Wicked Tasty Harvest

Tomato Love

by Cynthia Graber

 

Dear Mom:

Your baby's all grown up. It's true. Remember when I was little? When I thought raw tomatoes were, to be frank, disgusting? Maybe that was because you weren't yet growing your own, and I had only taken bites of those flavor-free red shiny lumps that masquerade as tomatoes. Or maybe, in a past life, I lived in Colonial America and agreed with the general populace that tomatoes were poison.

Remember back when I was an exchange student in Switzerland, and I crowed to you that I'd forced myself to eat an entire raw tomato stuffed with tuna salad, when I was a guest at someone's house? I was so proud that I'd managed to force it down. Remember that?

How times change. I'm now addicted to these love apples, in all their colors and sizes: tiny ones, voluptuous ones, in flirty yellow, sexy magenta, cheery orange, and refreshing green. I probably shouldn't admit to a favorite (how to choose when they're all so enticing?) but I think I might love Green Zebras best. They have a slight citrusy tang that I can't get enough of. But that doesn't mean I ignore the rest; I bought a deep purplish variety that was perfect for a yoghurt-based gazpacho (recipe to follow).

I've heard farmers say that this summer, full of languid, sunny days, is one of the best for tomatoes in recent memory. So I'm standing by the maxim I told you last year, that a day without a tomato (in season) is a wasted food day.

I'm wasting no time. I just wonder if I can eat enough to satiate my tomato desire. I'm going to have to start freezing: roasting them, cooking some down into sauce, and I hear you can even just chop and freeze uncooked tomatoes to use in future dishes.

And, Mom, you know what else? I'm going to be a judge Monday morning at the Massachusetts Farmers' Market Week kick-off tomato contest on City Hall Plaza. That's right - it's true. I'm going to be judging raw tomatoes.

Like I said, your baby's all grown up.

Love, me

Eating tomatoes

• Just do it. With olive oil, salt. Maybe some cheese.
• Eat them like the Spanish do: Slice them in perfect rounds on a plate, drizzle a bit of olive oil, and drape oil-packed anchovies over top, one by one, about one or two per piece of tomato.
• My favorite: Tomato toast. Cut thick slices of a tomato. Put on top of bread, and scatter a bit of cheese (cheddar, feta, whatever) on top. Slide into the toaster oven until the cheese is melted and the tomatoes are hot. Take it out, sprinkle with salt, some fresh herbs, maybe a drizzle of olive oil. I've discovered that lavender salt (a gift from a friend) tastes sublime with tomato toast.

Yoghurt-based Gazpacho from the New York Times, by Melissa Clark

This might be my favorite soup so far this summer. I adore gazpacho, and I love the creaminess of the soups served in Spain. But that creaminess comes from left-over bread, and I haven't wanted to buy the right bread just to have left-overs. That seemed silly. So I was intrigued by this recipe from the New York Times, which Melissa Clark devised as a cross between a smoothie and gazpacho. It's amazing. I doubled the recipe for a dinner I made for four people. We did have some left-overs, but I slurped those down the next day for lunch. Find the original recipe here, and I'll write it out for you below as well.

• 6 tablespoons grated pecorino romano (for the crisps to crumble on top)
• 2 large tomatoes, about a pound
• 1 1/2 cups whole-milk yoghurt. She suggested sheep's milk, and I used it, and it was great. I'm sure it'll work with regular yoghurt as well
• 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
• 12 basil leaves - she says to roughly chop them, but I didn't bother and just threw them in the blender
• 2 large garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped 
• 2 scallions, white and light green parts, roughly chopped
• 1 3/4 teaspoons kosher salt, more to taste (that's her original amount, I think I just tossed some in)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons red wine vinegar, more to taste
• Pinch cayenne pepper
• Ground black pepper to taste
• 2 ice cubes

As I said, I doubled this all. If you do double it, remember that it won't all fit into a blender at the same time.

For the cheese crisps, heat a large skillet (I used cast iron, with a tiny bit of oil on it, or she said you can use a nonstick skillet). Spread about two tablespoons of cheese into a thin layer, and let it brown and crisp up on one side. It should take about a minute. Then flip it over, and let it cook on the other side until equally toasty. My pan was big enough that I could make a few of these at a time. Move them onto a paper town, and keep going until the cheese is all gone. Break the cheese into pieces for serving.

For the soup, put all the remaining ingredients into the blender. Add more salt, or vinegar, or cayenne, as necessary.

Here's what I did for dinner: I put everything except the ice cubes into the blender. My friends arrived. Once we were ready for soup, I went back into the kitchen, and I put the ice cubes in, and whirred everything together until smooth. Then I poured it into bowls and garnished with the cheese crisps. She says to garnish with extra basil and olive oil, and I'm sure that's lovely, but I didn't bother. Everyone asked for seconds. 

Panic

by Cynthia Graber

 

Let's say you have a friend who's a professional chef. That friend invites you over to his apartment and serves a meal that could command big bucks at top Boston restaurants - because he has, in fact, worked at top Boston restaurants.

You email him to thank him profusely and admit that you'd love to return the invitation, but are intimidated by the very idea of preparing food for him. He waves that away and says he loves going to dinner parties.

Do you -

A) Never write back and pretend that you lost the email?

B) Insist that you would be paralyzed with fear to cook for him, and just continue to enjoy his hospitality? or

C) Take him at his word, figure out a date to have him and his girlfriend over before he moves out of the state, and then panic?

I went with C.

A wise friend, also in the food business, told me to buy the best ingredients and do very little to them. As that was already my basic game plan, I liked that advice. I did intend for the dishes to be fairly simple, but of course they didn't quite turn out that way. Why make something simple when you can make it complicated? The complications here turned out to be time-related, as I needed to shell a pound of peas, shell two pounds of favas, blanch them, then slip them out of their white casings. And then make, oh, about six different dishes.

The food was generally good. Some recipes worked better than others. I loved the silky fava soup, but the arugula sauce I'd devised for the salmon was a little too bitter, and the rich, fatty fish didn't quite cut the bitterness. The sauce did, however, taste fantastic on the left-over herbed rice/risotto the next day.

And the chef? I kept sneaking glances at him as he ate. The entire meal. I couldn't help it. A professional chef! Eating my food!

But, really, I don't think anyone was analyzing the balance of tarragon versus parsley in the rice. The laughter and friends were the best part of the meal, the food was a (hopefully tasty) side-note. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Pea Spread, to be scooped up with bread, chips, or whatever else you have around, as a shockingly green first course

• 1 lb fresh peas, the sweetest you can find
• about 1/4 to 1/2 cup of ricotta, the richest, earthiest you can find
• sprinkle of salt
• other spices to taste - I've now made this twice, and the first time I used thyme, and a bit of spicy pepper. This time I added Spanish paprika for a smoky note.

Shell the peas, and bring a pot of water to a boil. Blanch the peas in the water for only a minute. Take them out and plunge them into cold or ice water to keep them from cooking, and to keep their nearly fluorescent color.

Put the peas in a food processor with the ricotta (you can start with 1/4 cup, and add to taste). Pulse the processor so that it turns the peas into a blend but not a smooth puree. When you have a consistency you like, stir in some salt spices to taste. Refrigerate until the company comes, then oooh and ahhh over the color and fresh taste.

Creamy Green Soup

by April Paffrath

My daughter's lunch: Creamy Green Soup and tiny carrots.

Summer food is amazing. When our Siena Farms CSA shares started the other week, our dinners were transformed. There’s just a world of difference between food from the average store and food from the farm. With a CSA share, you never know exactly what you’ll get, but you do have an idea, based on the growing season. Right now, lettuces are amazing and sweet, radishes are vibrant and spicy, beets are tender and lovely, and the deep greens—oh, the greens! I swear that Siena Farms grows their radishes and beets for the greens more than for the roots. The beet and radishes themselves are stellar, but the greens are perfect.

There are plenty of greens to eat all week long. That can be a windfall, or it can be overwhelming if you’ve had a busy week, if you’ve gone out a lot, or you’re just done already with the greens sautéed in garlic and oil. Some weeks last year, on the eve of our next CSA share pick-up, I would look in the fridge and see that we hadn’t eaten as many greens as I thought we would have. With another share of Boston’s best on the way, you could be looking at a domino effect of mounting greens. No one wants that because it can lead to waste, which is pointless.

But I have a solution, and it’s so tasty.

It’s so tasty, in fact, that my 4-year-old asks (no, begs) for more helpings. It’s green soup. Well, a sort of crema de verduras, if we’re going to be specific about the origins of the idea. When we travel in Spain, one of our many favorite dishes is a velouté of green vegetables and greens. It’s a smooth and wonderful soup, easy to eat, and so packed with delicious flavors.

This soup is fantastic because it’s fast, it’s bright and appealing, it uses up any greens that are threatening to go bad, and you really taste the intricate flavors of the greens. And for you parents out there, it’s way easier for our daughter to eat this soup than it is for her to chew on greens forever (and with little kid teeth, it really can be forever).

I use whatever greens I have. Actually, it works with all kinds of vegetables, but I find this soup absolutely shines with greens. For this week’s soup, I used a medium bunch of beet greens, a large bunch of brightly colored Swiss chard, and a salad spinner packed full of arugula. I de-stalked the beet greens and the Swiss chard, to avoid overly fibrous soup. Separately, the Swiss chard stalks met with a fine chop and sauté, which was sweet and wonderful. (Swiss chard is quite sweet, actually, and I think it worked perfectly with the spicy arugula and the earthy beet greens.) Don’t be afraid to try different combinations, and don’t forget about lettuce. Lettuce is actually a soup standard from our grandparents’ days. It's underused beyond salad these days, but so fantastic.

I’ve made this soup before with broccoli rabe, escarole, pepper cress, and so much more. It’s so easy to wing it. It’s important to use a LOT of greens to the volume of stock for a soup that just sings out with flavor and punch. No one wants insipid soup. No one. It’s also important to let this go in a blender for quite a long time—you want the greens to break up thoroughly. We strained the final version, but you don’t have to if the greens are young enough, your blender is powerful enough, and it’s not too thready when you taste it.

Creamy velouté of deep greens

• olive oil
• 1 medium onion, chopped (I always keep some pre-chopped in the freezer)
• 1 qt of stock (i use vegetable stock, but a chicken would be nice, too.)
• 1 med bunch of beet greens, de-stalked
• 1 large bunch of Swiss chard leaves, de-stalked
• 1 big bunch of arugula—fill up a large salad spinner and that’s a good amount
• whole milk
• salt

1. Sauté onion in olive oil until just turning translucent, about 5 minutes
2. Add in the stock and heat to a boil
3. Add the thoroughly washed and prepped greens, and put the lid on the pan. I had to work to get all the greens in the pan—they shrink as they wilt, but initially, it takes a little maneuvering.
4. Stir, or prod the greens down into the stock, so they wilt.
5. Let them wilt and simmer for 3-5 minutes.
6. Turn off the heat and then put the soup into the blender. You’ll need to do a couple of batches. (Hot soup in a blender can be very dangerous, so don’t fill the blender container very high or you could be looking at a hot explosion. That turns a quick dinner like this one into a long, painful, and messy one.)
7. Turn up the blender and watch as the leaves break down into smaller and smaller pieces. You want it as smooth as it can get in your blender.
8. Optional: When it’s all blended, you can pour the soup through a medium mesh strainer (don’t go too fine, or chinois, or it won’t work well). Use a spatula or spoon to help it strain thoroughly. Depending on the tenderness of the greens, you might not need to do this—you can just serve with a hearty bread. I like to do it, even though it removes some of the fiber. Plenty remains and I think when you freeze or refrigerate leftovers, it retains its smooth consistency if it’s been strained. 
9. Return the soup to the pan and add a cup of whole milk (or yogurt, or half and half) and heat gently, but do not allow it to come to the boil. (To paraphrase a friend of mine, when we make this for the family, we use whole milk. When we make this for company, we use something richer.)

I pour leftovers into pyrex bowls and place them on a tray in the freezer until they’re frozen. Then I remove them from the bowls and put in freezer containers or bags. It’s fresh bright soup available in a flash all year long, then, with no waste during the season. Just make sure you label them well, because beet green soup looks an awful lot like broccoli soup.

Freeze

by Cynthia Graber

I'm having a love affair with my freezer.

It's been going on on throughout the winter and early spring. As I worked my way through the winter CSA, I could also dip into frozen stocks of pre-made food that I'd frozen and nearly forgotten. Smoky, creamy butternut squash soup. Spicy carrot soup. Bags of frozen kale, to be quickly defrosted and sauteed with olive oil and spicy pepper. Blueberries to melt down and mix with yoghurt and cardamom. 

Last night this love affair was revived. I'd just returned from two weeks out of the country. In addition to the gustatory thrills of dining in Spain, I sampled some of Sweden's culinary offerings - which, for me, were mostly limited to herring, multiple times a day, and cardamom buns (often multiple daily servings as well).

Tasty, sure, but a girl can't live on herring and cardamom buns alone, and Swedish dining is somewhat lacking on the vegetable front. So my lovely cousin J., an accomplished scientist working on her post-doc, as well as an accomplished cook, prepared many of our meals.

One night she made her version of pisto manchego, a recipe she'd culled from the New York Times. It consists of a base of summer squash, tomatoes, and garlic, on top of which you simmer eggs until just barely set. (For those of you familiar with Israeli cooking, it's like a Spanish shakshoukah). J. doctored the recipe with additional garlic, some cumin and a dash of cinnamon, and plenty of chile powder.

After a day spent in flying limbo - you know the kind, where time ceases to exist in the monotony of the airplane - I made it home to my apartment. I was tired. I was hungry. There was no way I was heading out to buy food. But my freezer lovingly offered up some suggestions: a bag of roasted tomatoes, and a bag of a zucchini/onion saute. I had eggs in the fridge.

So I threw the frozen vegetables into a cast iron pan, broke up them as they started to defrost, and threw in dried crumbled chile pepper, some cumin, a bit of cinnamon, and some smoky Spanish paprika. I cooked it down for a while until the water had mostly boiled off.

 

 Finally, I poached a couple of eggs on top.

 
 

This morning, I ate the left-over vegetables on top of rice with some goat cheese.

Oh, freezer. Thanks for welcoming me home with a great, home-cooked meal.

Pisto Manchego, or something similar

I'm not going to bother giving you my recipe. It would read something like this: in the fall, stare uninspired at zucchini, then saute with onion and freeze. Buy an excess of tomatoes for tomato-free winter months, roast, and freeze. Months later, get hungry, defrost them, cook with spices, and set eggs on top.

Oh so useful, right?

Instead, use this New York Times recipe, and doctor to your taste.

Baked Oatmeal

by April Paffrath

Winter can't stop me when my day starts this way!

There’s something about this moment. The brink of spring. It’s still winter and I feel like an ice-locked ship, even though the temps have risen this week. Winter feels never-ending right when spring is around the corner. I need a warm-up when it seems like the seasons are stuck.

The gentle sweet heat from this gorgeous breakfast is something you can love year-round. I do, actually, love it anytime, but late winter is when it has the greatest power to lighten my slushy-sleety-drizzly mood. One breakfast of baked oatmeal and I’m ready for snow angels again—I’m fortified against what Mother Nature has for a show-ender this season. (Remember that April 1 blizzard several years ago? You want to have the makings of this breakfast in your pantry, just in case.)

I adapted this recipe from the awesome KenapocoMocha coffeehouse in North Manchester, Indiana. I love that coffeehouse for so many reasons. When we ate their baked oatmeal, we were transfixed and returned each day for breakfast...like you do.

They were kind enough to share with me their recipe, which I tweaked a little bit as I made countless batches. [In fact, the recipe is from owner Debbie Chinworth, a woman to whom I owe many a happy breakfast! —ed.] It’s pretty much the same, but I add a little brown sugar, some cinnamon, and I use a mix of old fashioned and quick oats for a cakey, yet pleasantly chewy texture. Yum. Even better, they gave the OK for me to share the recipe here, for which I am grateful—and you will be, too. Make it and you won’t care about this interminable winter—you’ll be ready to go snowshoeing….or to curl up on a cozy chair with a book until the daffodils are peaking through.

This recipe makes a big batch, but I haven’t cut it down once. It has a way of feeding everyone who’s around and encourages you to share. It also uses whole milk. Sure, yes, you could go low fat, but really, we’re talking hearty fortification here. Go full fat and skimp elsewhere.

Just say thanks the next time you’re in North Manchester, Indiana. Pop in for some of their good food and a stellar coffee. Tell 'em April says hi.

Baked Oatmeal
adapted from KenapocoMocha coffeehouse tradition

• 1 c. canola oil
• 1 c. sugar
• 1/4 c. brown sugar
• 4 eggs

• 3 c. rolled oats
• 3 c. quick oats
• 1 Tbsp. and 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 2 1/2 c/ whole milk

• raisins and whole milk for topping

Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Grease a large baking pan, 9x13.

1. Beat together the oil, sugars, and eggs with a whisk in a large bowl.
2.  In another bowl, mix the oats, baking powder, and salt.
3. Add the oat mix to the egg mixture and combine.
4. Stir in the milk.
5. Pour the oaty mixture into the greased baking dish.
6. Bake for 45 min until the top is golden, the goods have puffed up cake-like, and the edges are a lovely brown. A knife in the middle should come out clean.

Let it cool a bit, but serve it warm. Put a square slice in a bowl and top it with delicious, plump raisins and pour a bit of whole milk over the top. Relish it and go back for seconds. You’ve got the remnants of winter to deal with and you can make it.

Winter Eats

by Cynthia Graber

 

I'm feeling lucky. It's been snowing for days, and I've gotten to cozy up to baby bok choi stir-fried with tofu, and a fresh salad mix. 

In the course of reporting a story for Edible Boston on no- or low-heat winter greenhouse growing, I found out about Red Fire Farm's deep winter CSA. They were full, but to my great delight I got off the wait list. In last Friday's first drop, I picked up a colorful mix of salad mix, baby bok choi, sweet potatoes, onions, turnips, apple cider, honey, and sauerkraut made from their cabbage. Seriously, if Ryan Voiland (farmer/owner) would let me, I think I'd invest in his entire winter bok choi crop.

I also had the good fortune, errr, work assignment, to check out Ryan's presentation on winter farming at the Northeast Organic Farming Association's winter meeting. (Can you imagine a 750-person potluck? That's the type of conference this was. For Michael Pollan geeks, the keynote speaker was Polyface's own Joel Salatin, as hell-raising as ever.) Based on the standing-room-only attendance at Ryan's talk, I'd say there's a great deal of interest in winter farming. If we buy it, they'll grow it!

So let's do it. You can find all sorts of great local produce out there, even in the depths of winter. Natick Community Farm sells it every day right on the farm. And despite the fact that Boston still doesn't have a winter market, Natick does, as does Wayland. In the city, Sherman Market in Union Square sells local produce. 

As for the beans from my previous post? I used the flavors suggested in the comments, and I made a salad out of farro, cubed and steamed sweet potatoes, cooked red beans, plenty of olive oil, herbs de provence, and some spicy harissa powder. It's great on its own, and even tastier with some feta or goat cheese. 

Photo courtesy of Clagett Farm CSA on Flickr Creative Commons.

Purple

by Cynthia Graber

 
 

I'm not even going to bother regaling you with the tale of the curried butternut squash red lentil soup that used up the last of the squash in the refrigerator. Yes, it was quite tasty. But it can be summed up in one word: orange.

Instead, I'll go for a different color today - purple.

One of my favorite ways to enjoy fruit in the winter is to turn frozen blueberries into a royal shade of blueberry soup. It takes about one minute. Take frozen blueberries out of the freezer (in the past I've bought frozen Maine blueberries, but this year I picked loads with C. and froze my own bags). Pour some into a glass bowl, sprinkle in some sugar, mix it up. Stick the bowl in the microwave for, oh, about a minute. The blueberries should express their liquid into a deep purple broth. If it's not hot and brothy yet, stick it back in the microwave for another 30 or so seconds, until it's done.

Then stir in a few spoonfuls of yoghurt, just enough to make it creamy, but still deeply purple. There, blueberry soup, a perfect mid-afternoon snack.

Onto another purple tale. In the last CSA bunch, I received, once again, a bunch of beets. You may recall that I lack a certain fondness for most root vegetables. There have, though, been beet dishes I've tried that I've enjoyed. They usually have a tangy marinade, perhaps citrus, paired with another flavor, such as goat cheese.

I flipped through a cookbook I'd taken out of the library (a revelation! taking cookbooks out of the library!). It's called The Book of New Israeli Food, by Janna Gur, and it's a stunning coffee-table book of Israeli cuisine. It contained a recipe for beet salad with pomegranates. I absolutely adore pomegranates, with their perfect jewel-like seeds, surrounded with a burst of flavor.

The recipe called for pomegranate concentrate, which I assumed to be pomegranate molasses. (When you look at the ingredients in pomegranate molasses, it contains, well, concentrated pomegranate juice.) It calls for cilantro, but I substituted parsley. She says to boil the beets, but I roasted them until tender and rubbed the skin off. 

It takes a while to deal with the beets, and a while longer to coax the pomegranate seeds from their white pithy cocoons. And be warned, your fingers and nails may remain purple for a couple of days. But it's worth it. The resulting dish was sweet and tart and exploding with flavor. I may have found a beet dish that I not only tolerate, but actually love.

Beet and Pomegranate Salad

• 3-4 medium beets
• 2 tablespoons of pomegranate molasses
• 2-3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 2-3 dried chili peppers crushed (I left this out, but you can add it in, or add in a sprinkle of your favorite chili powder)
• Coarse sea salt
• 1/4 cup delicate olive oil
• 1/2 cup of torn cilantro leaves (I used parsley)
• 1 cup pomegranate seeds

Either boil the beets until tender or roast in a 350 oven until tender. Cool, the peel (if you roast them you can rub off the skin). Cut into small cubes. 

Mix with pomegranate molasses, lemon juice, pepper and sea salt, and let sit for about 15 minutes.

Add in torn/chopped cilantro or parsley and pomegranate seeds, then pour olive oil over top. 

Photo courtesy of Darwin Bell for Flickr Creative Commons

Butternut squash-apple-cheddar soup

by Cynthia Graber

I made the same soup three times in as many weeks, so I think that makes me something of an expert when it comes to this particular dish. And I discovered a truth that those of us who play around in the kitchen come to again and again: it's all about the ingredients. You can have a fantastic recipe, but if the ingredients aren't great, it just won't sing. (And, personally, I enjoy singing food.)

Anyway, here's the story. I found an old recipe I'd clipped and finally scanned in to a new computer-based recipe book I've created with Scrivener (which is a godsend of a program that helps me organize my writing projects). I'd made an entire folder for squash recipes, because we're heading into squash season. With a friend coming over for dinner, I decided to give a new soup recipe a try. It's from Food and Wine, written by Jeremy Silansky, for butternut squash-apple-smoked cheddar soup. According to Silansky, the key to the soup - the ingredient that will make it sing - is Grafton smoked cheddar.

But I didn't have time for an extensive search. When I went over to Sherman Market - the new local food market in Union Square! - they had no smoked cheddar, but sold me on a beautiful cloth-bound cheddar. 

I came home and lined up all the ingredients. Then I remembered I have this wonderfully smoky crushed black pepper that I bought at Christina's. It almost fools me into believing that I'm flavoring dishes with bacon. (I know, I know, I haven't eaten bacon in nearly two decades. Still, I know what it smells like.) The pepper is so strongly smoky that it can overpower other seasonings - but I thought it'd make up for the missing smokiness in the cheddar.

My other secret soup ingredient is the stock I use: Better Than Bouillon organic vegetable stock paste. It's fantastic. Since I don't have much freezer storage space, I haven't taken to making my own stock. (Unlike April.) But this is a great substitute. 

I made the soup, cooked the squash, blended it, added the cream, then added the smoked pepper. Suddenly that rich, smoky smell filled the kitchen. With briefly-cooked apples and grated cheddar, the soup was easy, filling, and delicious.

I went home for Thanksgiving week, and my mom requested that I make it for her. So I did. But this time, I used boxed stock that she had on hand. Half-and-half instead of cream. And no smoked pepper. I bought smoked salt, and smoked pepper corns in a little grinder, but both had such mild smokiness as to be almost non-existent. 

The soup was fine. Tasty. But not the kind where you jump up for seconds.

Then I came home, and realized I had left-over cream, apple cider, and cheddar from making it the week before. All I needed to make the soup again was another butternut squash. So I bought another one, and made it for the third time. This time, once again, that soup sang.

So, that's my reminder lesson for the day: Use great ingredients. 

Butternut Squash Soup with Apple and Smoked Cheddar, inspired by Jeremy Silansky at Food and Wine

• 2 tablespoons olive oil (I just used a generous splash)
• 1 medium onion, thinly sliced
• 3/4 cup apple cider (I used more like a cup, because I wanted it a little more apple-y)
• One 1 3/4 butternut squash, peeled and cut into inch cubes (he wrote that should equal 5 1/4 cup, I just bought probably the smallest butternut squash they had and used the whole thing, it might have been two pounds)
• 4 1/2 cups stock (chicken or vegetable, just make sure it's good stock) (you can reduce it a little if you increased the apple cider earlier)
• 1/2 cup heavy cream (half-and-half will work as well)
• Butter
• Apple, diced into small bites
• 1/3 cup coarsely shredded smoked cheddar cheese (or the best cheddar, plus smoked pepper)

In a soup pot, heat the oil. Add the onions and cook for a few minutes until starting to turn golden. Add the cider and cook until it gets a little syrupy. This could be about five minutes more. Then add the squash and all the stock, bring to a boil, then simmer it, covered, until the squash is tender. (Taste it to find out, it should take about 30-40 minutes.) At this point, it's time to blend. I prefer an immersion blender, because it saves taking the soup out of the pot and putting it in a blender.

Once the soup is all blended and velvety, add the cream, swirl it around. If you don't have smoked cheddar, now's the time to add the smoked pepper. It should make a significant difference. 

In a small pan, add a small chunk of butter (he said two tablespoons, but I thought that was a bit much). When it melts, add in the apple chunks, and cook for a couple of minutes until they start to soft.

Serve the soup with a spoonful of apple and grated cheddar on top.

If you have left-overs, store the soup, apples, and cheddar separately, and warm up the soup on its own before adding the toppings.

Photo courtesy of judywross on Flickr Creative Commons

 

The Best Carrots

by April Paffrath

I know the CSA from Siena Farms has come to an end. I'm coming to terms with it, but it may take a while. And the Farmers' Markets that I frequent are finished for the year (although I do hope to find a few winter markets to visit). It's a wistful time of year, this end of the harvest season. It seems only last week I was reveling in all of the amazing food coming from, not only our great CSA share, but also from farm stands, markets, and local shops. I am reminded constantly throughout the season what amazing foods we have available here in New England. In addition to the end-products, we also have a wealth of committed farmers, growers, purveyors, brewers, chefs, and lovers of food and local goods. Let me tell you, it's easy to be thankful. It's also so easy to support these people in their efforts to make, grow, shepherd, and produce the most delicious things. Easy because our support comes back to us in so many tasty ways. It seems as though our regional food system is mutually nurturing, and that makes me glad.

It also makes me hungry. Yesterday was Thanksgiving and I found myself thankful for our local situation as I am nearly every day. How lucky we are! Still, the end of the CSA season and the farmers' markets makes me miss the high living of fresh crisp produce that will, by February, seem like a distant legend—we'll talk like old men on a porch about the shallots that were so fresh that they were practically luminous with their reddish-purple sheen. Or the kale that wasn't tough but was a joy to eat. Or the fresh berries that made a pie you would gladly travel 80 miles for. And how tasty were the carrots?! The carrots might induce a rapture of reminiscence, which no one would dare interrupt. (Check out the easiest way to make carrots evah, below.)

Like the Scarecrow at the end of the Wizard of Oz, carrots may be what I will miss the most. Store-bought carrots cannot compete with the bolero and rainbow carrots that thrilled us all season long and transformed our dinners, stocks, mirepoix and more into transcendent home cooking moments. The carrots straight from the farm tasted delicious and sweet and healthy—healthy in the best way possible. They tasted full of nutrients and flavors and—because they were always a joy to eat—you never shied away from seconds and thirds. It was easy to get your 7+ servings a day.

I recently bought some "regular" carrots and I swore something was terribly wrong with them. They were acrid and bitter and sharp, and not the sweet candy-like burst of carroty goodness that we became used to this whole summer. The sad truth is that's what's available and "normal" in many stores. It's going to end in tears, I can tell.

Luckily, carrots are a fantastic storage crop. We have pounds and pounds of them in our refrigerator. We've been fast and loose with the vegetable abundance, but I sense that we will begin using them with the reluctance that scarcity provokes. Maybe it will start with one fewer carrot in the stock. But until that day, we're enjoying every carrot we have—and using every bit of spare fridge space for storage crops like carrots and cabbage and celeriac. I think I want a root cellar. In my 5th floor apartment. That's not exactly normal, I know.

(Celery is a close second in vegetable wistfulness. The difference between the Siena Farms celery, which is bright green and full of impeccable leaves, and the chalky white-green, leafless store celery is just as vast as the carrot difference. I don't have any celery from the farm left and I will be missing it all winter.)

Carrots are delightful to eat straight. A simple cooking will highlight the natural sweetness and make the simplest food into a major side dish. The carrots at the end of the season are the sweetest because the plant is working on storing its natural sugars in the root of the plant—the part we eat— now that the leaves are matured or gone and the flowering is over. When you cook up the late-season roots, they taste sweet yet complex. The sugars caramelize, adding great depth notes to the flavors. You don;t need to add brown sugar or anything like that.

Here's the easiest way to make carrots, which I discovered half by accident not long ago.

The Best Carrots

• carrots
• oil
• salt

1. Before you do anything else with the meal, wash a bunch of carrots and peel them. Cut any thick ones lengthwise in half or quarters, so they are all about the same thickness, 1/2"-3/4" wide. They'll cook evenly that way.
2. Put the carrots in a roasting or baking pan and drizzle with oil and sprinkle with salt. Then toss them around with your hands, so the carrots are coated with oil all over. I keep them all going in the same direction, so more carrots are in touch with the pan and are more likely to caramelize.
3. Cover the pan loosely with aluminum foil to prevent the carrots from drying out.
4. Put them in the oven and then turn it on. I hardly even look at the temperature. I just turn it on. If I have something that will go in the oven next, I turn it to that temperature.
5. As the oven heats up, so do the carrots, slowly and evenly. Test them with a fork occasionally. Take the foil off at some point, when they really get cooking—that will help the carrots and oil brown a bit, enhancing the lovely sugar flavors. The best is when the edges and bottoms of the carrots caramelize and the oil and natural sugars make a kind of sticky syrup that clings to the pan-side of the carrots.
6. They should be done and fork-tender, but not fall-apart mushy. These are easy-eating carrots, so you don't want to have to use a knife. These are carrots that make it easy to say, "Oooh, just one more!" Before you know it, your dinner party has finished the whole roasting pan of carrots and feels very healthy, happy, and quite superior about it. And they should.
7. (Remember, if you still have plenty of cooking to do, remove them from the oven before they're done all the way and just reheat them when you're finishing up the other dishes. If you haven't eaten them all as a cooks treat in the meantime.)

photo (cc) djkd on Flickr

LUPEC Tiki Bash

by April Paffrath

We talk a lot about food here. Food is what we love. So often, people assume that means everything on your plate but, it also means what's in your glass. So far the drinks aspect of our food love has been woefully underrepresented. No more.

I love events that showcase culinary talents and farmers and producers, especially local ones, because I am constantly floored by the commitment to awesomeness that the New England scene has. Events that showcase that amazing depth are great chances to share new experiences, tastes and ideas. Often, there an opportunity to do some good, too.

With that in mind, I know what you should put on your calendar this weekend. I'm crushed that I can't make it, but surely some of you will go there in my stead (go! go!). Perhaps even Cynthia or Genevieve (in which case I want a full report and photos).

LUPEC Boston (that's "Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails, naturally) is hosting TIKI BASH, it's 3rd annual fall fundraiser. This year it's a 1950s tiki theme with retro cocktails, demos from Boston's star bartenders, ukulele performances, and a burlesque act, along with other hula enjoyments. Food will feature cocktail fare by chefs from Toro, Myers + Chang, Green Street, Island Creek Oysters, and more. Oh, and the roller-skating gals passing out Taza chocolate? Those are the Boston Derby Dames. How can you not want to dress up and pretend you're in a tropical paradise? There are just so many reasons to love LUPEC Boston.

The Tiki Bash is at the Villa Victoria Center for the Arts on Saturday, November 14, from 7-11pm. Tickets are $35 in advance and $45 at the door. You can buy the tickets online until tomorrow at midnight.

The fundraiser benefits Cambridge-based On the Rise, which supports women dealing with crisis and homelessness. See? Good treats and helping a great cause while having a wild, tiki time.

A burlesque performance is part of the evening's retro entertainment.
photo: C. Fernsebner, Bostonist.com

Want to keep the party going after the tiki bash has ended? Of course you do! LUPEC's own Kitty gave me some perfect recipes to share with you. Use some of New England's great local spirits, like Triple Eight Distillery or Berkshire Mountain Distillers (my local fave).

Mai Tai
Adapted from Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide, revised by Victor Bergeron

• 1 oz dark rum
• 1 oz light rum
• 1/2 oz curacao
• 1/4 oz simple syrup
• 1/4 oz orgeat
• 1 oz lime juice                           

Shake with ice and strain into an old-fashioned glass filled with crushed ice. Garnish with a lime wheel, a mint sprig and, if possible, an exotic orchid.

The Fog Cutter
Adapted from Trader Vic's Bartender's Guide, revised by Victor Bergeron

• 2 oz light rum
• 1 oz brandy
• 1/2 oz gin
• 2 oz fresh lemon juice
• 1 oz orange juice
• 1/2 oz orgeat
• 1/2 oz sweet sherry

Shake all ingredients except sherry with ice cubes. Pour into 14-ounce glass. Add more ice cubes. Float 1/2 ounce of sherry on top. Serve with straws.


These are all best enjoyed while listening to ukulele music. That bit of tropical delight as we slide from fall toward winter is a magic thing.