On my flight to Nashville last week, I stopped in the Hudson Booksellers to get my requisite trashy travel reads, namely: the newest issues of Bon Appetit and Gourmet. What with the sexy centerfold on ramps and Molly Wizenberg's (aka Orangette) recipe for leek confit, I decided it was high time the seasons incline toward my desires.
Saturday morning, back in Chicago, I marched resolute to the Green City Winter Market. I had no time for the warnings that it had been yielding little more than potatoes and mushrooms.
I have no time for such warnings!
It is time for kale!
Time for fresh from the ground leeks!
Time for anise-y drinks and sunsets and cool breezes on rooftops!
Time for the Velvet Underground wafting through windows wide open late into the night!
In other words: time for spring!
But the market would not yield to my unseasonal demands. A canvas bag of mushrooms, eggs, apples and half and half later, I half-heartedly eyed the vast array of microgreens. Pea shoots are lovely. Lovely. But pea shoots are not kale, and kale, my friends, is not yet in season.
(An aside about why I'm not so disappointed, after all: I never thought I'd need to spend time in these pages telling you about half and half. However. That is simply because I'd never had Blue Marble Family Farms half and half. It's cream line, and comes in a pleasing and rotund glass jar fresh from a local cow. It really, really costs more than I should ever think about spending on a coffee condiment [although apparently the farmer gave me a "stimulus plan discount"]; but it's actually so good that I gasped at my first sip, and then sat down to write Lauren an email about it. It would be absurd to consider home delivery of half and half, right?)
Later, having acquired desired kale and leeks from a certain notorious grocery store, we got down to the business of preparing a proper spring feast. And maybe kale is not in season, and maybe Saturday's sixty degrees was just a coy late-winter bluff; but I think we got the last word: because spring was in my kitchen, and on our plates, and in our bellies.
Fresh Egg Fettuccine with Garlic and Kale; Leek Confit
Ingredients:
(for the pasta)
3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
4 eggs
a pinch of salt
(for the kale)
1 bunch lacinato kale, cut into thin strips
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
good olive oil
a shake of red chile flakes
(to finish)
leek confit
a splash of the dry white wine you are drinking
parmigiano reggiano
NOTE: A few months ago, Amber and I took the pasta 101 class from Chef Theo at Terragusto. To no one's surprise, I sort of fell in love with him, as he waxed about the relationships he built with farmers, his vehemently locally-sourced menu, and his involvement with the food advocacy scene in Illinois. The best thing that Chef Theo taught me, however, was not to be scared of making your own pasta. You can't really ruin it, which means it doesn't need to be a laborious or delicate process, but really can be something you make on an ordinary evening.
This recipe Chef Theo's; it calls for more eggs than recipes I've made in the past, and no olive oil at all. The dough came out bright sunshine yellow, and the market eggs I used were perfectly imperfect: all different sizes and shades.
Method:
(for the pasta)
Gather all your ingredients. On a clean counter, mound the flour, then make a large and fortified well in the center. Add the eggs to the center of the well and break the yolks. Tracing your fingers around the edge of the well in small circles, gradually pull more and more flour into the center of the raw eggs (ew, ew, ew, ew) until all is incorporated. Pick up the dough and knead for 2 or 3 minutes, then let rest, covered, for about 15 minutes. Your dough should be stiff and not at all sticky.
Break off about a fourth of your dough and stretch into a rectangle narrow enough to fit through the widest setting of your pasta machine; spend enough time running the dough through this setting so that you feel like any of the kneading you were too impatient to do by hand happens by virtue of the machine. Gradually roll the dough thinner and thinner, and then cut into strips. Toss the noodles carelessly and effortlessly with a bit of flour to keep them from sticking to each other, and set aside.
(If you're a bit lazy like Chef Yum Yum, the preceding paragraph would have been where you handed off the real work to your adept and confident companion chef, the one who insisted that it was, in fact, a good idea, to make homemade pasta at 7:45pm [he was right], while you took time to prepare the kale.)
Meanwhile, bring a large, salted pot of water to a boil.
(for the kale)
In a large pan, heat the olive oil over medium high-heat. Add the garlic and a generous shake of red pepper flakes, and stir until just fragrant. Add the kale in handfuls, and stir until it wilts enough that you can add more to the pan; if your kale is fairly dry, you may need to add a little water. Season with salt and pepper, and saute the kale til it is tender-crisp.
(finish)
Just as the confit is finished confit-ing, add a generous splash of white wine, raise the heat, and let the wine evaporate off. Keep warm.
Add the pasta to the boiling water for just a minute or two, and then remove to a large bowl with a slotted spoon. Toss with the kale, a drizzle of olive oil, and lots and lots of grated parmigano reggiano.
Layer each plate with a few spoonfuls of confit, and then a generous heap of pasta. Garnish with more cheese, and marvel that there is something very similar in the taste of leeks and kale, even as they still taste quite different. Maybe that's the taste of spring?
Showing posts with label sauteed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sauteed. Show all posts
12.04.2006
A Menu of Tiny Tastes
I love a meal that is one big meal but with many tiny little tastes: such was the premise behind the meal Bart and I planned for Saturday. I had a box of buckwheat polenta from Provenance, and I wanted to make lots of lovely different things that we could all have tiny tastes of. Anna Thomas gave me this menu's inspiration with her grilled polenta with roasted vegetables, but the interpretation is my own, as I have my own thoughts on roasting vegetables.
(As a side note: maybe many of you are more familiar with Anna Thomas' earlier Vegetarian Epicure cookbooks? This came from The New Vegetarian Epicure, which is everything her earlier books weren't. While I imagine those books were revolutionary for their time, they still sort of always feel a little unbalanced - basically just menus and dishes that had once centered around meat, with the meat ommitted. Her new book, arranged by seasonal menus, completely overcomes this deficiency.)
Bart and I had planned to cook together (and in fact Bart supplied at least half the ingredients) but then the Evil Ornament Factory in the Suburbs kept Bart from me much longer than either of us appreciated, so when Bart arrived, vegetables in tow, I got nervous that we wouldn't eat until midnight and thus unhospitably put everyone to work.
It actually worked out very well, though; I couldn't have done all that vegetable prep nearly so quickly on my own (nor as cheerfully if Emilie hadn't been feeding me a constant supply of cheese). All our good-natured guests were more than happy to gather round the cheese plate, grab a knive and help Bart and me slice and trim the vegetables.
Later, Emilie and I agreed that this was a meal of "vegetables that taste like vegetables," very simply prepared to bring out the truest, most vegetable-y flavor of each dish. As we were passing around the polenta, the olives, and our bounty of roasted vegetables, I was happy to see that Bart had arranged his tiny tastes on his plate in perfect, deliberate and seperate little mounds, unlike the rest of us who had so haphazardly allowed the kale to touch the fennel to touch the apples to touch the mushrooms. It was an aesthetic take, I think, on vegetables that taste like vegetables.
We also served Mulled Wine, which many of our ungracious guests (not Bart) did not like, but what do they know? It was a perfect winter meal.
(As a side note: maybe many of you are more familiar with Anna Thomas' earlier Vegetarian Epicure cookbooks? This came from The New Vegetarian Epicure, which is everything her earlier books weren't. While I imagine those books were revolutionary for their time, they still sort of always feel a little unbalanced - basically just menus and dishes that had once centered around meat, with the meat ommitted. Her new book, arranged by seasonal menus, completely overcomes this deficiency.)
Bart and I had planned to cook together (and in fact Bart supplied at least half the ingredients) but then the Evil Ornament Factory in the Suburbs kept Bart from me much longer than either of us appreciated, so when Bart arrived, vegetables in tow, I got nervous that we wouldn't eat until midnight and thus unhospitably put everyone to work.
It actually worked out very well, though; I couldn't have done all that vegetable prep nearly so quickly on my own (nor as cheerfully if Emilie hadn't been feeding me a constant supply of cheese). All our good-natured guests were more than happy to gather round the cheese plate, grab a knive and help Bart and me slice and trim the vegetables.
Later, Emilie and I agreed that this was a meal of "vegetables that taste like vegetables," very simply prepared to bring out the truest, most vegetable-y flavor of each dish. As we were passing around the polenta, the olives, and our bounty of roasted vegetables, I was happy to see that Bart had arranged his tiny tastes on his plate in perfect, deliberate and seperate little mounds, unlike the rest of us who had so haphazardly allowed the kale to touch the fennel to touch the apples to touch the mushrooms. It was an aesthetic take, I think, on vegetables that taste like vegetables.
We also served Mulled Wine, which many of our ungracious guests (not Bart) did not like, but what do they know? It was a perfect winter meal.
Menu:
Grilled Buckwheat Polenta with Emmenthaler and Black Pepper
Squash Roasted with Apples
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
Grilled Buckwheat Polenta with Emmenthaler and Black Pepper
Squash Roasted with Apples
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
For the Polenta:
1 1/4 heaping cups buckwheat or plain polenta or stone-milled corn meal
4 cups vegetable broth, or water (you'll need more salt if you add water)
1 generous cup shredded Emmenthaler (Gruyere could be a substitute)
3 tbs. butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
About 3 or 4 hours before you'd like to serve dinner, bring broth to a rolling boil in a deep, heavy saucepan. Wisk in polenta and lower heat, being careful not to get splattered by the wonderful glopping ooze that is hot polenta. You'll continue wisking (some would say "constantly" but I would say "quite frequently") for the next 35 to 40 minutes, or until a wooden spoon stands upright in the center of the pot without its training wheels (or your hand).
Stir in the butter, cheese, and a generous grinding of fresh black pepper until well-combined. Spread in a lightly buttered 9 x 13 baking dish and chill until firm, at least 2 hours (if you needed to speed the process along, you could pop the polenta in the freezer at this point, but you'll still need to let it sit for a while). You'll have to read through to the end if you want to know how to grill it!
Now quickly dress your Christmas tree and then hop in the shower - your guests will be here soon! Where is Bart with his vegetables?
For the Various Roasted Vegetables:
The rest of your preparation will progress quite nicely at this point. You'll preheat your oven to 400 degrees, putting one rack closer to the bottom and one rack in the middle of your oven. The different kinds of vegetables all cook at the same temperature, but for different amounts of time. The squash and apples take the longest, so you'll roast them first; 10 minutes later you'll add the garlic, and so forth. The mushrooms will go in last roasting for about 30 minutes, giving you plenty of time to prepare your kale and begin grilling your polenta.
Squash Roasted with Apples:
1 small butternut squash
Enough apples to equal the weight of your small butternut squash
A liberal splish of olive oil
A liberal splash of crushed red pepper
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
Quarter and core your apples, and then cut each quarter into halves or thirds, depending on the size of your apple; the slices should be at least an inch thick at their widest point. Toss in a large bowl with lemon juice.
Peel and slice the squash into pieces roughly equivalent to your apple slices (so that all roasts evenly). Toss with the remaining ingredients, combine with the apples, and then spread on a baking sheet.
Roast on the lower rack of your oven for 45-60 minutes, letting all sit very still. After a while, the lemon juice and the juice from the apples will melt together, creating a glimmering, unexpected glaze.
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
3 heads of garlic
3 branches of rosemary
Genorous swish of olive oil
Method:
Chop the top inch or so off of each garlic head, so that the naked top of each clove is exposed, tee hee. Peel the outer layer of papery skin off the head, leaving just enough to keep the cloves attached to one another. Arrange the heads in a garlic roaster, a small casserole with a lid, or a large square of foil (foil works, but you'll want to make sure to at least double or triple wrap your little garlic parcel, lest garlic juice leak out all over you oven). Tuck sprigs of rosemary in between the cloves, and between the heads of garlic, and drizzle with olive oil. Cover or wrap.
Begin roasting on the upper rack of your 400 degree oven about 10 minutes after you've begun the squash. The garlic will go 35-50 minutes, and is done when the cloves are deeply golden and soft. You can serve the garlic just like that, accompanied by a small knife to scoop the cloves out.
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
One small fennel bulb
One small red onion
Olive oil, salt and pepper
Method:
Cut the stems off the top of the fennel bulb and peel of tough outer leaves. Quarter the bulb and then cut out the core and tough bottom of the bulb, and cut each quarter into thirds. Quarter your onion, then cut it into thirds, so that it is cut approximately the size of your fennel pieces.
Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread in a low-rimmed 9 inch pie pan. Roast on the middle rack of your oven about 15 minutes after you've begun your squash; it'll take about 30-45 minutes. More than anything else, you'll need to keep an eye on this dish (the rest are so carefree); you want the fennel and onion to brown but not burn, and you'll need to turn it occasionally to make sure it carmelizes evenly.
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
16 oz cremini mushrooms, cleaned and dry parts of stems chopped off
1 shallot, chopped
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp dried thyme
olive oil, salt, pepper
Method:
Toss all in a large roasting pan and bake, on the lowest rack of your oven about 20 minutes after you've begun your squash; they'll take 25-40 minutes to roast. Depending on how fresh your mushrooms are, they might quickly dry out OR emit a lot of juice; if they look too dry, you could add a dash more olive oil; if they look to moist, just pour off a little of the juice. The mushrooms are done when they are nicely crinkled on the outsides, but still juicy looking.
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
One large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped (see my tips for doing this here)
1 very large shallot, chopped
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs brown mustard seeds
1 tbs cumin seeds
1 tsp turmeric
a dash of cayenne pepper
the juice of 1/2 lemon
salt and pepper to taste
Method:
In a large, heavy skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot and saute until soft and beginning to brown. Add the mustard and cumin, and stir until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the kale and sautee breifly, salt generously and then cover with a lid. If your kale was still quite wet from washing, you'll be fine to let all steam gently (stirring occasionally) for the next 10-15 minutes, or until tender. If your kale is more dry, add a touch of water at this point (you don't need much).
When the kale is tender, finish off with the turmeric, cayenne and lemon. It's best to serve hot, so you can keep this covered, with the heat off, until you're ready to serve.
To grill the polenta
As you're finishing up your kale, heat a well-seasoned cast iron grill pan over high heat; brush with a bit of olive oil. Your vegetables should be done now; turn off the oven and crack it open for a minute so as it cools a bit, but leave the vegetables in there. Make room for an oven-safe serving platter in the oven and shut the door.
Cut the firm polenta into dinner-sized squares, let's say 3 x 3 squares, or whatever you think will look the nicest. Cooking four pieces of polenta at a time, grill each side of the polenta until dark, delicious grill marks appear. Transfer grilled polenta to the warming platter in the oven and continue until all polenta is grilled.
You could serve all the vegetables on an enormous platter in the center of the table, or you could do what we did, passing bowls of the different flavors for each person to grab a taste. I think this is a bit more enchanting.
1 1/4 heaping cups buckwheat or plain polenta or stone-milled corn meal
4 cups vegetable broth, or water (you'll need more salt if you add water)
1 generous cup shredded Emmenthaler (Gruyere could be a substitute)
3 tbs. butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
About 3 or 4 hours before you'd like to serve dinner, bring broth to a rolling boil in a deep, heavy saucepan. Wisk in polenta and lower heat, being careful not to get splattered by the wonderful glopping ooze that is hot polenta. You'll continue wisking (some would say "constantly" but I would say "quite frequently") for the next 35 to 40 minutes, or until a wooden spoon stands upright in the center of the pot without its training wheels (or your hand).
Stir in the butter, cheese, and a generous grinding of fresh black pepper until well-combined. Spread in a lightly buttered 9 x 13 baking dish and chill until firm, at least 2 hours (if you needed to speed the process along, you could pop the polenta in the freezer at this point, but you'll still need to let it sit for a while). You'll have to read through to the end if you want to know how to grill it!
Now quickly dress your Christmas tree and then hop in the shower - your guests will be here soon! Where is Bart with his vegetables?
For the Various Roasted Vegetables:
The rest of your preparation will progress quite nicely at this point. You'll preheat your oven to 400 degrees, putting one rack closer to the bottom and one rack in the middle of your oven. The different kinds of vegetables all cook at the same temperature, but for different amounts of time. The squash and apples take the longest, so you'll roast them first; 10 minutes later you'll add the garlic, and so forth. The mushrooms will go in last roasting for about 30 minutes, giving you plenty of time to prepare your kale and begin grilling your polenta.
Squash Roasted with Apples:
1 small butternut squash
Enough apples to equal the weight of your small butternut squash
A liberal splish of olive oil
A liberal splash of crushed red pepper
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
Quarter and core your apples, and then cut each quarter into halves or thirds, depending on the size of your apple; the slices should be at least an inch thick at their widest point. Toss in a large bowl with lemon juice.
Peel and slice the squash into pieces roughly equivalent to your apple slices (so that all roasts evenly). Toss with the remaining ingredients, combine with the apples, and then spread on a baking sheet.
Roast on the lower rack of your oven for 45-60 minutes, letting all sit very still. After a while, the lemon juice and the juice from the apples will melt together, creating a glimmering, unexpected glaze.
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
3 heads of garlic
3 branches of rosemary
Genorous swish of olive oil
Method:
Chop the top inch or so off of each garlic head, so that the naked top of each clove is exposed, tee hee. Peel the outer layer of papery skin off the head, leaving just enough to keep the cloves attached to one another. Arrange the heads in a garlic roaster, a small casserole with a lid, or a large square of foil (foil works, but you'll want to make sure to at least double or triple wrap your little garlic parcel, lest garlic juice leak out all over you oven). Tuck sprigs of rosemary in between the cloves, and between the heads of garlic, and drizzle with olive oil. Cover or wrap.
Begin roasting on the upper rack of your 400 degree oven about 10 minutes after you've begun the squash. The garlic will go 35-50 minutes, and is done when the cloves are deeply golden and soft. You can serve the garlic just like that, accompanied by a small knife to scoop the cloves out.
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
One small fennel bulb
One small red onion
Olive oil, salt and pepper
Method:
Cut the stems off the top of the fennel bulb and peel of tough outer leaves. Quarter the bulb and then cut out the core and tough bottom of the bulb, and cut each quarter into thirds. Quarter your onion, then cut it into thirds, so that it is cut approximately the size of your fennel pieces.
Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread in a low-rimmed 9 inch pie pan. Roast on the middle rack of your oven about 15 minutes after you've begun your squash; it'll take about 30-45 minutes. More than anything else, you'll need to keep an eye on this dish (the rest are so carefree); you want the fennel and onion to brown but not burn, and you'll need to turn it occasionally to make sure it carmelizes evenly.
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
16 oz cremini mushrooms, cleaned and dry parts of stems chopped off
1 shallot, chopped
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp dried thyme
olive oil, salt, pepper
Method:
Toss all in a large roasting pan and bake, on the lowest rack of your oven about 20 minutes after you've begun your squash; they'll take 25-40 minutes to roast. Depending on how fresh your mushrooms are, they might quickly dry out OR emit a lot of juice; if they look too dry, you could add a dash more olive oil; if they look to moist, just pour off a little of the juice. The mushrooms are done when they are nicely crinkled on the outsides, but still juicy looking.
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
One large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped (see my tips for doing this here)
1 very large shallot, chopped
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs brown mustard seeds
1 tbs cumin seeds
1 tsp turmeric
a dash of cayenne pepper
the juice of 1/2 lemon
salt and pepper to taste
Method:
In a large, heavy skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot and saute until soft and beginning to brown. Add the mustard and cumin, and stir until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the kale and sautee breifly, salt generously and then cover with a lid. If your kale was still quite wet from washing, you'll be fine to let all steam gently (stirring occasionally) for the next 10-15 minutes, or until tender. If your kale is more dry, add a touch of water at this point (you don't need much).
When the kale is tender, finish off with the turmeric, cayenne and lemon. It's best to serve hot, so you can keep this covered, with the heat off, until you're ready to serve.
To grill the polenta
As you're finishing up your kale, heat a well-seasoned cast iron grill pan over high heat; brush with a bit of olive oil. Your vegetables should be done now; turn off the oven and crack it open for a minute so as it cools a bit, but leave the vegetables in there. Make room for an oven-safe serving platter in the oven and shut the door.
Cut the firm polenta into dinner-sized squares, let's say 3 x 3 squares, or whatever you think will look the nicest. Cooking four pieces of polenta at a time, grill each side of the polenta until dark, delicious grill marks appear. Transfer grilled polenta to the warming platter in the oven and continue until all polenta is grilled.
You could serve all the vegetables on an enormous platter in the center of the table, or you could do what we did, passing bowls of the different flavors for each person to grab a taste. I think this is a bit more enchanting.
10.30.2006
Kale, elegantly.
Kale is a bit of an iguana, as far as vegetables go. My boss tells a story of his earlier, less well-groomed days, when he lived in a large co-op that he founded on the city's northside. As I imagine is often the case for co-ops of the activist/musician/vegan sort, this co-op had a large pet iguana. Not at all surprising, one day the activists/musicians/vegans let the iguana out of its cage for a little vacation.
When it was time to get the iguana back into its cage, so the story goes, the activists/musicians/vegans all gathered round and stared at the iguana. Iguana, holding his ground, stood in the middle of activists/musicians/vegans, and stared right back. And as my boss says, "And you know the thing about an iguana? You can't tell what it's thinking." And so the a/m/v stare, and the iguana stares, and the only thing anyone's sure about is that the iguana is not going back into it's cage any time too soon.
In the same way, I'm not always sure what Kale is thinking. For a long time, I knew how to cook Kale only one way: with lemon, tomato and indian spices, the way Umnia taught me. In this way, Kale seems a pleasant accompaniment to a hearty plate of orange-scented black beans, or maybe some toasty pintos. I arrange these two on the plate together, and they look compatible enough, if not a bit mundane. But I can't help but wonder - does Kale feel satisfied with this hearty paring, does Kale feel Kale's full potential met? Or, as I suspect, does Kale, that sly iguana, hold something much more magnificent for that brave and daring cook?
My suspicions were confirmed when I spent some time at the Palo Alto Farmer's market with Mark a few weeks ago. Surely pulled from the ground but a few seconds before it reached my hands, this was by far the finest - if not most elegant! - Kale I had ever laid my eyes on. Coupled with two immaculate heirloom tomatoes (one green and yellow stripes, one a marbled purple and red), Kale is transformed, a four-foot naughty lizard no more.
Elegant kale with heirloom tomatoes and carmelized onions
The easiest way to prepare Kale is to fold the leaves in half along the tough middle rib. Drag the tip of a sharp knife along the rib from the bottom to the top of the leaf, being sure to get the tiny young leaves at the base of each stem. Discard the rib; you'll now have two long strips of Kale (and some tiny tender baby Kale leaves) to coarsely chop. When you clean the Kale, don't bother to spin it or dry it thoroughly, as you'll use the water on its leaves to steam it as it cooks.
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 small yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 large head of Kale, coarsely chopped
2 heirloom tomatoes (different colors), seeds removed and coarsely chopped
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste
In a large pan over medium-low heat, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add onions and balsamic vinegar and cook slowly and stirring occasionally until onions turn a deep brown and carmelize, about 25-30 minutes. Remove onions from pan and set aside.
In the same pan, heat remaining tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the garlic and oregano and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the Kale and season generously with salt and pepper, then cover to steam the Kale, stirring occasionally; the water from the Kale leaves should work to deglaze all that carmelized goodness, but add a bit more water if it seems necessary. When the Kale is crisp tender (really, this depends on the Kale - the Kale from the farmer's market cooked miraculously fast), 5-15 minutes, stir in tomatoes and onions to just heat through. Remove from heat and toss with lemon juice and basil.
Serve, illuminated by brilliant chandelier light on a platter crafted of diamonds, rose petals and caviar, while strands of your own private string quartet waft through the crisp late summer air. It's just that elegant.
(Or serve in Mark's tiny one room apartment with the gnocchi that I sort of burned, accompanied by a glass of cheap white wine in a tumbler. But whatever.)
When it was time to get the iguana back into its cage, so the story goes, the activists/musicians/vegans all gathered round and stared at the iguana. Iguana, holding his ground, stood in the middle of activists/musicians/vegans, and stared right back. And as my boss says, "And you know the thing about an iguana? You can't tell what it's thinking." And so the a/m/v stare, and the iguana stares, and the only thing anyone's sure about is that the iguana is not going back into it's cage any time too soon.
In the same way, I'm not always sure what Kale is thinking. For a long time, I knew how to cook Kale only one way: with lemon, tomato and indian spices, the way Umnia taught me. In this way, Kale seems a pleasant accompaniment to a hearty plate of orange-scented black beans, or maybe some toasty pintos. I arrange these two on the plate together, and they look compatible enough, if not a bit mundane. But I can't help but wonder - does Kale feel satisfied with this hearty paring, does Kale feel Kale's full potential met? Or, as I suspect, does Kale, that sly iguana, hold something much more magnificent for that brave and daring cook?
My suspicions were confirmed when I spent some time at the Palo Alto Farmer's market with Mark a few weeks ago. Surely pulled from the ground but a few seconds before it reached my hands, this was by far the finest - if not most elegant! - Kale I had ever laid my eyes on. Coupled with two immaculate heirloom tomatoes (one green and yellow stripes, one a marbled purple and red), Kale is transformed, a four-foot naughty lizard no more.
Elegant kale with heirloom tomatoes and carmelized onions
The easiest way to prepare Kale is to fold the leaves in half along the tough middle rib. Drag the tip of a sharp knife along the rib from the bottom to the top of the leaf, being sure to get the tiny young leaves at the base of each stem. Discard the rib; you'll now have two long strips of Kale (and some tiny tender baby Kale leaves) to coarsely chop. When you clean the Kale, don't bother to spin it or dry it thoroughly, as you'll use the water on its leaves to steam it as it cooks.
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 small yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 large head of Kale, coarsely chopped
2 heirloom tomatoes (different colors), seeds removed and coarsely chopped
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste
In a large pan over medium-low heat, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add onions and balsamic vinegar and cook slowly and stirring occasionally until onions turn a deep brown and carmelize, about 25-30 minutes. Remove onions from pan and set aside.
In the same pan, heat remaining tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the garlic and oregano and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the Kale and season generously with salt and pepper, then cover to steam the Kale, stirring occasionally; the water from the Kale leaves should work to deglaze all that carmelized goodness, but add a bit more water if it seems necessary. When the Kale is crisp tender (really, this depends on the Kale - the Kale from the farmer's market cooked miraculously fast), 5-15 minutes, stir in tomatoes and onions to just heat through. Remove from heat and toss with lemon juice and basil.
Serve, illuminated by brilliant chandelier light on a platter crafted of diamonds, rose petals and caviar, while strands of your own private string quartet waft through the crisp late summer air. It's just that elegant.
(Or serve in Mark's tiny one room apartment with the gnocchi that I sort of burned, accompanied by a glass of cheap white wine in a tumbler. But whatever.)
8.24.2006
Springtime in August!
Oh call me a fool for writing about favas - that darling of springtimes everywhere! - in late August. But Chef Yum Yum is not one to be so coy; why, she herself ate favas this very weekend!
They taste like butter. They really do! They are a type of bean, and not butter. I know this because I have hulled them myself, in the actual springtime. People act as though this is sooo arduous, but if you have a leisurely afternoon and some good company, there is nothing like hulling a big bowl of favas between friends. Just boil them for a few minutes in roiling, salted water, plunge them into ice water to halt the cooking (and cool them), and slit the pods open (with a knife, or your fingernail), slide the outer hull off of each bean and ta-da! that was really not so hard.
In the non-springtime, I like to buy frozen fava beans at Whole Foods (Do not, by any means, consider this an endorsement of Whole Foods. I am currently very angry with Whole Foods, due to a nasty run-in with a bunch of cilantro from the wrong side of the tracks. Said cilantro, brown-spotted and pale, was grossly over-priced at $2.49 a bunch. I exaggerate by not a penny good people! Driving home, I could hardly fail to notice the Little Mexican Grocery on California and Milwaukee, shaking its boxy grocery store head at me in disappointment: "But Chef Yum Yum, my cilantro is three bunches for $1.00." It hardly seemed fair to point out to Little Mexican Grocery that its aisles smell a bit too much like Very Old Meat for my tastes, because not only is that cilantro cheap, it is beautiful. If it weren't for those favas, and perhaps the reasonably priced Nature's Gate Shampoo, Whole Foods and I would be over, OVER! ...but I digress.). They are of course not as good as fresh fava beans, but I promise, boiled for a moment in some sea salted water, they will never cease to amaze you (remember, they are a type of bean, not butter).
Here are two of my favorite ways to have favas:
"Springtime" Pasta with Favas and Other Much, Much Less Glamorous Things
This pasta is a friendly riff off of the Pasta Primavera in the Yellow Book, which I've made many, many times to the joy of tastebuds everywhere. That recipe is elaborate, but I recommend it because you'll feel accomplished and more intelligent when you're finished. This recipe is much more simple, for a night when you need some instant gratification.
12 oz. quality pasta (I most recently made this with walnut ravioli, but a more simple pasta would work just as well)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 1/2 c. fresh or frozen favas, hulled if fresh
1 large broccoli head, chopped into small florets (this is a time where I do not use the broccoli stems. Oh save them for another day!)
6 oz. cremini mushrooms, not-too-thinly, not-too-thickly sliced
2 garlic cloves
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt
1/4 c. good quality parmigiano-reggiano, corasely grated
an enormous handful of coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 generous tbs. grated lemon rind
Bring a large pot of water generously salted water to boil (the salt really is key in bringing out the nuances of the vegetables). While the water is starting to get all worked up, heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, toss in the mushrooms and saute, allowing them to just start to release all their mushroomy juices. Turn off the heat, and just let the mushrooms sit there, patiently.
While the mushrooms are sauteeing, toss the favas and broccoli into the boiling water, letting them cook until just crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, but I think you should check before you take them out of the water. Fish them out with a slotted spoon (you'll need to keep the water boiling for your pasta, of course) and plunge them into a large bowl of icy water. Drain and tell them to wait, too. Use the mushrooms as an example if they're being too unruly.
Meanwhile cook your pasta according to package directions in the very same water that you boiled your vegetables in, reflecting on how the vegetable-flavored pasta water will really help to tie everything together in the final dish. Just a wee minute before your pasta is ready, bring the mushrooms back up to heat, adding the garlic, red pepper flakes and salt, and stirring until just fragrant. Add in the vegetables; you don't want to cook them, really (as they're already perfect!), but you do want them to have a suggestion of saute. Drain your pasta, reserving a cup of the paster water. Now toss together, everything, everything: the vegetables, the cheese, the pasta, the basil and the lemon rind, adding reserved pasta water as needed so that all things seem mingly - no sticking together forming cliques, but no pasta water sea of wallflowers, either.
Salad of Favas, Orange and Pink Peppercorns
Salad:
2 cups fresh or frozen fava beans, blanched in salted water
4 oranges, segmented and pith removed (I have a very good method for doing this, but had a hard time describing it without pictures. Which is why I am a grant writer, not a cookbook writer.)
1/4 cup fresh mint, julienned
a block of very firm, dry feta, which you will cut into four thin, delicate slices, one for each salad plate.
Dressing:
1 tbs. champagne vinegar (I love to use Trader Joe's Orange Muscat Champagne Vinegar for this)
1 tbs. orange juice, reserved from when you trim the oranges
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. pink peppercorns
Sea salt, to taste
Coarsely grind the pink peppercorns with a mortar and pestle. In a small bowl, wisk together all dressing ingredients and pour over favas. Gently toss the favas with the dressing, then cover and let marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, toss the oranges with the mint. On four serving plates, as artfully as you can arrange the feta slice, favas and oranges. I like to keep the oranges and the favas in their own little piles, so I can have a taste of each now and then, or take one big bite of both as is my pleasure.
I first made this salad for a beautiful party for my beautiful friend Michelle's bridal shower. This is relatively unrelated, but in the absence of food-related pictures, at Michelle (and Jeff!)'s wedding a few weeks later, I took one of my favorite pictures of all time:
Maybe now Chef Yum Yum's nice boyfriend won't be quite so reluctant to give her pictures to put on her blog.
They taste like butter. They really do! They are a type of bean, and not butter. I know this because I have hulled them myself, in the actual springtime. People act as though this is sooo arduous, but if you have a leisurely afternoon and some good company, there is nothing like hulling a big bowl of favas between friends. Just boil them for a few minutes in roiling, salted water, plunge them into ice water to halt the cooking (and cool them), and slit the pods open (with a knife, or your fingernail), slide the outer hull off of each bean and ta-da! that was really not so hard.
In the non-springtime, I like to buy frozen fava beans at Whole Foods (Do not, by any means, consider this an endorsement of Whole Foods. I am currently very angry with Whole Foods, due to a nasty run-in with a bunch of cilantro from the wrong side of the tracks. Said cilantro, brown-spotted and pale, was grossly over-priced at $2.49 a bunch. I exaggerate by not a penny good people! Driving home, I could hardly fail to notice the Little Mexican Grocery on California and Milwaukee, shaking its boxy grocery store head at me in disappointment: "But Chef Yum Yum, my cilantro is three bunches for $1.00." It hardly seemed fair to point out to Little Mexican Grocery that its aisles smell a bit too much like Very Old Meat for my tastes, because not only is that cilantro cheap, it is beautiful. If it weren't for those favas, and perhaps the reasonably priced Nature's Gate Shampoo, Whole Foods and I would be over, OVER! ...but I digress.). They are of course not as good as fresh fava beans, but I promise, boiled for a moment in some sea salted water, they will never cease to amaze you (remember, they are a type of bean, not butter).
Here are two of my favorite ways to have favas:
"Springtime" Pasta with Favas and Other Much, Much Less Glamorous Things
This pasta is a friendly riff off of the Pasta Primavera in the Yellow Book, which I've made many, many times to the joy of tastebuds everywhere. That recipe is elaborate, but I recommend it because you'll feel accomplished and more intelligent when you're finished. This recipe is much more simple, for a night when you need some instant gratification.
12 oz. quality pasta (I most recently made this with walnut ravioli, but a more simple pasta would work just as well)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 1/2 c. fresh or frozen favas, hulled if fresh
1 large broccoli head, chopped into small florets (this is a time where I do not use the broccoli stems. Oh save them for another day!)
6 oz. cremini mushrooms, not-too-thinly, not-too-thickly sliced
2 garlic cloves
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt
1/4 c. good quality parmigiano-reggiano, corasely grated
an enormous handful of coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 generous tbs. grated lemon rind
Bring a large pot of water generously salted water to boil (the salt really is key in bringing out the nuances of the vegetables). While the water is starting to get all worked up, heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, toss in the mushrooms and saute, allowing them to just start to release all their mushroomy juices. Turn off the heat, and just let the mushrooms sit there, patiently.
While the mushrooms are sauteeing, toss the favas and broccoli into the boiling water, letting them cook until just crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, but I think you should check before you take them out of the water. Fish them out with a slotted spoon (you'll need to keep the water boiling for your pasta, of course) and plunge them into a large bowl of icy water. Drain and tell them to wait, too. Use the mushrooms as an example if they're being too unruly.
Meanwhile cook your pasta according to package directions in the very same water that you boiled your vegetables in, reflecting on how the vegetable-flavored pasta water will really help to tie everything together in the final dish. Just a wee minute before your pasta is ready, bring the mushrooms back up to heat, adding the garlic, red pepper flakes and salt, and stirring until just fragrant. Add in the vegetables; you don't want to cook them, really (as they're already perfect!), but you do want them to have a suggestion of saute. Drain your pasta, reserving a cup of the paster water. Now toss together, everything, everything: the vegetables, the cheese, the pasta, the basil and the lemon rind, adding reserved pasta water as needed so that all things seem mingly - no sticking together forming cliques, but no pasta water sea of wallflowers, either.
Salad of Favas, Orange and Pink Peppercorns
Salad:
2 cups fresh or frozen fava beans, blanched in salted water
4 oranges, segmented and pith removed (I have a very good method for doing this, but had a hard time describing it without pictures. Which is why I am a grant writer, not a cookbook writer.)
1/4 cup fresh mint, julienned
a block of very firm, dry feta, which you will cut into four thin, delicate slices, one for each salad plate.
Dressing:
1 tbs. champagne vinegar (I love to use Trader Joe's Orange Muscat Champagne Vinegar for this)
1 tbs. orange juice, reserved from when you trim the oranges
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. pink peppercorns
Sea salt, to taste
Coarsely grind the pink peppercorns with a mortar and pestle. In a small bowl, wisk together all dressing ingredients and pour over favas. Gently toss the favas with the dressing, then cover and let marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, toss the oranges with the mint. On four serving plates, as artfully as you can arrange the feta slice, favas and oranges. I like to keep the oranges and the favas in their own little piles, so I can have a taste of each now and then, or take one big bite of both as is my pleasure.
I first made this salad for a beautiful party for my beautiful friend Michelle's bridal shower. This is relatively unrelated, but in the absence of food-related pictures, at Michelle (and Jeff!)'s wedding a few weeks later, I took one of my favorite pictures of all time:
Maybe now Chef Yum Yum's nice boyfriend won't be quite so reluctant to give her pictures to put on her blog.
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