Okra, Green Bean and Chard Soup

This is a spicy little Indian number. I was researching an Indian okra and yogurt soup that I sampled at the takeout counter at our local organic grocery store a few weeks ago, and I stumbled on this recipe in At Home with Madhur Jaffrey. I will eventually make that soup, but in the meanwhile, this one satisfied the need to use up the abundant green beans and green chard that were crowding my refrigerator.

The soup is silky (but not slimy) in texture from the okra and the addition of coconut milk. The gelatinous texture is greatly diminished when the soup is served piping hot. I used about a quarter of the coconut milk Jaffrey called for, and less chicken stock, and the soup was still not very thick. It definitely became more gelatinous after it sat for a couple of days in the refrigerator. I boosted the cayenne pepper since mine was a mild variety and toasted my own cumin seeds, which made a huge difference.

Okra, Green Bean and Chard Soup adapted from At Home with Madhur Jaffrey

2 tbsp olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 medium carrot, chopped

½ lb green beans (about 25 or so), trimmed and coarsely cut up

25 smallish fresh okra, trimmed and cut into 1/3-inch pieces

½-1 lb green Swiss chard, including the stems, chopped

2 tsp whole cumin seed toasted and ground, or 1 tsp ground cumin

¼-1/2 tsp cayenne pepper

2-3 c chicken stock, preferably homemade (or more to taste)

1/3 c coconut milk (I used light)

Salt

Optional: additional cayenne and whole cumin seed for garnish

Warm the olive oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the onion, carrots, green beans and okra and sauté for 5 minutes. Add the chard, cayenne and cumin and stir to wilt the chard slightly, 2-3 minutes. Add 2¼ cups of the stock and bring to a boil, Lower the heat, cover the pan and let the soup simmer for about 25 minutes.

Puree the soup with an immersion blender or in batches in a food processor. (This can be made ahead to this point, and can be frozen.  The flavor improves the second day, although the texture becomes silkier because of the okra.)

When ready to serve, add the coconut milk, thin with additional chicken stock if desired and adjust the seasonings, adding salt, cayenne pepper and, if desired, additional toasted cumin seed.

Serves 6.

Read Full Post »

Kale on Kale: Salad and Pasta, Happy Together

The raw and the cooked. Delicious, complexly flavored pasta with kale and stewed red onions served atop a raw kale salad with garlicky dressing. Topped with delicata squash croutons, a quintessential early fall supper.

This all happened when I came home on a Friday night, fried from a ridiculously busy week, without a clue about what’s for dinner or how many would show up, and knowing that I’d be going to our CSA farm in the morning to face a staggering harvest. Holy cow. Or, as it turned out, holy kale. 

I was craving raw green salad, so kale it would be, dressed in a garlicky sauce. To tame the bite of raw garlic in this dressing, I simmered roughly chopped cloves in olive oil, let them cool and emulsified them with a combination of red wine vinegar and balsamic. With a little salt and pepper, this created a delicious counterpoint to the sturdy kale leaves.  You could pour it on the greens while it’s warm to wilt them slightly, or cool the dressing first.

To dress the pasta, I caramelized thin moon-shaped pieces of red onion, cooking them slowly (15-20 minutes) in olive oil and finishing them with balsamic vinegar. The onions created a sweet note to the lightly stewed kale. Here I preferred wide pasta, fettuccini, which was sprinkled with wonderful toasted butternut squash seed oil from the Finger Lakes district of New York. The company also makes delicata squash seed oil. The combination of textures, flavors and colors created a completely satisfying and nutritious meal. Yum. 

Read Full Post »

Roasted Delicata Squash

Delicata squash waltzes between summer and winter.  It should be called “autumn squash” since it thrives in the shoulder season. It’s in the cucurbit family, which ranges from cucumbers and zucchini to butternut squash and pumpkin, and it sits squarely in the middle. Elongated and thin skinned, it can be sliced lengthwise and used as a boat for baked fillings, or here, sliced crosswise (seeds removed) and roasted in the oven.  I love those golden rings.

I favor a simple the oven roasting method (400 degrees, olive oil and salt, under 10 minutes, flip once). And afterward, they can be served as a side dish, as here with baked Great Lakes lemon sole atop braised leeks and orzo, or as a room temperature appetizer sprinkled with lime juice and chili oil. Any way you cook it, this is a vegetable to watch.

We grew these organically at our fledgling farm (yay!) and have to eat them up since delicatas are not storage squash like harder skinned varieties. 

Read Full Post »

Chicken Okra Gumbo with Filé Powder

With plentiful okra, gumbo can’t be far behind. I’ve been avoiding gumbo since I typically make it with a dark roux — oil and flour cooked slowly to a dark chestnut color — which thickens and flavors the stew. But with wheat-free people in my life, I’ve been preparing simple chicken and okra stew, allowing the okra to thicken the liquid. I pick the okra fairly small and since it’s so fresh, it doesn’t develop the characteristic slime that turns many away from eating the vegetable at all.

Then I remembered that I have a small jar of filé powder in my pantry, which is a great solution, and traditional in New Orleans and other havens for gumbo-lovers. Filé powder is made of ground leaves of the sassafras tree and acts as a natural thickener. Unlike roux, which is made at the beginning of the gumbo process, filé powder is added at the very end, after the gumbo is fully cooked. It instantly thickens the liquid, deepens the color and adds a subtle, earthy flavor.  Now I’m going to figure out other dishes that it can thicken gluten-free and hassle-free.

Chicken Okra Gumbo with Filé Powder

4 bone-in chicken thighs

Salt and black pepper or paprika

Olive oil

1 medium onion, coarsely chopped

1 green bell pepper, coarsely chopped

1 hot green pepper (e.g., jalapeno, poblano, Anaheim), finely chopped

4-5 tomatoes, chopped

1½ c okra, stems and tips removed and cut into 1/3-inch rounds

½-3/4 c chicken stock

1 tsp gumbo filé powder

Cilantro

Optional: sliced scallions, hot sauce

Salt and pepper the chicken and brown it in olive oil over medium high heat. Remove to a platter.

Pour off all but a couple of teaspoons of oil and add the onion and peppers, cooking them over medium heat until the onion is wilted.

Add the tomatoes and cook for a few minutes until they start to render their juice.

Add the okra, stir to combine and nestle the chicken into the vegetables. Add chicken broth about ¾ way up the sides of the pan, cover and simmer until the chicken is cooked, about 30-35 minutes.

Remove the chicken, skin it and cut it into pieces, returning it to the pan.  If you’re not serving this right away, let the chicken and vegetables cool separately and then combine them to store in the refrigerator. Skim any excess oil from the surface.

To finish the stew, heat the chicken and vegetables and add the filé powder. The stew will darken and thicken. Garnish with torn cilantro leaves and (optional) sliced scallions. Adjust the seasonings, adding hot sauce if you like it spicy. Serve over rice.

Serves 4.

Read Full Post »

Corn and Roasted Green Chili Risotto

‘Tis the season of corn and chilis. Nearing the end of their harvest cycle, great stands of corn stalks are drying and rustling in the wind, yielding long plump ears for supper. After we’ve had a summer full of corn on the cob, we’re slicing off the kernels, simmering the cobs for stock, and adding them to soups, stews, corn bread, and now risotto.

Meanwhile, green chili peppers are populating their bushes in droves — long anaheims, shiny dark green poblanos, jalapenos, serranos, bird chilis and varieties I’ve never heard of in amazing shapes and colors. Our CSA plants hundreds of feet of peppers as a pick-your-own crop and this has been an especially successful season.  We’ve been harvesting 20-30 peppers a week for about a month and there are many little ones growing, a testament to constant picking that stimulates the plant to produce more fruit.

 I roasted the largest anaheims (in the same family as the famous hatch chili from New Mexico), a few poblanos and others that are relatively large on our outdoor grill until browned. The skins slip right off. The milder ones were eaten with a little salt and fresh cheese. The stronger ones were set aside in the refrigerator to add to various dishes or frozen in heavy plastic bags in quantities that are logical to add to individual dishes. Since thin-skinned chili peppers can be frozen raw, I halved and de-seeded some to be preserved this way. They get mushy but I use them in cooked food so no matter. (If you’re freezing bell peppers, blanch them first.) Yet others, the ones whose color is breaking, are left on a rack to turn red and dry out, so that they can be bagged whole or crushed. My pepper supply will last a year. Looking forward to local huevos rancheros in January. 

So for a satisfying supper on the first day of fall, I decided to make risotto, using stock made with corncobs. I added roasted corn kernels and green chilis, and spiked the dish with lime juice and zest, and sprinkling of cilantro.  Served with tomatoes sprinkled with a crumbly cheese, this was a perfect celebration of seasonality.  (I cooked the corn in the oven, allowing half to brown and adding the other half partway through just to cook them lightly.)

Corn and Roasted Green Chili Risotto

2 ears of corn

3-4 c vegetable or light chicken stock

1-2 anaheim peppers

Olive oil

Salt

1 small onion, finely chopped

Butter (or olive oil)

¾ c Arborio rice

1 lime

Cilantro leaves

Cut the corn kernels into a bowl (they spatter less if you cut the cobs in half crosswise and slice one half at a time), reserving the cobs.

Place the cobs in a saucepan with the broth or stock and simmer for 15-20 minutes. Remove and discard the cobs. Keep the liquid warm.

Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Place half the corn kernels and the whole peppers on baking sheet and with a little olive oil and salt. Roast for around 7-10 minutes, turning the peppers and stirring the corn part way through. Add the reserved corn kernels and cook for 3-5 minutes until cooked but not brown. Remove the corn to a bowl to cool. Place the peppers in a bag to steam, and remove the skin and seeds. Chop and add to the corn.

To make the risotto, lightly sauté the onion in a little butter until soft. Add the rice and stir to coat the grains. Start adding the stock, about ¼ cup at a time, regulating the heat to keep the liquid at a simmer. Keep stirring and adding additional ¼ cup of stock. The entire risotto should take about 20 minutes to cook.

Add the reserved corn and peppers, the lime juice and half the zest and cilantro.

Garnish with the remaining lime zest and cilantro.

Serves 3 as a main dish, 4 as a side dish.

Read Full Post »

Brandied Figs

We will be grateful for the decadence of preserving fruit in brandy by the year-end holiday season. We’ll spoon them over ice cream or a simple cake, add them to a cheese platter, serve them alongside roasted or potted meats. In past years, I’ve brandied cherries and peaches, and I’ve developed a formula for the liquid. I make a simple syrup with a 1:1 ratio of water and sugar and add 1.5 units of brandy, plus spices if you’re using them. I sometimes spice cherries with cinnamon, cloves, and star anise.  I didn’t think figs needed anything at all, as their natural sweetness will make a syrupy compote as they cure. A piece of orange peel and some peppercorns might be worth trying sometime.

Typically, you would cold pack the fruit in prepared jars and pour the heated liquid on top. However, figs — like peaches, asparagus and okra — absorb liquid like sponges, and therefore you sometimes end up with too much air space in the jar after canning them, and the fruit or vegetables float. That could lead to spoilage so any jars that do that should be refrigerated.  My solution is to add the fruit or vegetable to just-boiled liquid, bring the liquid barely back to a boil and remove the fruit or vegetable to the prepared jars. The hot liquid is then poured on top.  You could just seal them and refrigerate them at this point or process using a water bath canning method. My hunch is that these will be ready in a couple of months. After a week or so, the syrup turns red from the interior of the figs.

Brandied Figs

(for 3 eight-ounce jars)

1 full dry pint figs, such as black mission, washed and halved (about 2¼ c)

½ c water

½ c granulated sugar

¾ c brandy

Prepare jars and canning kettle for water bath canning.

Bring the water and sugar to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. When the sugar has dissolved, add the brandy and bring back to a boil. Add the fig halves and bring barely to a boil.

Remove the figs to the jars. Pour the hot liquid over the top. Insert a chopstick or other slim implement into the jars to release any air bubbles. Leaves ½-inch headspace. Clean the rims and seal the jars.

Process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water returns to a boil. (If using pint jars, process for 15 minutes.) Turn off the heat, remove the canner lid and let the jars sit for 5 minutes until removing them to a counter to sit undisturbed until cool.

Let the figs cure for about two months before using them.

Makes 3 eight-ounce jars.

Read Full Post »

Moroccan Tomato Jam

This jam is intense. It embodies the complexity of Moroccan food: sweet yet savory, bordering on sour, spicy but not from a specific source. Except for the standout tart lemon peel, and maybe an occasional bite of ginger, the ingredients dissolve into a magical compote that is anything but subtle. If I didn’t know that the base was tomato, I might not have called it out as the main ingredient. Wow.

 The jam is the brainchild of Mourad Lahlou, owner and chef of a restaurant in San Francisco called Aziza, and the author of a recent cookbook entitled Mourad, New Moroccan, The Cookbook. I am naturally skeptical of an eponymous publication with over 30 contemporary photographs of the author. However, his turns out to be not only an interesting story, which he insists you read first, but also a very instructive course in the underpinnings of Moroccan food. Growing up in a household with an influential and discerning grandfather whom he accompanied to market, and a tableau of women whose cooking and serving of family meals was central to their cultural and social existence, he later uses his memories to reconstruct and, in the process, re-imagine Moroccan food. The trope works and the food comes alive because of the stories, aided by the book’s logical construction, excellent writing and beautiful photography. This book is a winner.

While flipping through the book in our public library (which some brilliant person endowed to purchase the latest cookbooks), tomato jam caught my eye.  Every year, as I am canning tomatoes and tomato sauces for the pantry – in abundance – I experiment with tomato jam to serve as a condiment alongside a vegetable, poultry or fish dish, or to serve with soft cheese and croutons as an appetizer. Last year, my tomato ginger ketchup was outstanding and while I’ll make it again, Mourad’s tomato jam was in my sights. I was already under a Moroccan influence after my recent experiments with chermoula, and having just put up a jar of preserved lemons for the pantry.

Mourad suggests that the recipe may be canned “in the usual way,” which I would have figured given the amount of acid – from sliced lemons, vinegar, lime juice and tomatoes.  He made it with cherry tomatoes, a boon for those of us with way too many of those during the season. I didn’t like the red cherry tomatoes that I had on hand, as they were not as flavorful as the jam deserved. So I substituted small field tomatoes with relatively thin skins since the skins are not removed. This meant that I had more liquid than he did and thus cooked my jam longer to get it to the consistency that I wanted. Also, since I intended to can the jam, I eliminated the butter he used during the process of cooking cherry tomatoes with sugar until bursting. I figured butter had more to do with that process than the mouth-feel or the flavor. All the above made my jam less chewy and more tomato-like than his but it was as stunningly delicious a concoction as I have made in some time.

In the first of the book’s opening seven chapters on technique (seven being an important number in Moroccan culture and even in its cuisine), he makes a few excellent points about spices. One is the obvious: toast and grind your own. The corollary, which he touches on, is to buy them where they’re sold in bulk so you don’t overstock and let them go stale. I’m lucky to be able to do that, so for this recipe I bought 1 tablespoon of dried rosebuds (really) and just 20 juniper berries.

The other point is more important and literally more global. The commonly used spices in Moroccan cuisine are not unique to Morocco (we knew that from the example of, say, cumin that spans from India to North Africa to Mexico).  Since the Egyptians started trading spices 4000 years ago, major spices have found their way around the world, and many of them passed through the strategic trading hub of the Moroccan coast. That’s the origin of the conception of Moroccan food as spice-centric, and Mourad tells us so many ways of using and combining them – in a uniquely Moroccan fashion — that this cookbook will provide culinary adventures for a long time.  As he says, it’s not which spices you use, it’s how you use them.

Moroccan Tomato Jam adapted from Mourad, New Moroccan, The Cookbook

2 organic lemons, preferably unwaxed

1 three-inch piece ginger (weighing 52 grams), peeled and cut into slivers

1 tbsp whole cumin seeds, toasted

1 tbsp dried rosebuds (if you can find them)

20 juniper berries

10 whole cloves

½ tsp black pepper, preferably Tellicherry

4 pods green cardamom, cracked

5 allspice berries

2-3 cinnamon sticks (weighing around 10 grams)

2 lb cherry tomatoes or other small tomatoes (the latter coarsely chopped)

2 c granulated sugar

Optional (if using cherry tomatoes and not canning the jam): 2 tbsp unsalted butter

1 c champagne vinegar

3 tbsp fresh lime juice

1 tbsp molasses

1 tsp kosher salt or to taste

If canning, prepare the canning kettle and jars (plan for 8 four-ounce jars or four 8-ounce jars).

Prepare the lemons.  If they’re waxed, dunk them briefly in hot (just boiled) water for 20 seconds or so and dry them in a towel, rubbing the skin brusquely. Quarter the lemons lengthwise, removing the seeds and the center spine. Slice them thinly crosswise into little fan shapes.

Prepare the ginger. Peel it and slice it crosswise into 1/16-inch rounds. Slice the rounds into thin strips, 1/16 inch wide.

Prepare the spices. Place the spices into a muslin sack or fold and tie cheesecloth to make a sachet. The cinnamon stick can be set aside to add to the jam separately.

Place the tomatoes, sugar and butter, if using, into a large, wide, heavy-bottomed pan and warm the mixture over medium-high heat, stirring, until the tomatoes render their liquid.

Once the sugar has melted, add the vinegar, lime juice, molasses and ginger and stir well to combine. Add the spices.

Bring the mixture to a boil and cook at a gentle simmer until the jam is reduced by about half. This could take 30-60 minutes depending on the juiciness of the tomatoes. Taste and stir in salt. Leave chunky or use an immersion blender to smooth the jam a little (as I did) or blend to a smooth puree.

If canning, spoon into hot jars, making sure to release air bubbles. Cap and process for 10 minutes after the water comes to a boil. Remove canner lid, turn off heat, and let sit for 5 minutes before removing the jars to a counter to cool undisturbed.

Makes about 4 cups, filling 8 four-ounce jars or four 8-ounce jars.

Read Full Post »

Year of the Bean: Slow-cooked Green Bean Stew & Soup

This is the year of the bean. My tiny in-town garden has been pumping out bush beans at the rate of 1-2 quarts a week for the past ten weeks from the same two 8-foot rows, and is still going strong. The green one, a variety called Provider, lives up to its name in spades. The yellow one, Gold of Bacau, is among the most delicious fresh beans I’ve ever eaten.

And then there are the climbers. Gran Violetto produces very flavorful Romano-like flat beans that are violet in color when raw and turn a luscious shade of dark green when cooked.  I’m growing this type as second crop of bush beans, which I planted in August for harvesting later this month.

Chinese Red Noodle Yard Long Beans have beautiful violet and cream flowers and very long red pods, a real conversation piece. They are stir-fried when thin and eaten as shell beans when they get large. I’ve seen green ones at the Asian vegetable stall in our local farmers market, but never red.

And finally, the showstopper: Purple Hyacinth Beans. The abundant flowers arrayed around long stalks turn into curving flat beans that need long slow cooking. These beans are already ten feet tall and would be taller if our trellis reached that high.

With all this bounty, I’ve been a little apprehensive about the bean harvests at our CSA, and for good reason. In the past two weeks, we’ve been able to pick 10 quarts of green beans. I pick only when we can reasonably consume fresh, since I don’t care to freeze beans in any volume.  And there are only so many jars of pickled dilly beans we will use from the pantry.  Freezing soup, on the other hand, is a perfect way to preserve the beans. I always have around me a bevy of starving artists and graduate students who are happy to have soup in their apartment freezers.

The soup and stew have the same base: green beans cooked with the usual aromatics – onion, garlic, carrot and celery – in a flavorful broth. I used a vegetable stock that had been cooked with a smoked ham hock. For the stew, I added diced potatoes and chunks of smoked German sausage. For the soup that was going to be frozen, I left out the potatoes and sausage (potatoes don’t freeze that well) and pureed the soup. You could also freeze the stew prior to the addition of the potatoes and sausage. Both can be served sprinkled with parsley and accompanied by a dollop of sour cream.

Slow-cooked Green Bean Stew (and a version for Soup)

1 heaping quart green beans (about 1½ lbs)

Olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 stalk celery, sliced

1 medium carrot, sliced

1 clove garlic, roughly chopped

2 (or more) c flavorful broth or stock, preferably the latter cooked with ham

A few peppercorns

2 small potatoes, peeled and cubed

1 tsp cider vinegar

1-2 fully cooked smoked sausages (German style or Kielbasa), sliced

Salt

Minced parsley

Optional: sour cream

Top and tail the green beans and cut them into ¾ to1-inch lengths.

Heat the oil in a large saucepan and add the onion, celery, carrot and garlic, cooking them slowly until the onion starts to wilt. Add the green beans and stir to coat them with the oil. Add peppercorns. Add liquid barely to cover the beans and bring it to a boil. Lower the heat to simmer the vegetables until the beans are very tender, about 45 minutes. Add the potatoes, bring the mixture to a boil and lower the heat to simmer until the potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes. Add the vinegar and sausage to the mixture for the last 8-10 minutes to help flavor the liquid. Adjust the seasonings and serve with mined parsley and sour cream, if desired.

Variation for Soup: Leave out the potatoes and sausages and coarsely puree the bean mixture.

Read Full Post »

Summer Squash and Tomato Tian

As summer winds down, the oven goes on. A Provence-inspired tian is perfect for the season. Neat layers of sliced zucchini, crookneck squash and plum tomatoes nestle atop a bed of onions, all seasoned with fresh herbs – rosemary sage and thyme—and topped with olives. Beautiful and aromatic 

A tian is basically a layering of vegetables whose juices meld together while baking.  The word comes from the name of the vessel that traditionally held the vegetables (like the tagine of Moroccan cuisine). This is in contrast to a gratin, a word that comes from the French term for scrape. Perfect, since its characteristic is a topping of grated cheese and/or stale bread. This dish would be a gratin if topped with cheese or bread, and it would be delicious prepared that way.

Like most composed dishes, this requires some advance planning, but is equally fine tossed together as a jumble. I have frequently made this for parties and picnics since it can be assembled in advance and cooked at the last minute. It can be served hot or at room temperature.  And the leftovers are even more delectable, a great base for a poached egg for a simple lunch or supper (or in my case, a savory breakfast). 

The complexity of the dish is not just visual. It comes in part from the layering of vegetables whose juices meld during cooking. But the real source is the advance sauté of the onions and squash with a mixture of herbs. First, sliced onions are lightly cooked in olive oil and chopped sage, rosemary and thyme. (I like to halve the onion crosswise and lengthwise, then slice it lengthwise into half moons, or quarter it and slice it crosswise.) The onions are then placed in the bottom of a baking dish. I used an enameled cast iron but a terra cotta or ceramic dish is probably more traditional. Then squash slices are lightly sauteed the same way, until slightly brown but not mushy. This is essential to the character of the dish. You can layer them the way I did or simply toss them on top of the onions, tucking slices of tomato here and there and topping with olives. I add a few sprigs of thyme on top before baking and a few more as garnish.

The method came from Deborah Madison’s superb vegetable cookbook, The Savory Way. This is one of my favorite cookbooks not only because of the inspired cookery but also because of the graphic design. Good paper, nicely bound, well composed, decorated throughout with woodcuts. It’s a real pleasure to use.

Summer Squash and Tomato Tian adapted from Deborah Madison, Savory Way

Adjust the quantities according to the size of your baking dish. The amount of vegetables below will fill baking dishes of approximately 7×11 inches or 8×12 inches.

3-4 small-medium zucchini or summer squash, or a combination

4-6 plum tomatoes of roughly the same diameter

1 large yellow onion, preferably a sweet one

2 cloves garlic

2 tsp each sliced sage leaves, thyme leaves, chopped rosemary leaves

5 tbsp olive oil, divided

Salt

4-6 pitted Kalamata olives, quartered vertically

Additional sprigs of thyme

Heat the oven to 350 degrees.

Prepare the vegetables. Slice the squash into ¼-inch thick rounds. Slice the tomatoes into the same size pieces. Quarter the onion and slice it vertically into half moons. Chop or slice the garlic. Divide the herbs into two parts.

In a large sauté pan, heat 2 tbsp of the olive oil and add the onions, the garlic, half the herbs and a little salt. Cook slowly until the onions have wilted but don’t brown them. Place the mixture in the baking dish.

Heat 2 tbsp olive oil in the pan and add the squash, the remaining chopped herbs and a little salt. Saute over medium high heat for a few minutes until slightly wilted. A few pieces will be lightly browned. Arrange the squash rounds in row in the baking dish, interspersing them with the tomatoes. (You can do this neatly in rows or more informally.)

Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil on top, add the sliced olives, a little salt, and some sprigs of thyme, reserving some for the final garnish. (The dish can be made ahead to this point.)

Bake, covered with foil, for about 50 minutes. Remove the foil and let cool for at least 10 minutes before serving. Garnish with fresh thyme.

Serves 4-6.

Read Full Post »

Peach Saffron Jam

Peaches are so cloying that I look for ways to make them more tragic. Preserve some of their Doris Day countenance but reduce the sweetness in favor of an earthier character. This jam does just that. It’s another inspiration from my new go-to guy Paul Virant and his excellent book The Preservation Kitchen. He says that, “The saffron turns simple sweet peaches into something quite different – earthy, musky, savory.”  Definitely. Like many of Virant’s concoctions, this is intended to be used as an ingredient or an accompaniment to savory dishes rather than simply adorn a piece of breakfast toast or fill a thumbprint cookie. Although my non-sweet tooth might just like it on toast, I am whisking it into vinaigrette to serve over colorful tomatoes.

I added a little salt to Virant’s recipe since the jam seemed a little flat. Next time I will increase the sugar just a tad, or use small yellow peaches instead of the giant ones I bought at our local orchard. I’m writing the recipe the way I think it would be improved.

Peach Saffron Jam adapted from Paul Virant, The Preservation Kitchen

5 large or 8 small peaches (2½ lb measured after pitting, 6 c cubed)

Juice of 1 lemon

1 c granulated sugar

1½ tsp saffron

Big pinch of salt

Peel the peaches by plunging them first into boiling water for a few seconds and then into ice water. The skins will slip off easily. Chop the peaches, dropping them into a large saucepan in which you’ve placed the lemon juice. Add the sugar, saffron and salt and bring the mixture to a boil over high heat. Lower the heat to medium and cook the peaches until they have rendered their juice, about 10 minutes. Cool, cover with crumpled parchment paper and refrigerate overnight.

Prepare the kettle, jars and lids for water bath canning.

Bring the peach mixture to a boil, reduce the heat until medium, and cook until thick, 10-12 minutes. Spoon the jam into the prepared jars.

Process the jars for 10 minutes after the water returns to a boil. Turn off the heat, remove the lid and let sit for 5 minutes before moving the jars to a counter to sit undisturbed until cool.

Makes 5 four-ounce jars.

Read Full Post »