabbage Stew

Some dishes that we associate with the dark days of winter from storage crops become transformed when made with the season’s first harvests, becoming lighter, more flavorful and maybe even more nutritious. I think of minestrone from early carrots, spring onions and tiny zucchini. Or fresh pea soup made in the style of its dried split pea counterpart.

Here’s another, a light cabbage stew from an early harvest. To accompany the small cone-headed cabbages we get from our CSA – perfect for quartering into individual portions – I used spring onions and first-of-the-season, tomatoes, fresh-dug potatoes and multi-colored carrots along with a small handful of thyme from my garden. Stewed gently with homemade chicken stock and white wine, this made a simple supper served with spicy hot mustard and a light but flavorful chicken sausage. In the winter, I would stew a spicy pork sausage – andouille or chorizo — with the vegetables, which imparts incredible depth to the liquid. However, served lightly here, the delicate flavors of the vegetables themselves are allowed to shine. 

Summery Cabbage Stew

1 small cone-headed or spherical green cabbage (about 1-1½ lb)

2 spring onions, sliced

2 tsp olive oil

6 carrots, sliced if small, diced if large

2 small tomatoes, diced

4 small potatoes, quartered

4-6 sprigs of fresh thyme

4-6 black peppercorns (or freshly ground pepper to taste)

1½ c white wine

1 c chicken broth, preferably homemade

Pre-cooked or dried sausage (optional)

Remove any tough wrapper leaves from the cabbage and set them aside for another use. Quarter the cabbage if small (or cut into wedges of large) and slice out the core.

Slowly sauté the onion in oil until just translucent, about 2 minutes at most. Place the cabbage wedges on top, and add the carrots, tomatoes and potatoes, then the wine and broth. Bring the stew to a simmer on top of the stove, cover tightly, and let cook slowly until everything is tender, about 40 minutes. Check periodically to make sure the stew is simmering, not boiling. If you want to cook smoked sausage with the stew, cut it in chunks and add it part way through the cooking process. (Adding it earlier could dry out the sausage. Adding it later doesn’t allow it to contribute to the broth.)

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Pickled Sweet Cherries with Tarragon

I knew this would be brilliant. Tarragon was my go-to herb all spring, partly because my pot-full has been vigorous. My yearly batch of tarragon vinegar is coming up soon, but in the meanwhile, I’ve been making fruit vinegars, like cherry.  Having pickled sour cherries a few weeks ago, I moved onto sweet cherries last weekend courtesy of a find at the farmers market.  Unlike the pickled sour cherries, which last for months, the sweet cherries may be short-lived, even when stored in the refrigerator. (Of course they’re so delicious, they wouldn’t last that long in any event.) Unlike the recently pickled sour cherries, which take some time to cure, the sweet cherries are ready in a week.  I had a few ideas on how to pickle these based on my previous experiments, but opted to follow Thomas Keller’s method from Ad Hoc at Home. There’s glitch in his recipe, so I followed my instincts.

Pickled Sweet Cherries with Tarragon adapted from Thomas Keller Ad Hoc at Home

1 lb sweet cherries (enough to fit in a pint jar without packing them down)

1 four-inch sprig of tarragon cut in half

2/3 c water

1/3 c balsamic vinegar (or cherry-balsamic vinegar)

1/3 c granulated sugar

15 black peppercorns

Wash and dry the cherries, trim the stems to ¾ inch and place the fruit in a clean pint jar with the tarragon. Bring the remaining ingredients just to a boil in a small saucepan and set aside to cool slightly. While still warm, pour over the cherries and let them cool completely before capping and storing in the refrigerator. Make sure the fruit and tarragon are fully submerged.  The cherries will be ready in about a week.  Makes 1 pint.

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Pan-roasted Lettuce

Sometimes abundance is just too much. That’s what I think about lettuce right about now. With eight heads a week coming from our CSA, it feels relentless. Yes, I know, I don’t have to take it all, and I don’t.  I make a variety of salads normally, and I have lots of baby kale in my own garden that would be perfect for that, but I’ve felt compelled to use the lovely lettuce instead. So I decided to turn the tables.  

Shelling peas and snow peas are also abundant and it’s typical to steam them with lettuce leaves, but that takes care of only a few leaves not whole heads. After making a lettuce and pea soup (soup is another good way to cope with abundance), I remembered that dense heads of slightly bitter lettuce are good for grilling. There’s a favorite restaurant in Cambridge (or maybe Somerville), Massachusetts that serves grilled Romaine lettuce with some kind of garlicky dressing and Parmesan cheese, as I recall. A kind of grilled Caesar salad. Delicious. So here, in addition to cooking peas with lettuce, I cut my densest head in quarters and pan-roasted them, cut side down, in a combination of butter and olive oil.  Served alongside peas, the lettuce was a meal unto itself. Except for that light kale salad we’ve been craving. 

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Fava Beans: Supper from Garden to Table in No Time

During winter months, I have a routine for getting supper on the table quickly after a long day. As soon as I walk in the door, I put a pot of water on to boil and light the oven. By the time I’ve let out the dogs, tended the kids, and changed my clothes, the stage is set. Surely something from the pantry or fridge will work in that scenario, steamed, boiled, baked or roasted. In the summer, I just start the pot of water since I have a “potager,” a fancy name for the vegetable patch just outside my kitchen door. Surely I can find something that could use a quick dunk in water for an immediate, seasonal and rewarding meal.  Or be eaten raw.  Or be quickly stir-fried.

At this time of year, my garden is full of peas, numerous herbs and greens and, for the first time, fava beans. The greens from the peas and favas are also fair game for dinner and are as delicious as they are nutritious. Unlike peas and green beans that hang down from their stems, favas grow upward until their weight folds their stems down. That was a surprise. (I need to research this plant.) The beautiful cream-colored blossoms with dark violet hearts shrivel to little wisps that resembles black paper, out of which emerge pods that start at half an inch and grow to seven! Like peas and beans, you need to keep harvesting the pods so that the plant continues to grow and produce new fruit. I’m already on my third harvest from the favas that I planted in early April and grew as upright plants. They’re about 3’ high. I staked them as a precaution but they hardly need it. (I am also growing climbing favas in a big pot topped with a tomato cage, but I may have planted this too late to get much of a yield.) I live in a town, not in the country, so anyone could do this.

Fresh fava beans – sometimes referred to as broad beans — are sometimes hard to find and definitely expensive to buy. The evaluation of the price per pound has to take into account that you get a huge weight pod filled with 5-7 beans that have a thick pliable shell that has to be removed before you get to the beans. I haven’t done the math, but I bet the price per pound for ready-to-eat beans is at least 4 times as high as the already exorbitant price for the whole pods.  We are growing some that we bought from a seed company and some that we bought in bulk at our local health food store. They’re fresh enough to sprout, so why not?

To cook favas, remove the beans from the big pods plunge them into boiling water for a few seconds, longer for older beans that you want to be thoroughly cooked. Let the pods cool only until you can handle them and cut a small slit in one end, squeezing to expel an inner, bright green bean, which often splits in half when young.

Which brings me back to the start. For this simple supper, I harvested fava beans, snow peas, and herbs (in this case mint). I shredded zucchini in long strands to mimic the spaghetti that I grabbed from the pantry. And I zested a lemon and squeezed its juice. When the water came to a boil, I dunked the favas and set them aside to cool. In went a sieve-full of long strands of zucchini  (in the sieve) just to temper them. Then the snow peas, which were sieved out in a few seconds, followed by the spaghetti. In the few minutes that it took to cook the spaghetti, I shelled the favas and added the lemon zest and a splash of olive oil to the zucchini. Finally, all of the ingredients were assembled for the meal. Under 30 minutes and just great.

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Elderflower Cordial

The smartest way to find out how to cook ingredients that frequent hedgerows, is to consult someone of authority from a country where hedgerows thrive. Like England. Elderflowers grow in the wild here in the U.S., mostly along canals and in boggy areas, but also along ditches that line country roads. They bloomed this year just in time for the Queens’ Diamond Jubilee, so I couldn’t resist making Pam Corbin’s elderflower cordial from the Preserves Handbook in the River Cottage series. She claims that it comes from the River Cottage archives, and I have to say that’s it’s a wildly successful concoction that has clearly stood the test of time. However, I cut down on the sugar that she calls for, halving her basic recipe but quartering the sugar. 

The elderflower cordial keeps for weeks in the refrigerator, months in the freezer and can be water-bath-canned if you add citric acid as a preservative. We enjoyed the elixir stirred into seltzer water, but I bet it would make a good aperitif with dry Proseco or Champagne. If you want something stiffer, add vodka to the combination of seltzer and elderflowers.

This is the first time that I have made anything with elderflowers, somehow missing out on the season in previous years. It was a big risk on my part, however, as I braved snakes in the grass and got a fierce case of poison ivy, which kept me from making a return visit the following week.  I would have liked to experiment with diminishing the amount of citrus in Corbin’s version, mainly because I wanted to get as close as possible to the essence of the sweetly scented flowers. As with all things with fleeting seasons, there’s always next year.  I’m just glad to have had such success to date.

It’s best to harvest the flowers before the day gets too hot, since the scent, and therefore the flavor will be most intense. Corbin mentions that it’s also best to pick them when some of the flowerets are still white buds on the verge of unfolding. Corbin throws the whole head into the pot, whereas others ship off the green stems, which I did for both color and taste.  You basically infuse the flowers in boiling water left overnight, let the liquid drain out through a jelly bag, and create a simple syrup out of it a few hours later.  

As with any foraging, you should not devastate an entire plant. The flowers quickly turn to berries, which are also useful foods, and you want to make sure that the bushes propagate.

Elderflower Cordial adapted from Pam Corbin, River Cottage Preserves Handbook

14 heads of elderflower

4 tsp finely grated lemon zest

2 tsp finely grated orange zest

3¼ c boiling water

1½ c granulated white cane sugar

3 tbsp fresh lemon juice

2 tbsp fresh orange juice

½ tsp citric acid, if using (e.g., Fruit Fresh)

Cut the elderflowers from the heads, removing most of the green stems. This should yield about 2 cups. Shake the flowerets in a colander or sieve to remove loose dust and lightly wash.  Place the flowerets and citrus zest in a large heatproof bowl and pour the boiling water over them. After it’s cool, cover and leave overnight to infuse the water.

Strain the liquid through a jelly bag for a couple of hours. Do not press down on the flowers to avoid getting a murky liquid.

Place the liquid in a saucepan, add the citrus juice, sugar, and the citric acid, if using. Bring to a simmer and cook for a couple of minutes. Pour the hot syrup into sterilized bottles or jars and seal. Store in the refrigerator or freeze it.  (I found that I wanted to strain it through a coffee filter after it was cool to clarify the liquid.) This can also be canned using a water bath method, but you might want to double the amount of sugar I used and include the citric acid.

Makes about 4 cups.

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Potted Rainier Cherries with Vanilla and Rum

The gorgeous Rainier Cherries that I picked last weekend at a local orchard begged for a light treatment.  Their blushing yellow complexion and sweet, succulent flesh did not deserve to be cooked into pickles or jam that would just turn them brown and ordinary.  As ordinary as cherries ever are! They’ll oxidize no matter what, but I thought that a simple poaching would be the best course to maintain their integrity.  I can’t say that these are actually poached since I didn’t cook the cherries, but rather poured warm liquid over them and let them cure in the refrigerator for a few days.

Picking up on a preparation of Thomas Keller’s in Ad Hoc at Home (a very practical, down-to-earth volume, by the way, from a chef known as a virtuoso), I burned the alcohol off a jigger of rum, and added it to simple syrup (sugar and water) with vanilla beans. Lightly cooled and poured over the cherries, the syrup was as delicious as the fruit, which we served as a lightly chilled compote.  It keeps for a few weeks, but any cherries that are not fully immersed will turn brown.

This would ordinarily seem to be an extravagant use of vanilla beans, but I just received an annual bulk order since it’s coming up on the time to make homemade vanilla extract so that I’ll be ready for the fall and winter holidays.  Don’t discard the beans when you’re finished with the cherries.  At the least, they can be inserted into a jar of sugar to flavor it.

Potted Rainier Cherries with Vanilla and Rum adapted from Thomas Keller

1 lb Rainier cherries, with stems

1/3 c light rum

1 c water

1 c sugar

2 vanilla beans

Wash the cherries and cut the stems to ¾ inch long. Place the cherries loosely in a jar, taking care not to press them down.

Heat the rum in a medium saucepan and light it with a match, allowing the alcohol to burn off slightly. Add the water and sugar.

Cut the vanilla beans in half crosswise, and then split them lengthwise, scraping the seeds into the liquid and sugar mixture and adding the pods.

Bring to a simmer and cook for two minutes. Remove from the heat and let the mixture steep for 30 minutes.

Remove the vanilla beans and add them to the cherries. Pour the liquid over the over the prepared cherries, cap the jar, let it cool and refrigerate. Use within two weeks or so.

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Preserved Spiced Cherries

Another in a series in which I comment on M.F.K. Fisher’s 1986 annotations of Catherine Plagemann’s 1967 Fine Preserving, layering past and present, research, experimentation and outright opinion. This project is a blast.

This was last year’s prize sweet cherry discovery and I’m surprised that M.F.K. Fisher didn’t pick up on it when she annotated Ms. Plagemann’s delightful volume. Taking the author’s advice, I waited several months before cracking open a jar, so of course it would be a whole year before I could make it again and would want to write about it. Every time I serve the cherries, my husband comments on how exceptionally good they are. And he’s right. 

 Strong and syrupy, the cherries have a lingering taste from the addition of cider vinegar and the spices – cinnamon, allspice and cloves. The most interesting characteristic is the plumpness of the whole cherries after they’re canned.  It’s partly because I used large sweet cherries and partly because the ridiculous amount of sugar, coupled with the cherry juice and vinegar, produces a gel in 5-10 minutes, if that.  Therefore they don’t get overcooked. 

Plagemann thought of this as jam, but it’s a little loose for that. We spooned it over ice cream and sorbet and served it with crepes and pancakes. I bet the cherries would make a swell topping for a custard tartlet. I’ll let you know next year.

Spiced Cherries adapted from Catherine Plagemann, Fine Preserving

2 lbs sweet dark red cherries (5-6 c pitted)

4 c granulated cane sugar

1 c cider vinegar

½ tsp ground cinnamon

¼ tsp ground allspice

¼ tsp ground cloves

Prepare 6-7 eight-ounce jars for canning.  Place a saucer in the freezer for testing the gel.

Wash and pit the cherries, leaving them as whole as possible.

Place the remaining ingredients in a large wide saucepan and bring just to a boil over medium-high heat. Add the cherries and stir. Cook the cherries at a medium boil until the liquid tests for gel, about 5-7 minutes.

Divide the cherries among the prepared canning jars and pour in the liquid. (I made 2 jars of just syrup.) Carefully insert a spoon handle or similar object in the jars to release any air bubbles without breaking the cherries. Process the jars in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water comes to a boil. Turn off the heat, remove the canner lid and let sit for 5 minutes before removing to a counter to cool undisturbed.

Makes approximately 5-6 eight-ounce jars.

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Sweet Hot Strawberry-Currant Jam

I have a thing for the combination of sweet and hot. For as much jamming as I do, you’d think I have a wicked sweet tooth. Not so. I don’t eat candy or drink soda. I don’t crave cookies or baked goods. I skip dessert. I don’t understand the concept of breakfast for dinner since I’d rather have leftover dinner for breakfast any day. So I think my attraction to adding heat to sweet comes from the urge to diminish the cloying impression of a sugary mix.

The idea of reducing the apparent presence of sugar, if not the amount itself, got me to including red currants in strawberry jam. There are two immediate benefits, not counting nutrition (red currants are especially high in anti-oxidants and Vitamin C). One is that the currants provide pectin and allow the strawberry jam to set without excessive cooking. The second is that they impart their own tartness and clarity to the jam. The clear liquid of currant juice is potent and it gels like a dream. But it’s still a sugary mix. 

A couple of years ago, I made strawberry jam with Balsamic vinegar and added cracked black pepper. I liked the pepper but not the vinegar. So this year, I decided to add black pepper to one batch of strawberry-currant jam. Since my hot red pepper jam is such a hit, I decided to add chipotle powder to a second batch. (Actually I divided two separate batches in half and seasoned one half and left the other plain. This is a great way to experiment BTW.) I remember that Tigress of Can Jam fame once did that to a roaring success (literally), so I was confident this would work. And it did.  I judged the amount to add by what the batch tasted like before canning, punching it up a bit since hot spices tend to dissipate as jam ages. This was a winner. I can’t wait to try it on my family in a taste test.  Even I might like it for breakfast.   Though more likely, it will end up with some runny cheese as a dinner appetizer or on a supper buffet.

Sweet Hot Strawberry-Currant Jam

¼ pint red currants, stemmed (1 cup)

½ cup water (or half the measure of the currants)

1+ quart strawberries, sliced (4 cups)

3 cups sugar (or ¾ of the measure of the berries)

½ tsp chipotle powder or freshly ground black pepper (amount to taste)

Place the currants and water in a saucepan, bring to a boil and continue cooking until the currants burst. Turn off the stove and let them cool for a couple of hours to develop the pectin. Push them through a sieve to remove the seeds and set the liquid aside.

Meanwhile, combine the sliced strawberries with the sugar and let them macerate for several hours, or overnight, stirring occasionally to dissolve the sugar.  (If I am keeping this overnight, I added the currant liquid to the strawberries.)

Prepare the canning jars and lids.

Cook the strawberry and currant mixture over high heat until the gel point has been reached (221 degrees F but test on a cold plate). Add the pepper, and adjust to your preferred degree of hotness, knowing that the heat will dissipate somewhat if you’re storing the jam for some time.

Ladle into hot jars, wipe the rims, and cover with the lids and screw-on ring.

Process in water bath canner for 10 minutes once the water returns to a boil. After 10 minutes, remove the lid, turn off the heat and let sit for five minutes before removing to let sit undisturbed for a day.

Makes 3-4 half-pints, or eight 4-ounce jars.

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Strawberry Jam with Pinot Noir

I have an opinion about strawberry jam. No, actually, I have an attitude.  I don’t like the old fashioned way of boiling the dickens out of watery berries loaded with sugar, only to yield a brownish substance that is supposed to resemble fruit. Nor do I like adding powdered or ooey gluey liquid pectin. (Of course, you can make your own pectin from early season green apples, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

That was before I learned new tricks, tricks that have transformed my approach. The first trick is to macerate the fruit in sugar overnight, a step advocated by Christine Ferber, the doyenne of preserving. This brings out the flavor of the fruit, dissolves the sugar gracefully and helps develop the set without adding pectin. She sometimes does this twice, letting the fruit sit in liquid after an initial boil, which plumps it up. Or she boils the liquid independent of the fruit nearly to the gel point and adds the berries at the end for a final rendering. 

The second useful trick – my own — is to combine strawberries with another ingredient. My favorite is to add red currants, since they have lots of pectin. I make currant-strawberry jam every year now, as well as strawberry-rhubarb jam. I made improvements to both this year, which I hope to share at some point. Both of these are bright and fresh in color and flavor, although they mellow when stored for winter consumption. 

This year, in response to Paul Virant’s book The Preservation Kitchen, I made strawberry jam with red wine. He suggested Pinot Noir and I agreed. The alcohol of course cooks off, but the flavor of the wine complements the strawberries and creates an old-timey depth that the defunct boiling method intended to achieve. The other interesting discovery is that the wine contains enough natural sugar that you don’t need nearly as much sugar as in typical jam. The rule of thumb is to add 3 cups of granulated sugar to 4 cups of fruit. That’s a lot. I typically add less but you do jeopardize the set.  Here, I used 2/3 cup of sugar to 4 cups of fruit! That’s a stunning reduction. Maybe there are other chemicals at work from the fermented grapes.

As with every recipe I’ve made from Virant’s excellent book, I’ve reduced the amount and rewritten the recipe procedurally while preserving his concept. I prefer small batch canning since I like to try different things, so I halve or quarter most recipes. Below is the way I made it, yielding 3-4 four-ounce jars, just the right size for a few breakfast meals. 

Strawberry Jam with Pinot Noir adapted from Paul Virant’s Preservation Kitchen

1quart strawberries

2/3 c granulated cane sugar

¾ c Pinot Noir or another light and slightly fruity red wine

1 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

Clean and hull the strawberries and cut them into 1/3 to ½-inch dice. Place them in a heavy saucepan with the sugar for about 20 minutes, or until the strawberries render their juice and the sugar is mostly dissolved. Add the remaining ingredients and bring the mixture to a boil. Cook for about 5 minutes. Let cool and refrigerate at least overnight but up to a few days.

Prepare jars and lids for water bath canning.  Place a saucer in the freezer to cool.

Strain the liquid from the macerated strawberries into a wide pan, reserving the berries. Cook the liquid over medium-high heat until it is reduced by approximately one half and reaches approximately 215 degrees on a candy thermometer. This will take anywhere from 15-25 minutes.

Add the reserved strawberries and continue to cook until the temperature reaches 221 degrees or … this is important… a drop placed on a frozen plate wrinkles when pressed with your finger. I find the latter a better test of gel than the former.

Ladle the jam into prepared jars, leaving ½ inch headspace.  Process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water returns to a boil. Turn off the heat, remove the canner lid and let sit for 5 minutes before removing to a counter to cool undisturbed.

Makes 3-4 four-ounce jars.

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Preserving the Cherry Harvest: Cherry Vinegar Two Ways

Continuing a series of recipes for stocking your pantry full of cherries at the peak of the season…

Reflections of three jewels in light bouncing around the kitchen in late afternoon make me smile. We have what I call “ghosts” in the house: reflections and shadows, mysterious shimmering light and ephemeral forms that appear from the darkness, observed and also sometimes captured on camera. I collect them, though rarely share. But here, among the most obvious and lucid was a simple bounce of light from the west kitchen window to the stainless steel refrigerator door to the counter where I had lined up my three most recent vinegars: chive blossom, the most fragile color of the group, violet, and the nearly opaque cherry. Their color and luminosity align with characteristic flavors.  I’ve posted chive blossom vinegar and violet vinegar before, and here, in anticipation of a full-blown cherry harvest, are my most recent two attempts at cherry vinegar from last season. (I have already said that the curing takes so long and the season is so short that I don’t think it’s fair to post these ideas out of reach.)

 Last year, I observed that, throughout the fall and winter, I added dried cherries to salads, pilafs and even to poultry, and I found myself spooning syrup from slightly sweet pickled cherries onto salads. So, I thought, why not make cherry vinegar?  Thomas Keller, in Ad Hoc at Home, writes about steeping cherry pits in balsamic vinegar. He uses it to make potted cherries with tarragon, which I am planning on doing this year. The Thomas Keller vinegar does have lingering cherry flavors but is pretty subtle. It makes a good addition to pickled cherries, though, and I like the “waste not want not” bonus. But it lacked the robustness of pure cherries that I craved.

The other cherry vinegar – inspired by the She Simmers blog that expounds on Thai cuisine and customs — is simply great and greatly simple. You grind up pitted cherries and combine them with white balsamic vinegar (they foam, don’t worry) and let them steep. I decanted some after the ten days that She suggests, but I let most of my batch cure for longer (months) with no adverse effect. In fact, I rather liked having some of the ground up cherries to combine with other things, including adding them into salads where the vinegar is part of the dressing.

Cherry vinegar is versatile and has become a favorite in my household. I particularly like the combination of cherry vinegar and walnut oil (and a splash of light olive oil to temper), tossed with newly picked lettuces, toasted walnuts, diced steamed beets and feta cheese. I added a splash of walnut oil to the walnuts as they finished browning in a dry pan over low heat, which somehow both freshened them and added a depth of flavor.

Cherry Pit Vinegar from Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc at Home

¾ c Balsamic vinegar

Pits from 1 lb cherries

Bring the Balsamic vinegar to a boil and pour over the cherry pits. Let them steep for at least an hour before decanting the vinegar.

Cherry Vinegar adapted from the She Simmers blog

2 cups white Balsamic vinegar (basically a 17 oz bottle)

1 lb Bing cherries, pitted (yielding 2 c)

Warm the vinegar just to the simmering point, not letting it boil (which would dissipate the acidity). Let it cool 10 minutes.

Place the pitted cherries in the bowl of a food processor and grind them fine. Add half the vinegar and process until the mixture is smooth (it will be slightly foamy). Pour into a clean jar with a tight lid. Add the rest of the vinegar, cap it and shake it to combine. Store in the refrigerator for two weeks, shaking it every day. Decant the vinegar (then or later) through muslin or multiple layers of cheesecloth and finally through a coffee filter until it is completely clear.

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