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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The Garden in Winter: Thyme and Fennel Pollen Salt

I believe in year-round gardening and farming, fingers crossed. Even though I live in a climate on the east coast of the U.S. where we get hard freezes and snow, I am always optimistic about the possibilities. In previous years, when winters were mild, I was able to keep kale and sometimes chard going all year round in the ground, in good enough shape for an occasional harvest. This year, they’re out there but buried under a foot of frozen leaves, hoping for a head start in early spring. So now I am relying on pots, some inside and some outside in a protected area. (Maybe we’ll try low tunnels next year.)

Before we dug up the only partially sunny part of our lawn to make a potager or kitchen garden, I grew food exclusively in pots. Mostly herbs, but also hot peppers, and climbing peas and beans. This is the first year that I brought the pepper plants indoors and they’re loving their sunny window, producing flowers and more hot peppers than we can use fresh. (Canning and pickling from indoor plants would be a novel idea.) The potted ginger came in too and I’ve been digging out little hunks of ginger root all winter.

But then there are the perennial woody herbs that stayed outside and became freeze-dried: rosemary, several varieties of thyme, sage, and an oregano-like herb called zaatar (not to be confused with the spice mix), among the most hardy. Some of the thyme turned bronze and is beautiful, especially when it snows.  As soon as the weather warms, I will trim them all to spur new growth but I’m already betting the rosemary’s done. Our local NPR garden talk show host is always pessimistic about winter hardiness of rosemary in our area, so I use it liberally even in winter. 

What can you do with these woody herbs besides tossing them into soups and stews? How about making herb salts? I usually make rosemary-sage salt with garlic, but this year I branched out to make rosemary salt with lavender, and thyme salt with fennel pollen, both winners. I know they sound like something to bathe in, but trust me, they’re make amazing transformations to ordinary dishes.

To make salts with woody herbs, strip the herb leaves and toss them with coarse salt and dry them before adding the “special” flavorings. Illustrated here is Celtic grey sea salt, which is pretty large-grained. The other salt I like is flaky Malden sea salt, which has a slightly better texture. Since I used whole rosemary leaves in that salt, I ground the Celtic grey salt, rosemary and lavender in a small food processor to achieve a more versatile texture. To make the salts, I mixed the thyme (or rosemary) with salt and spread it on rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper and dried it for a day in my gas oven. You can start the oven, but not let it get up to 150-degree heat, shut it off and let it cool a little before placing the tray in the oven. If you use higher heat, the herbs could become brittle and of poor texture. When done (meaning thoroughly dry since you don’t want to encourage mold), add the flavoring herb, in this case fennel pollen for the thyme and lavender flowers for the rosemary.

So what do you do with these salts? Sprinkle them on all kinds of dishes.  Here I used them on cooked scallops and shrimp (tossed with salad for her and with pasta for him). I’ve also used them on fish, chicken, pork and eggs. And on potatoes and squash. They’re a welcome change from ordinary salt and pepper and impart an unexpected spark of flavor that is great in the winter and a reminder of what lies ahead in the garden.

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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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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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Eggplant Minis

Just as I have cherry tomatoes planted in my home garden to see us through the early part of the summer season before our CSA farm produces sizeable distribution, I also plant miniature eggplants: a beautiful orange globe and a variety called “little fingers” that comes in white and the classic dark shade. The orange ones grow to about 2 inches and the long ones range from 4-6 inches. Although I couldn’t find them this year, I also like the violet and white striped variety that doesn’t grow very large, and the green ones.

The simplest preparation is the best. Sliced in half lengthwise, I either pan-grill them facedown in a little olive oil and salt, or roast them in the oven.

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Spring Gleaning

Just when I thought we had passed the spring, I cleaned out the garden for the next crops and gleaned lots of lettuce leaves, snap peas and their delicate shoots. Those plus some fava beans, a couple of newly dug potatoes and the ever-present mint became a great, light and refreshing side dish. I would have thrown in some scallions if I’d had some. I cooked the peas and pea shoots sandwiched between lettuce leaves with a tiny amount of water and a few drops of olive oil, just enough to keep the lettuce moist and steam the ingredients inside. The last great spring dish as we head into a hot and steamy summer with all of its bounty.

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June: Garden and Farm to Table and Jar

June represents the awakening of the harvest season with greens and peas and radishes for the dinner plate and strawberries and currants and cherries for sweet treats and preserving. This year I planted the BEST yellow snow peas, heirlooms from India via Pinetree Seeds in Maine. The magenta and violet flowers gave way to abundant and adorable pods that I steamed and served alongside roasted leeks.

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A Moment in Time: Peas in Pots

What were you viewing at 11 a.m. EST today, May 2? The New York Times announced the opportunity to submit entries into a global photo mosaic, organized in categories and locations. So, hearing about this 15 minutes in advance, I rushed out with my camera to find something that would have some meaning to me, and maybe to someone else. So here we have it: a snapshot of peas in pots, part of my courtyard garden, a kind of potager, or kitchen garden, filled with herbs and flowers and  a constant source of inspiration and sustenance. It connects in our in-town home to the natural world in our own little way.

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April: Herbs in Pots

Living in town and surrounded by large old trees, I have little opportunity to have a full-fledged garden. I do ascribe to the “lawn to garden” philosophy and have always, wherever I’ve lived, had a small patch of ground for growing something. For years, I’ve had a perennial herb garden grown in pots that has over-wintered most years, supplemented of course with annual herbs. The herbs that we can typically count on to reappear (here in New Jersey) are chives, tarragon and lovage. Sometimes thyme, rosemary, sage and oregano, but they’re typically poor the next year. Obviously, I could work on my techniques. Meanwhile, the intensity of the first bite of lovage or tarragon or chives is amazing, springing us to the next season.

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