Cook the Books: Tender, A Cook and his Vegetable Patch

A cooking challenge organized by Meg of Grow and Resist and Briggs of Oh Briggsy in which we explore a featured cookbook each month.  The selection for May is Nigel Slater’s Tender, A Cook and his Vegetable Patch.

Nigel Slater is right to be poetic about his vegetable patch. He understands that obtaining vegetables from the places where they grow changes your relationship with food. It also changes your relationship with the earth. You’re immediately more aware of seasons and how local microclimate affects what grows and how well. This in turn informs the food that you prepare for yourself, your family, and your friends. And it affects your attitude, likely your health.  I personally think this is a big deal.  Many of us are extraordinarily fortunate to have choices to make about our food, and I am pretty clear on my priorities.

I am devoted to the organic CSA farm we’ve belonged to for years, especially during months when we go to the fields and pick our own vegetables, fruits and flowers. It’s amazing, for example, to become lost in a forest of okra with beautiful creamy hibiscus-like flowers and prickly leaves and seeing how the small part we eat actually grows. I routinely make the rounds of local farms that sell their produce, whether fruit, vegetables, meat or eggs, and come to know the farmers as well as their livestock. Not to mention my penchant for stalking favorite farmers markets and pick-your-own farms, and foraging in woods and fields, or even my “lawn.”

Most of all, however, my kitchen garden is a daily source of sustenance, both physical and inspirational. As Nigel Slater says, the fruits and vegetable of the garden have “signaled an important, life-enhancing new order” in the kitchen so that “the delight in food (extends) far beyond what is on the plate.” That delight truly blossoms in your own garden. I’ve had a kitchen garden for as long as I can remember, certainly growing up in a rural area, and then improvising as I struck out on my own. Sometimes, my garden was a pot of herbs on a fire escape or, later, many pots in a courtyard. Other times it has been an ambitious conversion of a former lawn, and now it’s both, minus the fire escape. I grow enough quantity and variety to feed us sustainably, and since we use organic methods, we are restoring and regenerating our little plot. Bonus.

I was therefore very excited when Nigel published Tender, a chronicle of his garden’s vegetables, and then a second chunky door-stopper of a volume, Ripe, which focuses on fruit. (You could retire your hand-held barbells with these guys.) Before this month’s challenge, I’d read every chapter of Tender, had focused on the accounts of his garden (which I covet) but had only casually dipped into his endless lists. I had barely read the recipes. I’m an avid fan of Nigel’s work. I faithfully read his online column in The Guardian, and keep Appetite, one of his previous books, within short reach. The premise of Appetite revolves around combinations of ingredients and techniques that give the cook self-confidence not to rely on recipes (even though his recipes are very instructive and delicious). It’s a treasure trove of ideas. And so is Tender.

Once I decided to “cook the book” (since that’s the point of this adventure), I first found myself consulting his lists in the sections of each vegetable chapter labeled “Seasoning…” and “And…” as well as the introductory narratives. So many good ideas! That’s how we ended up with sliced beets and cream cheese on a pumpernickel bagel. Really. And a salad of beets and apples sprinkled with walnut oil and nuts. (Page 043)  Same with chard braised in heavy cream with a tad of mustard. (Pages 181-182)

As for the recipes, I opted to cook only what’s in season here, which is a little limiting in mid-May, but includes asparagus, fava beans, leeks, green onions, kale, chard, and herbs such as tarragon and mint, all from my garden or local farms. I also used storage beets from last season’s CSA harvest, which we just can’t seem to finish. Aargh.

Of the recipes, I first made Nigel’s delicious Pilaf of Asparagus, Fava Beans and Mint (Page 032), which includes a minty yogurt sauce that should not be omitted. The rice, rinsed three times before cooking, cooks up light and fluffy. The vaguely Indian spices, including cinnamon, cardamom and cumin, along with bay and thyme, provide an alluring backdrop that surprisingly complements the freshly cooked spring medley. I didn’t peel the fava beans since they were so tender, but you could. This rice dish is derived from a similar recipe in Appetite. He just added veggies for Tender.

A Chowder of Mussels and Leeks (Page 289) was outstanding. I share Nigel’s notion that onions have an awkward relationship with fish, and so leeks are more successful.  Based on the taste and texture of this chowder, there’s no doubt about it.  I drastically diminished the amount of bacon, butter and heavy cream in Nigel’s recipe, which improved it for my taste and waist. I thought that, throughout the book, there were more bacon, butter and cream ingredients than I would ever want.  Of the 29 chapters featuring individual vegetables, 20 used bacon, 24 used butter, 20 used heavy cream and 26 used cheese. Holy cholesterol. Despite that, I did make a version of Spring Leeks, Fava Beans and Bacon (Page 296) but cut down on the pig.

Kale with Golden Raisins and Onions (Page 279) is a riff on a Mediterranean classic made with chard and also features blood oranges and capers, which I thought were terrific complements. I make kale salad with oranges all the time and the combination was as good hot as cold. I served this by itself, and also with whole-wheat pasta and chickpeas. I’m usually on a roll with Red Russian flat-leaved kale at this time of year because it overwinters in my garden under mounds of fall leaves and wakes up to produce big bushy plants with the most tender greens imaginable. They’re delicate and sweet like lettuce and have none of the leathery texture of mature plants. Sorry, Nigel, I think kale in July is just fine, and it lives in my garden year-round, as does chard.

Appetite contains one of my favorite Nigel Slater recipes, which he entitles “really, juicy spicy meatballs.”  Made with ground pork, bacon (ha!), lemongrass or lime leaves, garlic, hot peppers and cilantro, these little buggers fry up into the most delectable crusty morsels. Therefore, Chicken Broth with Pork and Kale (Page 281) was definitely on my list. No bacon in this one, thankfully, but plenty of hot chiles (from my garden, brought indoors in pots during winter), garlic, green onions (from the farmers’ market). I halved the meatballs in the recipe because we typically eat much less meat than others, and because I wanted some ground pork left over to make the meatballs from Appetite. Both were outstanding.

I know this is a ridiculously long post, but there’s one more observation I want to make about this book: it screams “Editor,” and “Market.”  A few years ago, I put together a book (on design not on cooking) that we shopped to publishers. The creative geniuses behind Mile End Cookbook were the producers and I loved every minute of working with them.  In meeting after meeting with editors and publishers, I got feedback like this: make a chunky book, or one that has an unusual proportion; combine personal stories with information; have “process” or “how to” sections; make lists; organize chronologically, alphabetically or seasonally but make inserts that break things up; use callouts; make it graphically interesting (more important for our book than this, but something I care about); and so on.  In Tender, there are also telltale editorial signs like must-have chapters on vegetables Nigel doesn’t grow successfully or at all. And recipes recycled from other books. What I’m saying is that Tender and Ripe feel contrived: hastily prepared crossovers between memoir and a hodge-podge instruction manual. I’m not disappointed, not at all. However, I am just not convinced that a personal encyclopedia of ideas that just pop into your head or your text or those of your editors, is a great genre. Nonetheless, as Jamie Oliver says on the cover of Appetite, “Nigel Slater is a genius.” His books have a permanent place on my favored shelves since they’re so chock full of great ideas and indomitable passion for food, gardening and quality of life.

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Spring Medley of Fava Beans, Leeks, Green Garlic, and Radishes with Tarragon and Mint

A cool spring day in the garden inspired a gathering of vegetables and herbs of the moment. We sat around communal bowls of freshly picked and simply prepared vegetables, one after the other. There were picturesque French breakfast radishes, tiny pungent scallions, plump stalks of asparagus with a sprinkling of olive oil and salt, rhubarb compote smeared on quinoa cakes, and this delectable medley of buttery fava beans, leeks, green garlic, crisp radishes and herbs.  We finally felt that the spring harvest had arrived.

At this time of year, you can eat the inner pods of fava beans, but here I chose to peel off the second shell. After shelling the beans from the long green pods they grow in, you plunge them in boiling water for less than a minute, shock them in cold water and pierce the pod just enough to be able to squeeze the bright green centers onto a plate. We prepared the favas as we were eating our successive plates of vegetables.

Slender spring leeks and green garlic that I thinned from our burgeoning patch were simmered in olive oil and a little water in a covered pan until they were softened. (When cooking leeks this way, it’s important not to let them brown since they can get tough and bitter. Better to brown them after they’re fully cooked if that’s the result you want.) I tossed in chopped tarragon and mint to the cooked leeks and green garlic and added more to the finished dish. By the way, bean-sized pieces of meaty smoked bacon are dynamite with this mixture of vegetables

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White Bean Soup with Bacon and Dandelion Pesto

Bacon is the center of the Venn diagram of this soup. White beans and bacon are a traditional pairing as are dandelion leaves and bacon, so why not combine the two to make a perfect complement? 

I’d been eyeing the quart of (regional and organic) cannellini beans that I made a while ago and froze, wondering what to make with it. Like canned beans, they were too mushy to be served whole so I decided on a pureed soup, transformed by the addition of chopped onion slowly cooked with a thick strip of smoky bacon. I added a little water to get the soup to the desired consistency. Separately, I made pesto of raw dandelion leaves from our lawn, pureeing them in a food processor with olive oil, salt and garlic.  First, I garnished the soup with the pesto and liked it so much that I added in quite a lot. The slight bite of the greens and the bacon perked up the smooth and mild beans to make a satisfying Saturday soup.

White Bean Soup with Bacon and Dandelion Pesto

1 thick strip of smoky bacon, chopped

1 onion, chopped

4 c cooked white kidney or cannellini beans, with liquid (or two 14.5-oz cans)

Water as needed

1 c dandelion leaves, washed

2 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped

1 tbsp olive oil

½ tsp salt

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

In a large saucepan over medium heat, cook the bacon until it has rendered its fat and turned brown. Add the onions and cook slowly until translucent. Add the beans and their liquid and cook until the flavors are well combined, about 15 minutes. Add water as needed. Puree the soup in a food processor or with an immersion blender, adding more water to reach the desired consistency.

Meanwhile, place the dandelion leaves in a food processor, add olive oil, salt and garlic and process until well pureed. (I leave mine a little chunky and I use less oil than most people do.) Stir the pesto into the soup and add salt (if needed) and pepper to taste.

Serves 4.

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Pinto Beans with Red Wine and Smoky Bacon

I’m a reductionist. I like to cook liquids down to an almost syrupy consistency, which concentrates their flavor and sometimes improves their mouth feel. For example, when I’m dousing pasta with cream, I’ll boil the cream to about one-quarter or one-third of its original volume. Instant sauce. Or, as I did in the fall, I’ll boil apple cider to a syrup and use it to glaze root vegetables or meat. Transformative. So when Melissa Clark of the Dining Section (so she starts every video) of the New York Times offered the addition of reduced red wine to a pot of beans cooked with aromatics, I was in. 

Around here, we are always full of beans. Ha. Colloquially for sure but also literally, since we eat a lot of them for their nutritional wallop. I’m speaking of dried beans with exotic names and myriad colors. The kingmaker in the world of beans is Rancho Gordo, from northern California. We’re lucky to be able to buy them locally now. Before that, I would beg them from people who frequent the San Francisco farmer’s market or order them online. However, a couple of years ago, during my research on local organic food, I came across Cayuga Organics from the Finger Lakes district of New York.  We’ve grown some ourselves but aren’t at production capacity yet (still saving seeds), so I was pleased to find great regional organic beans.

This past weekend, instead of cooking my usual pot of beans or chickpeas to use throughout the week, I made Melissa’s bean stew. Bingo! The pinto beans held their shape beautifully when cooked and had a very creamy interior.  I attribute this to both the freshness of the beans and the cooking method, which involved an overnight soak and a very slow simmer in salted water with rendered smoky bacon, onion, garlic, celery and carrots, plus a sprig of rosemary. The beans absorbed every drop of flavor and were so delicious that I hesitated adding the reduced wine. But after I did and let the beans simmer for a bit, the wine turned the whole dish magical. I wish I hadn’t halved the recipe. It’s a winner.  Make it.

For me, other than the celery, this was a completely local meal, and all organic. Not bad for the waning dark days.  I have written the recipe the way I made it, which included halving it (to serve 4) and also reducing the amount of bacon.

Pinto Beans with Red Wine and Smoky Bacon adapted from Melissa Clark, NYT

½ lb dried pinto beans, preferably organic

Water

2-3 oz thick cut smoky bacon, diced

1 medium onion, peeled and diced

1 stalk celery, diced

1 medium carrot, peeled and diced

2 cloves of garlic, chopped

1 large sprig rosemary

1½ tsp salt

3½-4 c water

1 c dry red wine

Soak the beans overnight in water to cover. Drain when you’re ready to make the soup.

In a large pot over medium-high heat, cook the bacon until it renders it fat and turns golden, about 5 minutes. Stir in onion, celery, carrot, garlic and rosemary. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are tender, 5-7 minutes.

Add the drained beans and salt to the pot and add enough water just to cover the beans (I used 3½ cups). Bring the liquid just to the boiling point, reduce heat and simmer the beans until tender, 45-60 minutes. Use a metal disk (flame tamer) under the pot to keep the liquid at a very low simmer.

Meanwhile, in a small pot over medium heat, simmer the wine until it reduces to about 1/3 cup, about 20-30 minutes.

When the beans are fully cooked, remove the rosemary branches (the leaves will have fallen into the beans) and add the wine. Bring the mixture to a simmer and cook at least 10 minutes to meld the flavors. If you make this in advance and let it sit for an hour or so, the flavors will fully develop.

Serves 4.

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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.

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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.

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Green Bean Risotto

The story of Jack and the beanstalk is true. At least in my garden. Not only do we have young climbers already reaching ten feet, but we also have an endless harvest of bush beans from just a few plants. The trick is to keep them picked so they renew themselves. However, since you’re not supposed to be handling wet plants (beans “rust”), there have been a few rainy days that resulted in slightly bulging pods. These needed a good long cook to be tender so risotto seemed like the right idea. I cooked the beans in a combination of chicken stock and corn broth (from the cobs) before making the risotto, eking out every last drop of nutrients and flavor. This made a perfect summer supper served with melon and prosciutto as our “salad.”

Green Bean Risotto

A large handful of green beans (about ½ lb)

4-5 c chicken stock or vegetable broth or a combination

Olive oil and/or butter

½ medium onion, diced

1 cup Arborio rice

¼ cup white wine

1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese (optional)

Salt and white pepper to taste

Prepare the beans. Wash, top and tail the beans and cut them into ½-inch lengths. Bring the stock or broth to a boil in a large saucepan and add the beans, cooking them until tender, 4-7 minutes depending on the size and age of the beans. Remove the beans to a bowl and keep the liquid warm.

Make the risotto. In a medium saucepan, saute the onion slowly in butter and/or oil until translucent. Add the rice and stir to coat. Add the white wine and stir to allow it to evaporate. Add 1/3 cup of stock, turn the heat to medium low or low (so it just simmers) and stir until the stock is absorbed. When the liquid is absorbed, add another 1/3 cup of stock, wait until it’s absorbed, stirring occasionally, and then repeat until the rice is tender but still al dente. This process will take about 20-25 minutes.

Add the green beans to the risotto when it is nearly done. Finish with the Parmesan cheese and salt and pepper to taste. Serves 3-4 as a main course.

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Summer Bean Salads

A pot of beans is a summer savior.  Cooked dried beans are so versatile that you can use them in a salad, as a side dish, in soup, pureed as an appetizing spread. I like to cook up a whole pot of them over the weekend, which is hardly a burdensome task, and have them available for impromptu uses throughout the week. These are white cannellini beans, or white kidney beans.

The key to flavorful bean salads, in my view, is the dressing.  For one of my recent salads, I used the Fennel à la Grecque that I made earlier in the month. I chopped the fennel pieces, and combined them with beans that were moistened by the poaching liquid, an unctuous combination of olive oil, white wine and lemon. This was a perfect foil to sautéed shrimp, making this a one-dish meal.

The other  salad uses a garlicky dressing that I’ve been making for a while, based on an internet source I no longer can locate. I heated a crushed clove of peeled garlic in olive oil and let it sit for 5 minutes.  I then placed the mixture into my mini-chopper with a few anchovies (you could omit them and use salt but the depth of flavor is very good and it doesn’t make the dressing taste fishy), a splash of vinegar, and some snipped woody herb, like sage or rosemary. Here I used rosemary since I like it with beans and tomatoes, the vegetable I chose to add to the salad.  I brought the refrigerated beans and their liquid to a simmer, drained and reserved the liquid and tossed the beans with the warm dressing to help the flavors become acquainted. When the beans were cool and ready to be served, I checked the seasonings, added a few chopped tomatoes (good use for the millions of cherry tomatoes that crop up at this time of year), and finished it with rosemary leaves.

I served the bean salad on a bed of small kale leaves that had been tossed in the same vinegar. My garden has been producing great kale from the same plants for nearly a year! That’s crazy but true. I’m about to rip them all out and start over but it’s tempting not to after all the hard work to keep them from bolting. 

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Summer Salad of Freekeh, Cucumbers and Beans

I’m not sure which I’m more excited about: lovely yellow and green beans that I grow in our garden, or the slightly nutty, whole grain organic freekeh from a regional (nearly local) source. If you ever have a garden and want to feel like a farmer, grow bush beans. With two eight-foot lines side-by-side in my tiny in-town (in-lawn) garden, we have been yielding a couple of quarts of beans a week for over a month, and we’re not done.  There’s nothing quite like stepping outside the kitchen door, picking something and having it on the plate within 10 minutes. Or less, if you think ahead enough to put the water on to boil.  But those are fleeting moments.

Freekeh, on the other hand, endures year-round and is a staple of the diets of many nationalities, from Eastern Europe to the Middle East. Maybe further afield. On the East Coast U.S. it is grown by the participants in Cayuga Organics, located in the Finger Lakes region of New York State. It requires less fertilizer than other types of wheat, so I hear, and therefore is a candidate for organic production. Our local health food store stocks it and I became intrigued when blogging about cooking with local ingredients during the dark days of winter. Freekeh comes from slow-roasted green spelt berries (spelt is a type of wheat lower in gluten than most). Freekeh is produced as whole berries and is also cracked. Mine was cracked and cooked in about 35-40 minutes.  I used a ratio of 1.5:1 water to grain, meaning 1½ cup of water to 1 cup of grain, starting them together in a pan (unlike other grains that you add to boiling water) and simmering them until tender.

Freekeh tastes like intense, robust cracked wheat and has none of the slightly pasty quality of its cousin couscous. I like it as a robust and flavorful base for summer salads. Here, I combined cooked freekeh with cubed salted cucumber and diced mint, tossed with light vinaigrette. Surrounded with my oh-so-local beans, this was a refreshing supper on a hot summer day.

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Waste Not Want Not: Fennel Frond Broth for Cooking Beans and Making Soup

The first of a two-part series on ideas for using the whole fennel plant – bulb, stalks and fronds – in several complementary dishes…

One of the great advantages of belonging to a CSA or growing your own food, even in a little kitchen garden like mine, is that you often obtain the entire plant. The bulb of fennel and bushy fronds, beets, radishes and turnips with their edible greens, cilantro with its roots, peas with pods, and so on.  Even though what’s typically offered in the supermarket, or even in the local organic grocery, is trimmed to the most prevalent form of the vegetable, maybe just maybe, that’s because that’s more durable, longer lasting, prettier to display, easier to ship. Personally, I get a lot of pleasure from seeing how vegetables, fruits and flowers grow. And when we have an excess of something, I feel free to experiment.

Fennel from our CSA provided just that opportunity as it came bunched in pairs, with relatively small bulbs and nearly 30-inch long stalks laden with bright green fronds. I say “bulbs” since that’s what the base of fennel resembles. Actually, in so-called Florence fennel, the bulb type, these are thick stalks. Think of them like celery, or even chard. (Fennel, without the bulb habit, is typically thought of as an herb, harvested for its leaves.)

It’s easy to figure out what to do with the bulbs and the tender stalks, but that volume of fronds was daunting.  I’ve gone through a full-fennel experience in the fall, at the beginning of the Dark Days, so I know that successive cooking of various parts is a good idea. Sometime, I will elaborate on my theory – actually a method – of successive cooking, a one-thing-leads-to-another approach, related largely to the use and re-use of water. That’s what started me off .  

First, I soaked dried baby lima beans in water overnight and drained them, discarding the water. (This was hardly necessary because they turned out to be young beans that would cook relatively quickly.) I covered the drained beans with fresh water, added salt and a giant handful of fennel fronds, and lightly simmered them stovetop for an hour or so. I separated the beans from the liquid to cool, and then re-combined them to store. The beans became infused with the anise/licorice flavor and aroma of the fennel and the resulting broth was amazing. From the beans, the broth had the viscosity of chicken stock and, from the fennel, an alluring herb flavor and greenish hue.

Fennel and Bean Soup

I made soup from the beans, broth and separately braised fennel, sprinkled with fresh fennel fronds. A little freshly ground black pepper is all the extra flavoring it needed.

Mixed Bean Salad

I also made a delicious, garlicky mixed bean salad by combining the cooked limas and yellow wax beans and green beans that were cooked until tender in fennel-bean broth. Dressed with a clove or two of garlic mashed to a paste with salt and doused with olive oil, as well as a few chopped fennel fronds, this was a very flavorful salad that would be great to take to a picnic.

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