Little Sweet and Sour Onions

I am always searching for something piquant to serve with Thanksgiving fare. Cranberry sauce fulfills part of this every year and this year, my discovery of boiled apple cider to glaze radishes and embellish roasted roots turned out perfectly.  Not being able to predict that in advance, I decided to make sweet and sour onions. In the past, I’ve cooked them sweetly with chicken stock and balsamic vinegar, but now, with the need for tang (not to mention the presence of vegetarians), I switched things up a bit. Here, they’re braised in olive oil and finished with red wine vinegar and sugar.

For years, I was buying small flat disk-like cipollini onions from a rickety farm stand up the road, run by an elderly women of Eastern European descent. She could be counted on for all kinds of produce that was not in the mainstream at the time. I fondly remember her kohlrabi and special varieties of peppers. Now the place is boarded up and the town has more tony places to shop. Our local organic grocery is spiffed up too but it’s still down to earth, offering a variety of small organic onions – no larger than an inch in diameter – in bulk.  These were surprisingly popular at Thanksgiving dinner, so next year I’ll crank up the volume. 

Little onions, including so-called pearl onions and cipollini, are a pain to peel. In the past, I’ve slit the bottoms, dunked them in boiling water and pinched them to release the centers before sautéing them in oil, adding sugar to caramelize them, and deglazing the pan with vinegar and stock. This time, I cooked them with the skins on in simmering water until nearly tender, cooled them slightly and stripped the skin off, before braising and glazing them in olive oil, red wine vinegar and sugar, tempered by the adding of a bay leaf. This was much less time-consuming than my previous peeling method.

Little Sweet and Sour Onions

1 lb small onions, one color or a mix

1 tbsp olive oil

Bay leaf

1 tbsp sugar

2 tbsp red wine vinegar

Trim the tops and bottoms of the onions and rinse off any grit. Bring a pot of water to a boil and add the onions. Reduce the heat to allow the liquid to simmer and cook until the onions can just be pierced with a turkey trusser. Remove the onions to a platter (dunk them in cold water if they’ve cooked until crisp tender or beyond).  Remove the skins and set the onions aside until you are ready to complete the dish.

Warm the olive oil over medium high heat in a sauté pan large enough to hold the onions in one layer. Add the bay leaf and cook for a minute. Add the onions and stir to coat. Add the sugar and continue stirring until the onions start to color. Add the vinegar to deglaze the pan, and pour the contents into a serving dish, removing the bay leaf. This dish can be made days in advance and reheated.

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Waste Not Want Not: Beet Stem Broth for Summer Onion Soup, and Beet Soup with Tarragon Cream

I discovered a new vegetable broth, my latest “favorite.” Made with the red stems of beets and the greens of leeks or spring onions, it has all the flavor and color of a light beef stock but it’s entirely vegetarian. Lightly salted, it could pass for consommé. In fact, I tried it out on a few family members who agreed with me. Making vegetable broth is a cinch. I tend to use complementary ingredients, things that might work together in a stew, and then not too many. Here I washed and chopped the stems from a couple of bunches of fresh organic red beets and cut the dark green tops off of two small leeks, washing them well and chopping them coarsely. Covered with salted water two times the depth of the vegetables, the mixture cooked for about 30-40 minutes.  It keeps, refrigerated, for a week or so, which allowed me to make two soups with it.

Our CSA distributed four pounds of large torpedo onions that were light red, juicy and not too pungent They were not suitable for storage and should be refrigerated and used in a couple of weeks. They were perfect, light companions for the beet stem broth and made a terrific light and flavorful summer onion soup. I used two large onions and about two cups of broth. To prepare the onions for soup, cut them in half vertically and then slice them thinly crosswise. Place a combination of butter and oil in a saucepan and slowly cook the onions until they collapse and start to brown, about 20-30 minutes. Stir them occasionally. Be careful to keep the heat low enough so that the onions do not burn. (If you were using yellow storage onions, add a pinch or two of sugar to caramelize them at the end. These onions were sweet so they didn’t need sugar.) Add the broth and cook for another 20 minutes. Serve with cheese toasts. By the way, you could make the vegetable broth in the length of time it takes to cook the onions.

The second soup used two large beets from the weekly CSA haul, combined with a large reddish torpedo onion and the beet stem broth. I served the soup both hot and cold, like a summer-time borscht, marbled with a delicious tarragon cream. To make the soup, cook 1 large diced onion in a little butter and olive oil until translucent and add 2 large diced cooked beets (or grated fresh beets) and broth. If using cooked beets, you will need about 2 cups of broth; for raw beets, the cooking time will be longer so use more broth, about 2½ cups.  Cook until very tender, 30 minutes or so, and puree with an immersion blender or food processor. 

For the tarragon cream, fold snipped fresh tarragon into sour cream and let it sit for 15 minutes. Add a little tarragon vinegar (or white wine or cider vinegar) to thin it. Stir it into the soup or add a dollop on top. 

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Risotto with Ramps and Chives

When I was a kid, my Grandpop and I would sally down to the “crick” and its grove and harvest ramps and talk about fishing and what we were going to plant in the “garden” (small farm). My early youth, probably unbeknownst to the rest of my family, was full of encounters and experiences with the men of the field and farm and the women of the pantry and cellar. They were our grandparents.  My many siblings may have been born too late or just never connected, even though we lived upstairs or next door.  These were the blessings of being the oldest child of many, I suppose, though most of the time, the eldest ones are considered …just older… and maybe out of touch. For me, these wandering encounters with another generation and the innocence of the earth have endured and became fundamental to my understanding of the way of the world, personal relationship with the land and its sustenance, and love of family. They’re all related, you know (note lesson for future).

Because of Grandpop, ramps hold a special place in my idea of the food world. I don’t forage for them now, mostly because I haven’t discovered where, but also because the current popular rage for them could create endangerment and I want no part of that. However, at the market this past weekend, there were ramps for sale, and I couldn’t resist. Not exactly a Proustian moment, but intriguing. 

Ramps are part of the allium family (like leeks, onions, garlic) and grow in the wild. They have stems and roots like scallions and broad green leaves. All parts are edible. For the risotto, I sautéed the bulbs and stems before adding the rice, and added the slivered leaves in batches over the course of cooking the risotto. Lightened with lemon zest instead of salt, this was a very flavorful and full-bodied dish.

Risotto with Ramps

12 ramps (about ¼ lb)

¼ c white wine

4 c or so of chicken stock or vegetable broth

Olive oil and/or butter (about 1 tbsp)

1 cup Arborio rice

1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese (or to taste)

Salt to taste

Optional: lemon zest, garnish of chives and blossoms

Wash the ramps. Cut the root ends and stalks into thin slices and set aside. Cut the leaves into ¼-inch ribbons and set aside.

Saute the root ends and stalks slowly in the oil and/or butter. Add the rice and stir to coat. Add the wine and stir until the wine is absorbed. Add 1/3 cup of stock, turn the heat to medium low or low (so it just simmers) and stir until the liquid 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. Every 5 minutes, add a portion of the ramp leaves. When the risotto is finished, add the grated cheese, season to taste with salt and a pinch or so of lemon zest if you choose. Garnish with snipped chives and tufts from a chive flower. Serves 4.

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Ricotta Frittata: Hakuna Matata

Someone could make a jingle out of that title. Ricotta frittata is a springtime refrain for casual living. It reminds me of that Swahili phrase “hakuna matata” (no worries), made famous by two meerkats in The Lion King. That certainly is the case with frittatas made from locally grown seasonal produce and really fine eggs from a local farm. I could have gone so far as to make the ricotta from local organically produced milk, but I didn’t. I was actually trying to use up the big tub I bought for our Easter pancake breakfast.

A frittata, if you’re not familiar with it, is an open-faced omelet favored in Italian cuisine, cooked very slowly on top of the stove and sometimes finished under a broiler if you have one (I don’t). You basically cook some compatible vegetables and cool them, and combine them with grated cheese and/or herbs if you want, and some lightly beaten eggs. You heat a heavy pan on the stove over pretty high heat, add butter to coat the bottom and sides, and pour in the egg-vegetable mixture. You then turn the heat to a very low setting and let the frittata cook slowly for about 20 minutes. Pass it under a broiler to brown the top if you want, and serve hot, warm, or cold.

No worries. The perfect antidote for that blank stare at the open refrigerator after a blasting day at work when you need to get dinner on the table in half an hour and don’t have a clue what to cook. Hakuna matata.

The inspiration for this frittata started with spring onions, gorgeous violet, white and green bulbs that I found at the farmers’ market. I split the bulbs completely along their length, sprinkled them with olive oil and salt and roasted them in a 400-degree oven, cut side down and then flipped them, roasting for a total of about 5-7 minutes. They were the vegetable foundation of the dish, along with local, freshly picked asparagus.

So where does the ricotta fit in? Dollops of ricotta combined with herbs (I used chives to complement the spring onions) are placed carefully on top of the egg mixture after it’s been poured into the pan and before it’s cooked. The ricotta sets up beautifully along with the rest of the frittata, and it provides another layer of flavor and texture to the dish. This was an experiment on my part and I was pleased that it worked. Especially since we were really hungry.

Ricotta Frittata

1½ – 2 c cooked vegetables, lightly salted (I used sliced grilled spring onion and asparagus)

5 eggs

Optional: 1/4 c grated Parmesan of other hard cheese

1/3 c ricotta cheese

Snipped herbs (I used chives)

1 tbsp butter

Assemble the ingredients. Cook and cool the vegetables. Lightly beat the eggs in a bowl and add the vegetables and grated cheese, if using. Combine the herbs and ricotta.

Heat a heavy pan (I use a 9-inch enameled cast iron pan) over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add the butter and tip the pan to coat the bottom and sides. Add the egg and vegetable mixture and turn down the heat to very low. Place four spoonfuls of ricotta on top of the eggs. Cook for about 20 minutes or until the top is no longer runny. Pass under a broiler for a few minutes to brown, if desired. Serves 3-4.

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Asparagus Risotto with Spring Onions

Ah April, when the asparagus stalks emerge all spindly from the bare ground and plump violet spring onions are bunched for sale at the market. One of our local farms has a pick-your-own asparagus field, which I visit on my way back from the farmers’ market on Saturday. It’s rejuvenating to know that our local earth is starting to produce our daily meals once again. And yet the weather, ever so fickle (climate change?) vacillates between a dry 80 degrees and below 50 in a chilling rain. That’s when spring risotto comes in. It perfectly balances our yen for the freshest ingredients with the comfort of a warm and unctuous, satisfying dish.    

Risotto is not hard to make, and it is not particularly time-consuming when you realize that it can be a meal-in-one in about 30 minutes, including a little prep time. Sometimes when I make vegetable-laden risotto, I cook the rice and vegetables separately. While this is my typical practice with asparagus, I realized that adding finely cut raw asparagus at the end of the cooking time works well, especially since the young vegetable mellows under little heat. I said 5 minutes in my recipe since that’s what I did, but it could be less. The other trick here was to cook the trimmings from the asparagus (just the ends here but peeled lower skin later in the season) to flavor the stock or broth, adding to the asparagus experience. I separately cooked a spear or two for garnish and considered adding a garnish of lemon zesty to pique the flavors.

Vegetarians can use vegetable stock instead of chicken and dairy-free folk can simply omit the butter and cheese.

Asparagus Risotto

1 small bunch asparagus

4-5 cups chicken stock or vegetable broth

1 medium spring onion or leek, white/violet and light green parts only (or use scallions)

Olive oil and/or butter (about 1 tbsp)

1 cup Arborio rice

1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese (or to taste)

Salt to taste

Optional: lemon zest, garnish of steamed asparagus

Snap the ends from the asparagus, rinse them well to remove any grit, and add them to a saucepan containing the chicken stock or vegetable broth. (If your asparagus is woody as it sometimes is later in the season, peel the ends and add the peelings to the liquid.) Bring the liquid to a simmer and cook slowly for 15 minutes.

Cut the asparagus into ¼-inch slices and set aside if cooking with the risotto, or parboil it separately for a few minutes in boiling water and drain, setting it aside to add at the end.

Split the spring onion or leek in half vertically and then slice it crosswise. If using scallions, cut them (white and light green part only) into ¼-inch slices.

Saute the onion slowly in the oil and/or butter. Add the rice and stir to coat. 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. About 5 minutes before the risotto is finished (when it is getting tender but still a little chewy), add the reserved asparagus pieces, stirring them well. (Alternatively, you can cook the asparagus separately and add it at the end.) When the risotto is finished, add the grated cheese, season to taste with salt and a pinch or so of lemon zest if you choose. Serves 4.

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Hurricane 101: Keep it Simple

Yes, this was a terrible incident, caused by Irene. She was a bitch in the worst sense of the word. It’s hard to talk about it: lost sleep, lost stuff, but in the long run, it was our fault for not being prepared. Oh yes, we were prepared, but not for everything, including not for how the water came in or for the tree that came down on the roof. We survived and that was the most important part. And we actually had a great family experience in the middle of the night, making crazy contraptions to divert the water. Very creative in the spur of the moment (spur being as important as moment). Rube Goldberg, step aside.

With no power and thus a deteriorating food supply but lots of veggies in reach, we went for the simple choices to nourish the workers. The onion and pepper pile on top of grilled sausages reminded me of the traditions of the great Italian festivals of New York like San Gennaro in our former NYC neighborhood, which happens in the next couple of weeks. This solved multiple problems: using fresh and frozen assets, providing nourishment, and recollecting us of joyous times spent together, both past and present, a family gift. 

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Cucumber Salad with Pickled Spring Onions

About a month ago, just as spring onions were starting to bulb, I picked up several bunches of scallion-like specimens with violet flesh, which were being discarded in our local organic produce market. While the green ends were somewhat compromised, nothing was wrong with the bulb end. Pickled in a simple solution of vinegar and sugar (light on the sugar), they’ve been curing in my fridge for a few weeks.

 I deliberately kept the sugar content low, thinking I’d serve them as a condiment with some undetermined entrée. Instead, I sliced them and used both the onions and the pickling liquid in a fresh cucumber salad. In retrospect, I would boost the sugar (which I did in this recipe) and use white vinegar rather than white wine vinegar. These little guys were so beautiful that I’ll have to repeat this experiment, maybe with their older relatives, the bunching onion.

 Pickled Spring Onions

3 bunches violet spring onions, trimmed of their green leaves

1 c white vinegar (or white wine vinegar)

2/3 c water

1/3-1/2 c sugar

1 ½ – 2 tsp salt

5 peppercorns

5 allspice berries and/or cloves

A few chopped herbs (such as lovage, tarragon or parsley)

Trim enough onions to fit comfortably into a jar with a tight fitting lid. Bring the remaining ingredients, other then the herbs, to a boil and add the trimmed onions. Bring the liquid back to a boil and cook about 1-2 minutes, until the onions are slightly soft but still firm. Place the onions in the jar, add the herbs, and pour over the pickling liquid. When cool, cap the jar and place in the refrigerator to cure for at least a week.

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Curried Onion Jam

This curried onion jam was a completely off-the-cuff, intuitive experiment that turned out so well that it will become a permanent part of my canning repertoire. Now I’m sorry that I made such a small batch! Though not particularly photogenic, it has a memorable and intriguing sweet and sour flavor with a lingering aftertaste from the spicy curry and the onion. And it has a good “mouth feel.” I can imagine it served as a condiment, as an appetizer with crackers, or spooned into a squash soup, which is what I did with the small amount that didn’t get water bath canned.

The method and proportion of sugar to vinegar to onions came from a recipe for Onion Marmalade by Pam Corbin in her book Preserves, which is No. 2 in the River Cottage Handbook series (an amazing collection, highly recommended for the beauty of the books as well as their informative contents).  I halved her recipe and changed several ingredients.

The three-step cooking method progresses from long and low to short and high. After cooking the sliced onions very slowly in a large covered saucepot, sugar is added and the heat increased to cook off the liquid. Instead of the red currant jelly suggested by the original recipe, I added sultana raisins, the ones that are dark yellow. I also added curry powder. After the mixture has cooked down again, the pan is removed from the heat and cooled so that when the vinegar is added in the next step, it doesn’t instantly vaporize. The heat is again turned up a notch and the mixture lightly boiled until thick.

Curried Onion Jam (makes 2 half-pint jars)

2 lbs yellow onions, thinly sliced (10 cups)

3 tbsp olive oil

½ cup turbinado or demerara sugar (I used demerara)

1-2 tbsp raisins (I used organic Turkish sultanas)

1 ¼ tsp spicy curry powder

2/3 cup cider vinegar

½ tsp salt or to taste

Black pepper

Prepare the jars and water bath canner. Place the onions in oil in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan and cook, covered, over low heat for about 40 minutes. Remove the lid, add the sugar, curry and raisins and increase the heat to medium high. Cook for about 30 minutes, or until much of the liquid has evaporated and the mixture is a dark golden color. Remove from the heat to cool. (The next step involves adding vinegar and you don’t want to add it to a hot pan because it will evaporate in a noxious cloud.) Return the pan to the stove, add the vinegar and cook at high heat, stirring, for 7-10 minutes until the mixture is thick and gooey. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle into hot jars, seal and process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water has come to a boil. Remove canner’s lid and let sit for 5 minutes before removing jars to the counter to cool.

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Mashed Rutabagas

Growing up, I associated rutabagas (which my grandmother called “neeps”) with wax. The supermarket variety of this large, yellow relative of the turnip, was traditionally coated with wax, which I guess kept them from rotting. Actually, what I think it did was preserve them for so long that they grew old, pungent and stunk like bad cabbage when cooked.  When I started receiving them from the Farm, our local CSA, my impression was transformed. Now I roast them, braised them, mash them by themselves or mixed with potatoes or carrots. One of the signature dishes of the Union Square Café in New York is mashed rutabagas topped with frizzled shallots, which is what I made here from my still-abundant stash of shallots from the Farm. Thinly sliced onions or leeks would also do.

When making rutabagas for mashing, you can cook them in abundant water, like potatoes, or you can braise them in a little salted water, which is what I did. After mashing, I added a tiny dab of butter for flavor, plus salt and pepper. For the frizzled shallots, onions or leeks, heat vegetable oil and a little butter in a small but deep pot. When hot, add the vegetables and cook until just starting to brown. (This burns easily, so as soon as it colors, pay close attention.) Remove to a paper towel to cool and crisp.

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OK Paris: A Correspondence Course 3 – Pipérade

OK Paris is an ongoing exchange of culinary encounters and yearnings during OK’s half-year relocation to Paris.

Here again we have a delicious and versatile dish that is often eaten in France. It’s easy to make and keeps well, so making a batch that’s only partially consumed leaves some for a quick meal another day. Hailing from the Basque region, pipérade is basically a combination of peppers and onions, slowly braised and bound with a few tomatoes. Traditionally, it is spiced with powdered Espelette pepper (“pimenton d’espelette”), a Basque red chili pepper named after a town in the region. I was happy to have a little tin of that wonderful ingredient on hand, but a combination of sweet paprika and a little cayenne would work. I added chopped garlic to this mix, and I have sometimes added a little smoked ham, which I believe is traditional. Topped with a poached egg and sprinkled with a pinch of red pepper, it makes a wonderful supper. It also makes a great appetizer on small toasts or crackers, a filling for crepes or omelets, or the vegetable component of a frittata.

Pipérade for two

1 yellow onion, sliced vertically into moon-shaped slivers

Olive oil

1 clove garlic, minced

1 green pepper, sliced vertically in thin strips

1 red pepper, sliced vertically in thin strips

2 small tomatoes, sliced vertically in 6-8 pieces (or use canned whole tomatoes)

½ tsp pimenton d’espelette (or ½ tsp paprika and a pinch of cayenne)

Sauté the onion slowly in olive oil for about 6 minutes, until it is just about to brown slightly, add the garlic and cook for a minute or two. Add the peppers and continue to cook, covered, for about 10 minutes. Add the tomatoes and pimenton d’espelette, and continue to cook until the tomatoes are soft and the ingredients are well combined. This can be eaten right away or put aside for another day, as the flavors improve with time.

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