FOOD ON THE FOOD

Quick Cucumber Salad

Now that school is back in session, it's challenging to return to the usual state of structure and restraint. But it's very necessary, both for the belly and the budget.

We're still getting tons of cucumbers in our farmshare, so here's a nice way to use them. Fresh and flavorful, this tangy salad goes well with grilled meats and various end-of-summer pastas like this one.


Dill Cucumber Salad  

I used to salt the cucumbers ahead of time to extract some of the water, but now I don't bother. The liquid they give off tempers the bite of the vinegar.

2 large cucumbers
1/2 onion
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds (optional)
Pinch of red pepper flakes
Kosher salt and pepper to taste

Slice the cucumbers very, very thinly. You can use a mandoline, but if you don't own one, cut them as thin as you can with a sharp knife. Slice the onion thinly, too, and put the vegetables in a medium bowl. Sprinkle generously with salt. Add the rice vinegar, chopped dill, sesame seeds (if using), a pinch of red pepper flakes, and ground black pepper to taste. Toss well and refrigerate until ready to serve, stirring occasionally.

Local Ingredients:
Cucumbers, onion, dill: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Shiitake Banh Mi

A few weeks ago, I found myself with a glut of shiitake mushrooms. A sudden spell of warm weather caused my five logs to flush all at once with these small, rather dry, cracked mushrooms. The next day called for rain, so I decided to keep them out a little longer to let them grow a bit more and rehydrate. When I woke up the next morning, the temperature had plummeted, there was snow on the ground, and I ended up with several pounds of huge, rather waterlogged, partially frozen mushrooms (insert frowny-faced emoticon here).

Frozen mushrooms aren't the best. The way mushrooms grow from tiny pinheads to full-grown specimens is basically by inflating with water. But if that water should freeze, it will expand and rupture the cell walls. The results are pretty slimy. I know because I cooked the frozen ones anyway. Not the best.

On the upside, some of the mushrooms didn't freeze and these banh mi-like sandwiches were a great way to enjoy them. A banh mi is a sandwich that evolved in Vietnam during the French colonial period. It's usually some kind of meat, like pate or pork belly, in a baguette with pickled vegetables, fresh herbs, and spicy chili sauce—a fusion of both cultures in one tasty package. For this vegetarian version, shiitake slices are sautéed in soy sauce and garlic, then added to a baguette slathered with Sriracha mayo, layered with quick-pickled cucumbers and radishes, and garnished with cilantro and mint. Fresh-tasting and satisfying, this was lunch all week.

The idea was inspired by a recipe in the vegan cookbook Isa Does It by Isa Chandra Moskowitz, except I unveganed it by adding the mayo back in. Vegans and non-vegans alike will want to check out this book: it's full of things that even I would eat, and the food photography and overall design is great. And if you have the same pet peeve I have about authors' faces on the cover (no offense to anyone's face—all I want to see is the food), you can remove the dust jacket and underneath it, printed directly on the cover, is a nice colorful alphabet soup with little pasta letters spelling out "Let's Eat."

Yes, let's!


Shiitake Banh Mi    

Avoid super-crusty baguettes for these sandwiches unless you want the roof of your mouth shredded. Aim for something mid-way between a soft sub roll and a traditional baguette (Russo's shoppers: try the medium sub rolls that come in bags of three on the bottom shelf). Also, I used regular red radishes, which turned the picking liquid pink and gave the vegetables a rosy hue by Day 2. If you want a more manly sandwich, maybe stick with the traditional white daikon radishes.

Quick Pickles
1/2 cup rice vinegar
1/2 cup water
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup thinly sliced radishes
1 cup thinly sliced English or Persian cucumber

Shiitakes
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 pound shiitake mushrooms, caps sliced 1/4-inch thick, stems removed
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons soy sauce

Sriracha mayo
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 teaspoon Sriracha
Salt to taste

Assembly
4 soft baguette rolls
Fresh cilantro sprigs
Fresh mint leaves

For the pickles, whisk together the vinegar, water, sugar, and salt until dissolved. Stir in the vegetables and let them sit in the liquid until ready to serve.

For the shiitakes, preheat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. When hot, add the oil and then the shiitakes. Sauté until they soften, release their moisture, and brown a bit in spots, 5 to 10 minutes depending on how much moisture they contain. Add the garlic and sauté for 30 seconds before adding the soy sauce, stirring until well mixed and fragrant. Remove the mushrooms to a shallow bowl to cool slightly.

For the Sriracha mayo, whisk together the mayo, Sriracha, and salt. As written, the spice level is about medium, but you can adjust it to your liking by adding more mayo or more Sriracha.

To assemble the sandwiches, split the baguettes lengthwise by cutting out a narrow wedge from the top. Then hollow out the rolls a little by pulling out some of the extra bread inside to make room for more filling. Spread the inside generously with Sriracha mayo. Add some cooked mushrooms, then some pickled radish and cucumbers, and then cilantro and mint. Eat up. Any remaining sandwich components can be stored several days covered in the fridge. Makes 4 sandwiches.

Source: Adapted from Isa Does It by Isa Chandra Moskowitz.

Grapefruit Fennel Salad

To celebrate me losing all of my dessert cookbook weight, let's have a salad!

I've been enjoying this grapefruit fennel salad for months now. It was inspired by a recipe in Amanda Cohen's cookbook, Dirt Candy. If you're unfamiliar with the NYC veggie-focused restaurant by the same name or its comic-book-themed cookbook spin-off, I suggest you seek out the latter the next time you're at the library or your local bookstore. It's an entertaining read as it illustrates, quite literally, the reality of opening a new restaurant, Cohen's stint on Iron Chef America, as well as cooking techniques for vegetables. As the author and heroine of this graphic novel, Cohen dons her chefly superpowers with wit and humility. The book is great fun, as is her blog. Check out this hilarious post on how her celery salad went over at the NYC Wine & Food Fest. If you find yourself defecting to her blog, I'll totally understand!

But back to the salad. Cohen's version includes candied grapefruit lollipops and grilled cheese croutons, which are no doubt delicious, but my version is a little more pared down (read: lazy). I've settled on this basic arrangement: mixed greens with thinly sliced fennel and red onion, segmented grapefruit, and crumbled feta. The salad benefits from having something fatty and salty in the mix, so if you forgo the cheese, fill the void with crumbled bacon, chopped almonds or pistachios, or cubed avocado with a sprinkling of sea salt. The dressing, which I make with anise seeds instead of fennel seeds, is mildly fruity and refreshing. It's the perfect pre-summer salad.

(It also reminds me a little bit of dessert!)

 

Grapefruit Fennel Salad     

Below are my suggestions, but use what you like in the proportions of your choosing. Just be sure to slice the vegetables very thinly. A tangle of radish sprouts would be a nice addition. The amounts below serve two grownups. Scale up as you wish.

Salad
1 to 2 cups mixed lettuce, spinach, and baby kale
1/2 fennel bulb, thinly sliced
1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced (only cut what you'll use)
1 red grapefruit
Crumbled feta, goat cheese, or queso fresco
Chopped salted almonds or pistachios (optional)

Anise Dressing
1 tablespoon finely grated grapefruit zest (from 1 grapefruit)
2 tablespoons grapefruit juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon anise seeds
1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

For the salad, toss the lettuce, fennel, and onion in a bowl.

Finely grate the zest from the grapefruit and set it aside for the dressing. Cut the grapefruit in half and reserve one of the halves for the dressing. To segment the other half, place it cut-side-down and slice the peel off the grapefruit in swaths, following the contour of the fruit. Then turn it over and cut between the membranes to remove the juicy flesh in between. Set the grapefruit segments aside in a shallow bowl.

For the dressing, add the grapefruit zest, grapefruit juice from the reserved grapefruit half, lemon juice, anise seeds, and mustard to a blender. Blend on high, then reduce the speed to low and slowly stream in the oil until smooth and emulsified. Add salt and pepper to taste. (The dressing can be stored in a covered jar in the refrigerator for up to a week.)

Lightly dress the greens and veggies just before serving. Arrange the salad on plates with the grapefruit segments, cheese, and nuts if using. Serve additional dressing at the table.

Source: Adapted from Dirt Candy by Amanda Cohen, Ryan Dunlavey, and Grady Hendrix

Parsnip Soup and Righteous Clichés

I have a milestone birthday coming up this year, like many of my friends. And as much as I'll be glad to reach it, I'm also bummed out about this whole aging thing.

You know what I'm talking about. Back in high school, everything is poised to get better. The braces will be pried off soon. The glasses can be traded in for contact lenses, maybe even the kind that turn your muddy eyes a cool shade of aquamarine like a mood ring. You're finally easing up on all the Aqua Net (step away from the can of hairspray, Tammy). The ugly duckling becomes a swan and all that crap. Meanwhile, you're making a little cash throwing together sandwiches on the weekends and you feel real smart with that diploma in your hand.

The world is yours for the taking!

In high school, you can't wait for college. In college, you look forward to getting out of college because all this studying is putting a damper on your social life. Plus, you want a fun job with a decent paycheck. You want a mode of transportation besides your own two feet. Dates at fancy restaurants. A place to live that's not a dump. Vacations. Soon you have some stuff, and you like your stuff, but you want something more. You want love. You want a family of your own. Then you get a family of your own and, for the whole first year, you can't believe what a horrible mistake you've made. No more dates at fancy restaurants. Your place becomes a dump. Vacations take on an entirely new and unwelcome meaning. Sometimes you wish you'd just stayed home.

But then you learn to stop being so selfish all the time and things gets better. Your family becomes your whole life. Does anyone else have kids as awesome as yours? NO WAY! IMPOSSIBLE! And then you realize something. Your kids are halfway through their childhood already. They're going to spend the whole second half hating you. And then they're going to leave.

They say you get better with age, but in what way specifically? Nicer? I don't think so. If anything, I'm getting more crotchety and even less charitable behind the wheel of a car. Wiser? Uh-uh. By my calculations, I'm getting stupider by the day. I've always been a wee bit forgetful, but this is ridiculous. I left my coat somewhere last week. At the library? At Walgreens? Where? How did I not notice my coat was missing? True, it felt colder, but all that ran through my head was: That's New England for you. One minute you're toasty warm in your nice winter jacket and the next minute you're shivering by the parking meters fumbling for change while the icy wind sucker punches you in the spleen and there's no logical explanation for it whatsoever. (I still haven't found it, by the way. My coat. It's puffy and gray with a big hood.)

The other night I looked in the mirror and realized that it's all downhill from here. This is as smart/healthy/attractive as I will ever be for the whole rest of my life. And, I'll be honest, the bar didn't seem very high.

Is this what a midlife crisis looks like?

Spring Parsnip Soup     

This recipe is stupefyingly simple. I don't even use stock anymore, just water. It's silky and surprisingly sweet. Snip a few chives on top and you have something tasty and healthful to warm you up on a chilly spring day when your coat is nowhere to be found.

1 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
3 cups water (or veggie stock)
1 pound parsnips, peeled, cored*, diced
Salt and pepper

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Sauté the chopped onion and celery for 4 to 5 minutes until soft and translucent. Don't let the vegetables brown. Add the garlic and sauté for 15 seconds until fragrant. Add the water or stock and the parsnips. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the parsnips are soft, 15 to 20 minutes. Let cool and purée in a blender or with a stick blender until perfectly smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Serves 2 or 3. The recipe can be doubled (just be sure to purée the soup in half-batches if using a blender).

*Some parsnips have a woody central core that runs from top to bottom. To remove it, I usually just slice the peeled sides right off the core, which is a slightly different color. (Then chop up the sides and discard the core.) But if you're not sure exactly where or how big the core is, you can also quarter the parsnip the long way. Then you can see it a lot better. Just trim along the interior edge of each quarter with a paring knife to remove it.

Creamy Braised Brussels Sprouts

Want to blow somebody's mind this Thanksgiving? Serve these Brussels sprouts. Yes, Brussels sprouts. No, this isn't some kind of sick joke. They're browned, smothered in cream, then braised until silken deliciousness is achieved. Cruciferous candy. Sure, there are plenty of lower calorie ways of making Brussels sprouts, but it IS Thanksgiving after all. And today, I'm thankful for cream!

Creamy Braised Brussels Sprouts

One bite and the ThirdGrader said, Brussels sprouts aren't as evil as I thought!

3 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 lb. Brussels sprouts (2-3 stalks worth), trimmed, cut in half or quartered
1 cup cream
Salt and pepper
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook sprouts until lightly browned in spots, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in cream and bring to a simmer. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until sprouts are tender and cream is reduced and lightly brown. Sprinkle with lemon juice to taste, perhaps more salt and pepper, and serve.

Source: Adapted from All About Braising by Molly Stevens

Local Ingredients:
Brussels sprouts: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Braised Brisket

Don't mind me, I'm just playing around with my new macro lens. You can pretty much count on me getting way, way too close to my food from now on. Just a heads-up.

This here is some luscious beef brisket and root vegetables braised until melty and scrumptious. Serve with mashed potatoes or over brown rice or barley and you've got yourself a rib-sticking meal that will fuel you through any unwelcome pre-Halloween shoveling. Hope those of you who lost power have gotten it back by now!

Braised Brisket

You can also do this in a slow cooker. Follow the recipe through the garlic part, then throw it all into the crockpot for 4-6 hours on high, 8-10 hours on low.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2-3 lb. beef brisket
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. ground pepper
2 onions, chopped
4 carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
4 parsnips, cored if woody, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 small celery roots (celeriac), trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup roasted tomatoes (or chopped tomatoes, tomato sauce, or ketchup)
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar
3 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 1/2 cups stock or water

Preheat oven to 325°F. In a large Dutch oven, heat 1 Tbsp. oil over medium-high heat. Season brisket with salt and pepper and brown on all sides. Transfer to plate.

Heat remaining tablespoon of oil in pot. Add onions, carrots, parsnips, and celery root, and sauté until browned, about 5 minutes. Dump in the garlic and cook another minute. Add the tomatoes, cider vinegar, brown sugar, and stock/water, and give a good stir. Return the brisket to the pot along with any juices collecting on the plate. Liquid should come about halfway up the sides of the meat. If not, add a bit more stock or water.

Bring to a boil. Cover with foil so that it’s flat against the meat and comes all the way up the sides of the pan (you might need two sheets), and cover with lid.  Place in the oven for about 3 1/2 hours, turning meat every hour and reconfiguring foil, until meat is super-tender and vegetables are soft and melty. Serve with mashed potatoes or grain of your choice.

Local Sources:
Brisket: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Carrots, parsnips, celery root, tomatoes: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Apple cider vinegar: Carlson Orchards, Harvard, MA

How to Clean a Hen of the Woods Mushroom

This will probably be my last mushroom post until next spring, so you can all breathe a deep sigh of relief. But first I have to tell you what happened after last week's hen of the woods post. To refresh your memory, that was the post in which I was being a big baby because I was unable to successfully lay claim to my very own hen of the woods mushroom, despite having found four. (Sheesh, Tammy, ever heard of a store? Shut up, whose side are you on?)

Within the course of 24 hours, that post was forwarded by a kind reader to someone who had several suspected hens of the woods growing right in her yard. I was invited to make a house call to a neighboring town to scope out the fungal situation. This is not the first time I've gone on a mushroom-related house call. Earlier this year, I was led to a house that had literally dozens of black morels popping out of the mulch. Can you imagine that? A flower bed full of morels right out your own front door??? I was dumbstruck! I had to be slapped across the face several times before I snapped out of it.

This time, I was much more composed. Once I located the house in question, I spotted the hens roosting at the base of an oak tree—all four of them. I drove by verrrrry sloooowly with the windows down, ogling them like Lenny and Squiggy, until I crashed into some trash cans! Okay, so there weren't any trash cans, but it's my story. I'll tell it how I want. I ran out of the car, ignoring the trash cans everywhere, and ran through my hen of the woods identification check list:

Location at base of oak tree: check.

Brown, ruffly structure: check.

Pores not gills: check.

Smells right: check.

Nooooo maggots: well, just a few. It's a ground-dwelling fungus, after all. One can't expect too much.

Not only was the identity of the mushroom confirmed , but I also had permission to take some mushrooms home (hooray!!!). That was the crucial missing link. So I did—specifically, two hens growing next to each other that had become conjoined into one 4-pound mass. I didn't just rip them out of the ground; I cut them at their bases to leave the underground mycelium intact. This helps encourage future mushrooms to grow in the same area in subsequent seasons. Remember, there are no poisonous look-alikes for this mushroom (also known as maitake and grifola frondosa). That combined with its tastiness makes it a mushroom everyone should know. Many thanks to M and H for getting it into my greedy little hands!

Tell me this isn't a pretty mushroom!

But, wow, I forgot what a pain in the ass they are to clean. I brushed off as much debris as possible initially, but there are so many crevices, you could easily spend an hour or more properly preparing this mushroom for eating. Plus you have to escort out all the creepy-crawlies that were using it as a luxury condo. Worms. Spiders. CENTIPEDES!!! Boy, for someone who likes to hang around rotting stumps, I sure am afraid of centipedes. (It's their speed that gets me. Their deadly speed!)

So in case you ever find yourself in possession of a hen of the woods, here are some tips for prepping this delicacy:

• Set mushroom in a large bowl and pick off all the acorns, leaves, and twigs.

• Brush off dirt with an unused paintbrush or other kitchen-grade brush using lots of quick, brisk strokes, working from top to bottom.

• Using a sharp paring knife, cut off the dirtiest parts of the base, and move mushroom to a clean cutting board.

• Wipe off the knife and cut through the remaining base into workable sections as if you're cutting up a cauliflower through its core.

• Cut off rotten, bruised, or moldy sections, and discard. Escort worms and bugs out of the crevices with tip of knife.

• Cut into smaller pieces, 1-3 inches wide depending on your purpose. Make a point to cut into any areas with lots of crevices to evict any lurking insects. (I find the central part of the mushroom to be plenty tender in young specimens, though it may be too tough in older ones.)

• Wipe off any remaining dirt on each piece with damp paper towels. You will go through quite a few of them. (I don't soak mushrooms in water. I find that makes them slimy, waterlogged, and hardly any cleaner.)

• What you end up with is something like little mushroom florets—two big plates of them from a four-pound mushroom. Cover with damp paper towels and plastic wrap with some holes poked in it.

• It's best to cook them right away, but they will last in the fridge for several days this way (the paper towels will need remoistening).

• Always cook the mushrooms well. One way is to sauté them in butter for 15-20 minutes until tender. If the pieces start to brown before they're tender, add some water and keep cooking.

• Inevitably, a little bit of grit ends up in your dish despite your best efforts. Just add extra black pepper. Any little worms you missed will be easily identified by their coiled-up forms at the bottom of the pan. Discard them immediately and think nothing more about what you just saw. Instead, think of all the invisible cancer-fighting compounds this mushroom contains. Yum!

Since it's such a big deal to me to find these, I like to make something really special. I layer the cooked mushrooms with lasagna noodles, browned sweet Italian sausage, lots and lots of braised celery root and leeks, mozzarella and parmesan cheese, and a creamy sauce. I bake two trays and freeze one away. It's totally worth the work.

Summer Squash Soup

Do you have a lot of summer squash? What kind of a question is that? Of course you do! Thanks to all the rain we got from Irene, it's like Field of Dreams out there with the bat-sized zucchinis.

So what do I do when I have too much of any vegetable? I purée it into oblivion and call it soup! The results can be kind of sketchy, I'll admit, but this one—based on the Spanish puré de calabacín—is actually pretty good. I kept the skins on so this otherwise bland-looking soup would have little yellow and green flecks throughout. It's thickened with nothing more than the starch of the potatoes, and finished with the herbs of your choice. I was happy with my lemon thyme, but regular thyme, basil, or marjoram would also work. Serve a bowl of this alongside some toasted scali bread slathered with mayonnaise and topped with thick slices of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, salt and pepper generously applied.

Now that's summer!


Summer Squash Soup

A little grated cheese melted in there wouldn't be out of place, either.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped (or leeks)
2 lbs. summer squash like zucchini or pattypan, unpeeled, cut into 1-inch chunks
1-2 small potatoes, peeled, cubed small
2-3 cups water
1 tsp. salt
Sprigs of fresh thyme
1 tsp. chopped fresh herbs like lemon thyme, basil, or marjoram
Lemon juice to taste
Black pepper

In a medium pot, heat olive oil and sauté onion until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add squash and potatoes, and stir to coat in oil. Add just enough water to cover and stir in salt, pepper, and thyme sprigs. Close lid and and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 15-20 minutes, until squash and potatoes are tender. Let cool a bit and then pull out thyme sprigs. Using a stick blender or a regular blender, puree soup until smooth (if using a regular blender, do this in two batches). Thin with water, if necessary, and add herbs, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Local Sources:
Onion, squash: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Potatoes: Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH
Herbs: My yard

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

Last year, I saw a sudden spike in my blog traffic and, come to find out, Tori Spelling had tweeted about my rhubarb pie post.  Yes, that Tori Spelling. 

It really threw me for a loop.  You mean to tell me the busty Beverly Hills 90210 teen star cooks?  With rhubarb?  And is able to spell it correctly?  These were the thoughts that instantly ran through my head, proving that not only am I a judgmental a-hole, but I also confuse actors with their television roles, despite knowing better, and simultaneously freeze them in time—say, 1992 in this case.  For all I know, the actual Tori Spelling of 2011 in whatever zip code she currently resides is super-smart and a fantastic cook and a warm and wonderful person unspoiled by wealth and fame.  And if that's true then fuck you, Tori Spelling.  You can't have rhubarb, too!  Save something for the rest of us!!!

Over here in Waltham 02453, my modest success this week was helping somebody who didn't like rhubarb to like rhubarb.  (My victories are small but sweet!)  The idea behind these rhubarb-blood orange parfaits is to layer lightly sweetened rhubarb compote with fresh whipped cream.  It's a lovely balance of sweet/tart, and a nice prelude to strawberry shortcake.   Keeping the layers separate provides more flavor contrast while folding them together mellows the rhubarb tang.  If you've ever heard of a dessert called a "fool," that's what it is: cooked, sweetened fruit lightened with whipped cream.  As in, I pity the fool that doesn't like rhubarb fool!  Anyway, I've been dying to try this with wild Japanese knotweed, but I keep missing the window of time when the shoots are young and tender.  Too busy chasing down mushrooms, I guess. 

What I'm trying to say is, Rhubarb Haters and/or Shannen Doherty, this one's for you! 

 

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

You can use a regular orange, of course, but I found that the blood orange deepened the color of the fruit compote, making for prettier contrasting layers.

1-1/2 lb. rhubarb, washed, trimmed, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 cup sugar
1 medium blood orange, zested (about 1 tsp.) and juiced (2-3 Tbsp.)
1 tsp. vanilla
Pinch salt
2 cups heavy cream, cold

Place rhubarb in a medium saucepan with all but 1-2 Tbsp. of the sugar (reserve remaining sugar for whipped cream).  Add orange zest, juice, vanilla, and salt, and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat.  Reduce heat slightly and gently simmer 7-10 minutes until rhubarb is soft but still chunky.  Let cool.  Transfer to medium bowl and refrigerate several hours until chilled.

Just before serving, whisk the heavy cream in a medium bowl until the wires leave trails.  Add the remaining sugar and continue whisking until thick and an upswing of the whisk leaves medium peaks.  To assemble, layer rhubarb mixture and whipped cream in each of four bowls, beginning with rhubarb and ending with cream.  Serve immediately.

Source: Adapted from Raquel Pelzel.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Bowl: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

Curried Chicken Salad

One of my lasting memories of Nonni is of her standing at the kitchen counter after a roast chicken dinner and pulling every last shred of meat off the bones.  The chicken would then find its way into soup or whatever else she pleased.

Her depression-era tactics have served me well.  On these warmer days, I like to use the scavenged meat in a quick curried chicken salad.  If I'm diligent, I can get enough meat for 2 to 4 sandwiches before I freeze the stripped carcass for soup stock.  That's three separate and substantial meals from a single chicken, if anyone is keeping count.  Nonni would approve.

Curried Chicken Salad

If you don't like raisins, you can substitute chopped grapes, but I'm partial to the raisin version. 

2 cups cooked chicken, chopped
1/2 onion, finely chopped
Handful or two of raisins
1/2 cup mayo
1 Tbsp. dijon mustard
1 Tbsp. curry powder (or more)
Salt and pepper

In a medium bowl, combine chicken, onion, and raisins.  Make a well in the ingredients and stir together mayo, mustard, curry powder, and plenty of salt and pepper.  Mix everything together well.  Heap into your favorite sandwich configuration.

Wild Morels: How to Find Your Own

Wow, that is one phallic-looking mushroom!  But let's not get distracted.  I promised you hints for finding morels and hints you shall receive, at least for the yellow morel (Morchella esculenta).  Please note that these are only suggestions based on my own limited, amateur experience and, let's face it, a healthy dose of beginner's luck.  Still, they're better than nothing. 

Hint #1: THEY'RE OUT RIGHT NOW!!!  Late April through early June. 

Hint #2: You'll probably want to read some books before you go.  The field guide I have is the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms.  This is the book I bring to the woods.  Another book I love is The Complete Mushroom Book by Antonio Carluccio, an Italian chef and forager.  It has great recipes and amazing photos.  Total mushroom porn.  This is the book that moves between the kitchen and the bedside table.  But the book that really made the idea of foraging for my own wild mushrooms accessible to a novice was Start Mushrooming, which was recommended by a Harvard-trained mycologist friend.  It teaches you how to identify six edible varieties of wild mushrooms safely.  Morels are one of them. 

Hint #3:  As far as habitat, I found my first two morels under a blossoming apple tree.  Old farms and apple orchards are prime hunting grounds.  Be sure to ask permission before foraging on private property.

Later, I found a bunch in the woods under what looked like a dead oak tree. 

Morels love dead elms and stressed-out ash trees, too, I hear.  Watch out for poison ivy.  Since morels are associated with the roots of certain trees, you'll often find more than one around the base of the trunk, sometimes as far as 10 feet out.  Mine were much closer. 

Morels seem to grow all over Massachusetts, but my luck turned when I headed away from the city a bit, say 30 minutes due west of Boston.  If you want ideas for trails, check out the Bay Circuit Greenway maps.

Look at this morel growing through a maple leaf.  Weird.

 

I also found a bunch of poisonous false morels on my trek, like the one below:

I didn't touch them.  They are the poisonous look-alikes that the experts warn you about.  I don't think this one really looks like a morel, though, do you?  I mean, something would have to be seriously wrong with that morel for it to be a morel.  Like if it were growing out of a toxic waste dump or something.  But false morels can look a lot more like true morels, as in this photo.  Can you tell the difference?   Real morels have more of a conical shape and a pitted, honeycomb appearance.  False morels tend to be wrinkled (as if deflated), misshapen, and brain-like in shape.  Another difference: real morels are completely hollow inside while false morels are chambered and often filled with a whitish, cottony material.  Cut your morels in half, top to bottom, to double check your answers. 

Finally, we come to the disclaimer portion of this post.  Here it is: Don't be an idiot.  Don't eat anything you're not 100% sure about.  Always cook morels thoroughly—never eat them raw as they contain a toxin that is deactivated with cooking.  Furthermore, some people have allergic reactions to certain mushrooms that are edible to the majority.  I am one such person.  So, if you've never had morels before, or any other wild mushroom, it's a good idea to start with a few bites and then wait 24 hours to see how things go digestively before you gorge yourself. 

Good luck on your morel hunt!  It's such a thrill to find them!

Mother's Day Morels

Guess who found morels on Mother's Day?  ME!  It was ME!!!  Seven of them!!!  Can you believe it??

Actually, I found more, but it's proper mushroom etiquette to leave some behind.  It was hard, but I did comply.  Barely.  Your next question, I'm going to guess, is where exactly I found these morels (especially if you arrived here by Googling "morels Massachusetts" or "morels Boston").  But I'm not telling you where I found them, so don't ask.  If you do ask, I'll be happy to draw you a perplexing map—one you will be unlikely to decipher since my sense of direction is terrible and I can't draw for shit.  However, if you do manage to figure it out, the trail will magically lead you to the morel bin at Russo's because why not just buy them from the store if you're going to have someone tell you exactly where to look.  That's missing the whole point: the thrill of the hunt!  You have to find your own spots.  I've clocked nearly a dozen hours in the woods over the last week and a half to find these and I've loved every second of it.  Except for the part where the mosquitos were biting me.  I didn't love that part.  But the rest was awesome and you'll love it, too.  (Just bring bug spray.)

Here I am cutting my very first morel with the pocketknife Husband gave me for Mother's Day.  I literally could not believe my eyes when I first spotted it.  I froze for a second, then began frantically fumbling around for my camera as if it would disappear at any moment.  Then I saw another one about a foot away.  The rest I found in another location.  Thank god nobody else was around to hear me giggling and talking to myself as I collected them.  I mean, except for the jogger who came charging up behind me out of nowhere.  (Dude, the next time you run up behind a woman like that in a completely isolated area, you might want to announce loudly and clearly that you're not a rapist or you're likely to get a pocketknife to the heart.)

When I brought the mushrooms home, the children were very excited and unanimously declared them to be "yellow morels, not black morels."  (They keep stealing all of my mushroom books.)  Husband insisted that I get a second opinion about the edibility of these mushrooms before I cooked them—a second opinion besides the children's.  I thought I might as well set a good example for you guys for a change, right?  So I grudgingly returned the stick of butter in my hand to the refrigerator and proceeded to contact Russ Cohen, local wild edibles guru.  He confirmed that they were, indeed, yellow morels.  Huzzah!  I'll let you imagine the seven-bite feeding frenzy that followed!

In my next post, I'll share some tips for finding your own morels as well as my favorite mushroom books.  And, yes, I'll get that post up this week, keep your pants on. 

Garlicky Collard Greens

As you can see from the photo, I have taken one meal and turned it into three separate posts: one for asparagus, one for porchetta, and now one for collards.  It's only taken me five years to get efficient about this whole blogging thing.        Do you want the mashed potato recipe, too?  Let's make it four!

Today, we're talking about simple collard greens.  I think everybody must have a rendition of garlicky greens in their repertoire, whether it's spinach, swiss chard, or kale you prefer.  But people tend to steer clear of collard greens and I ask you why?  They are most delicious and toothsome.  Like kale, they require a little extra time stewing in the pot, but I don't usually let them go more than 15 minutes.  With a pork chop bone in there or some bacon fat, things just get more delicious with every passing minute.  I have been known to have collards for breakfast with a fried egg on top.  Of course, having a tendency toward mild anemia, I get a little crazed around iron-rich foods.  Just put me in a room filled with meat and leafy greens and don't talk to me for three days.

The following technique is good for tough greens like collards, kale, and broccoli rabe, though I'd reduce the cooking time to about 10 minutes for the latter two.  For more delicate greens like spinach, swiss chard, and young beet greens, you don't need any additional liquid beyond the water clinging to the leaves after you wash them.  They'll also cook much more quickly, just a few short minutes for spinach.

Garlicky Collard Greens

The farm bacon around here is so rich and tasty, I find I only need a small amount of bacon fat to get the flavor I want.  You can leave out the bacon entirely, or, if you crave more, by all means dice up a slice or two and fry it in the pot just short of crispy, then proceed from there.

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. bacon fat
2 cloves garlic, minced
Shake of red pepper flakes
1 bunch collard greens, washed, destemmed all the way up the center, leaves cut crosswise into wide strips
1/4 cup water (or stock)
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Heat oil and bacon fat in large pot over medium heat.  Sauté garlic and red pepper flakes about 15 seconds.  Add collards, water, salt, and pepper.  Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, about 15-20 minutes.  Some people cook them longer, say 45 minutes, but I like my greens to be tender while still retaining an ever-so-slight resistance.  You're the boss—do what you like.

Simple Roasted Asparagus

It recently came to my attention that most of the simple, seasonal vegetables I make on a regular basis are not up on this blog.  That's the problem with everyday cooking: the things you make all the time never get written down because you're too busy making them all the time.  I'm going to try to break out of that cycle by documenting more of these easy vegetable dishes, even when the recipe is simply: coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and roast X minutes.  Sometimes the easy way just happens to be our favorite way! 

Roasted Asparagus

Husband is addicted to asparagus and the kids are following in his footsteps.  It goes so fast I have to cook two bunches at a time. 

2 bunches asparagus
1-2 Tbsp. olive oil (I just pour and count one Mississippi, two Mississippi)
Liberal salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375°F.  Wash asparagus, then snap off the thick woody stems by bending the stalks near the lower third until they break.  I do this two or three at a time to make it go faster.  Compost the stem ends.  Set asparagus on rimmed sheet pan and pour olive oil over.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper and use your hands to toss until evenly coated.  Arrange asparagus in single layer on pan.  If you need a second pan, go for it.  I'll admit it, I tend to crowd the pan so I have room in the oven for whatever else I'm cooking.  Roast 7-12 minutes, depending on thickness of spears.  Stems should be tender when pierced with a fork, tips should be slightly dry and, with luck, a little crispy.

Crispy Hash Browns

Wow, you guys.  Never have I gotten so many desperate pleas for a recipe as I have in the past few days after the mere mention of hash browns.  It's nice to know that I have such a discerning/obsessed readership.  Now that we've had a chance to dig ourselves out of the foot and a half of snow that fell yesterday, I'm happy to share my technique.  It produces a well-seasoned potato patty that's crisp on the outside and soft on the inside.  In short: perfect.

 

Crispy Hash Browns

3 medium Yukon gold potatoes (or other starchy potato)
Kosher salt and black pepper
Olive oil

Peel and grate potatoes using the large holes on a box grater (watch your knuckles!).  Line a colander with cheesecloth or non-linty dishtowel.  Set grated potato on towel in colander and sprinkle with several pinches of kosher salt, tossing to distribute.  Let sit 5 minutes. 

Heat a large skillet (I like cast iron) with 2 Tbsp. olive oil on medium heat.  (If you're making the hash browns to go with sausage and vegetable hash, you may have some fat left over in the skillet so you can use less oil).  While the pan is heating, gather up the sides of the towel, twist, and squeeze the potatoes hard over the sink so all of the moisture drips out.  Repeat several times.  You want the potatoes dry, dry, dry before they hit the pan.  You should be left with a wad of potato pulp about the size of a baseball.

When the pan is good and hot, take 1/3 of grated potatoes, pull apart, and spread out into a potato pancake no more than 1/2-inch thick.  You want the potato loosely packed with lacy edges.  Sprinkle with black pepper, press down with a spatula, then leave it alone for about 10 minutes.  Time will vary depending on your pan and the flame.  When you see the edges start to brown significantly, carefully loosen with the spatula and lift up an edge.  If the hash brown is merely golden on the bottom and kind of sags, let it cook more time.  What you want is a crust on the bottom that can withstand the weight of the hash brown itself.  It's called hash brown for a reason (just take care not to make it a hash black).  Flip and repeat on the second side.  When nice and crispy brown, let drain on paper towels and season with salt.  Repeat with two more batches of potatoes, squeezing any additional moisture that may have been drawn out by the salt, and adding more oil to the pan as necessary.  Serves 2 adults and 2 kids (who split the third).

A few other notes: You could probably use a food processor fitted with the grater disk, though it takes less time to grate three potatoes by hand than it would for me to locate and later wash all of the parts of the food processor.  Don't let your peeled/grated potatoes sit out too long before cooking or they will turn brown.  Also, be sure to rinse out the squeezing towel with water soon afterwards so it doesn't stain brown.  If you need to speed up the frying process, use two skillets simultaneously.  Finally, if your kids turn up their noses at your beautiful hash browns, just say they're like hamburgers made out of French fries and suddenly at least one of them is chowing down.

Local Ingredients:
Potatoes: Waltham Fields, Waltham, MA/Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH

Sausage and Root Vegetable Skillet Supper

Don't you just love breakfast for dinner?  Or "brinner" as my oldest calls it. 

To me, brinner usually means that Husband is making his amazing blueberry pancakes and I'm off duty, a double score for me.  Sometimes it means I'm frying up bacon and eggs.  More recently, though, I've been whittling down my root vegetable stash by making sausage and vegetable hash.  It makes fine cold- weather fare for breakfast, brunch, or brinner.  It is best served with hash- browned potatoes on the side or, as Husband easily convinced me, broken up so the crispy, lacy bits mingle with the rest of the vegetables.  My super-simple hash brown technique is here.  In the meantime, go find yourself some squash.


Sausage and Root Vegetable Skillet Supper (with Crispy Hash Browns)

If you don't have access to these particularly delicious breakfast sausages, you can substitute high-quality ground pork mixed with a healthy dose of salt, ground sage, and black pepper, as well as a touch of cayenne and ground coriander.  You could also use bacon.  Feel free to omit the root vegetables you don't like and replace them with others that you do, like carrots, sweet potatoes, and rutabagas.

1/2-1 lb. farm-fresh, breakfast sausage patties
1-2 Tbsp. bacon fat (or oil, if you prefer)
1/2 butternut squash, peeled, 1/2-inch dice
1 medium turnip, peeled, 1/2-inch dice
1 medium celery root, peeled, 1/2-inch dice
2 parsnips, peeled, sides sliced off the woody core, 1/2-inch dice
1 red onion, 1/2-inch dice
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh rosemary
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh thyme
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350°F. 

In a large skillet, preferably cast iron, melt the fat and brown the sausage meat, breaking the patties into bite-sized pieces as you go.  You want the pieces fully cooked and golden-brown on several sides.  When done, remove meat and set aside.  Reserve skillet (unwashed) for hash browns.

While sausage is browning, wash, peel, and chop the squash, turnip, celery root, parsnips, and onion.  Combine on a large rimmed baking sheet with olive oil, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper.  Toss with your hands until well-coated.  Roast for 40 minutes, flipping once, or until the vegetables are tender and golden. 

Meanwhile, make the hash browns.  Combine the vegetables, sausage, and hash browns in the skillet and brinner is served.

Source: Inspired by an adaptation of the Red Lion Inn recipe in The Boston Globe.

Local Ingredient Sources
Sausage: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Bacon fat: From bacon from Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Squash, turnip, red onion, potatoes: Waltham Fields, Waltham, MA
Parsnips: Sugar Mountain Farm, Whately, MA (via Russo's)
Rosemary: My half-dead plant

Tart Cherry Preserves

In the cookbook Put ‘Em Up that I raffled off last month, there is a recipe for preserved cherries, the intro to which says, “Cherry preserves are to strawberry jam what a red satin gown is to a puffy pink prom dress.”  That’s for sure.  Only the author forgot to mention the red lipstick.  Lipstick and cleavage.  This, my friends, is the Christina Hendricks of jams. 

If you’ve never cooked with sour cherries (and I hadn’t until this year), let’s just say that there’s a reason why everybody swoons over them.  Under no circumstances should you EVER pass them up.  And I know it’s cruel to mention sour cherries when their season is past, but now you have a whole year to nail down a local source and mark your calendars for late June/early July so you don’t miss their fleeting window.  Then you should set some of them aside to make this:

Classic Cherry Preserves

Original recipe was doubled.  I should have stuck with the original recipe.

1½ lbs. sour cherries (sometimes labeled tart cherries)
½ cup sugar
2 Tbsp. lemon juice

Stem and pit the cherries (they're so juicy you can just cut them in half and flick out the pit with the tip of a paring knife, no pitter required).  Combine the cherries with a splash of water in a medium nonreactive saucepan.  Bring to a boil, mashing with a potato masher to release the juice.  Add the sugar and lemon juice and stir to dissolve.  Continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the preserves reach the desired thickness, 15 to 20 minutes (stick a jam-coated spoon in the freezer for a minute to see if it gels).  Remove from heat and let rest for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.  Ladle into clean jars.  Cool, cover, label, and refrigerate for up to a month.  (Or, for longer lasting storage, can them using the boiling water method for 10 minutes).  Now just try to keep your hands off them!

Source: Adapted from Put ‘Em Up by Sherri Brooks Vinton.

Fish Tacos

Why has it taken me so long to embrace the fish taco?  It is nothing short of genius, especially when you’re a member of a local fishermen’s coop.  Basically how it works is this: whatever leftover fish you have, throw it into a taco with whatever vegetables you have.  Seriously.  Not only that, but it tastes fresh and healthy and not even a little bit lazy.  Here’s how we’ve been doing fish tacos lately, though I'd imagine there are about as many variations as there are fish in the sea.

 

Fish Tacos

1 package corn tortillas
½ lb. leftover fish or pieces for frying
¼ head of cabbage, finely shredded
¼ red onion, thinly sliced
Whole cilantro leaves
½ cup mayo
Juice of ½ lime
½ shallot, chopped
½ jalapeño, minced, seeds removed
1 Tbsp. fresh herbs like dill, oregano, parsley
¼ tsp. dried cumin
Dash cayenne
Salt and pepper to taste

First, I get my vegetables ready—in this case, shredded cabbage, thinly sliced red onion, and cilantro leaves.  I keep the cilantro leaves separate from the herbs in the dressing because people either love cilantro or hate it.  This way, you can either pile it on (yes, yes, yes!) or leave it out at your own discretion.  Then I make the sauce, which is similar to that creamy salad dressing recipe I gave you earlier this summer.  In fact, I’ll often just doctor that if I have some around.  If not, just whisk the mayo with lime juice and add the chopped shallot, jalapeño, herbs, spices, salt, and pepper.  I like it heavy on the dill.  Taste it and once you get the flavor you like, you can thin it with milk or buttermilk, thicken it with more mayo, or just leave it alone.  If you should find yourself with too much sauce, it also makes a great dressing for coleslaw.

Next, the fish.  We really like pollock in our tacos, though we’ve also enjoyed haddock and hake (aka merluza).  Sometimes we use leftover fish and other times I’ll deep fry some for the occasion and let the children have homemade fish sticks while the adults flake theirs into tacos.  (The children have yet to take to the taco, but I’ll break them down eventually.)  For batter, I either coat the fish pieces in buttermilk or plain yogurt thinned with milk and dredge them in cornmeal, or make a beer batter with ¾ cup flour, ¼ cup cornstarch, and enough beer to make a batter of a reasonable consistency.  Then I drink the remaining ¾ bottle of beer to make the frying go faster.  You want the oil hot (375°F) so the fish comes out light and crispy, not sodden.  Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt. 

When you’re on your last batch of fish, wrap a stack of corn tortillas in a damp paper towel and heat the whole thing in the microwave on medium-low for a minute.  Flake the fish into bite-sized pieces.  Assembly, to be done individually at the table, is just a matter of taking two tortillas, making a small pile of cabbage, onion, cilantro, and fish down the center, and applying sauce.  Don’t be too stingy with the sauce—you’ll want at least a tablespoon on there.  It’s a pretty healthy meal overall.

By the way, Cape Ann Fresh Catch is accepting new members, so if you’ve been eager to try out local delivery of fresh Gloucester-caught fish, now’s your chance.  They have a fillet option now so you don’t have to lug home a whole fish and fillet it yourself if you don’t want to.  I’ve opted for the pre-filleted share myself since I already have enough fish bones in my freezer to keep us in chowder for five years straight. 

Local Sources:
Cabbage, red onion, cilantro: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Dill, parsley, oregano: Neighbor’s garden, Waltham, MA
Fish: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Buttermilk: Kate’s Homemade Butter, Old Orchard Beach, ME
Corn tortillas: Cinco de Mayo, Lynn, MA (via Russo’s)

Rhubarb Pie

Oh, my god, you guys, I am obsessed with rhubarb pie.  Obsessed!  Do you know how many rhubarb pies I’ve made in the past two weeks?  Three.  Three pies and nary a strawberry to be found in any of them.  Strawberries have their time and place, don’t get me wrong, but that time is when they’re raw and right out of the garden, and that place is far away from my rhubarb pies. 

This recipe comes from my friend, Cathy, whom I stalked until she gave it to me.  Yes, I’m back to my stalking ways.  Get it?  Rhubarb?  Stalks?  Shut up.  Her recipe is tart, the way I like my rhubarb, with a touch of cream, which is how I like pretty much everything.  I had to add a little more sugar to appease Husband, and double the flour because my particular rhubarb seemed to have a high water content.  I also added a lattice crust so you wouldn’t be subjected to a photo of a pie that looked like someone just vomited into a pie shell.  Now it looks like someone vomited into a pie shell and I added a decorative lattice crust!  But you know I never discriminate against ugly food on this blog.  Ugly food is the best food.

Make this pie.  Make it early and often.  And I know one of you is going to ask me if you can leave out the cream, and my answer, as always, is that you could, but why would you want to do a silly thing like that?

 

Rhubarb Pie

Yes, you can use a premade crust, but I won’t stop nagging you to make your own at least once.  Below is a recipe for a homemade butter crust.  Using half butter, half shortening will give you extra flakiness (the tradeoff is transfats).  Or you could make a lard crust.

Crust
2 cups flour
12 Tbsp. cold butter, cut into pieces
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
8-10 Tbsp. ice water (or more)

Filling
1 lb. rhubarb, cut into 3/4-inch pieces (3½-4 cups)
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup flour
¼ tsp. salt
½ cup heavy cream
1 Tbsp. lemon juice

For the crust, mix flour, sugar, and salt in food processor.  Add cold butter and pulse in 1-second beats until butter is the size of small peas (around 20 pulses).  Dump mixture into a large bowl and add ice water, a few tablespoons at a time, fluffing with a fork until gently absorbed.  You don’t want it wet and sticky, but if there’s too much dry flour, the dough won’t come together right.  It should just hold together when you press on it.  Don’t knead or it will become too tough.  Tear off two pieces of plastic wrap.  Dump a little over half of the dough mixture in the middle of one, and the rest in the middle of the other.  Folding over the sides of the plastic wrap, flatten the mixture into disks about an inch thick, then wrap them up, and refrigerate at least an hour or until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 450°F.  Have your 9-inch pie plate at the ready.  In a large bowl, toss rhubarb with sugar, flour, and salt.  In a small bowl, whisk together cream and lemon juice and set aside.  Retrieve your pie dough from the fridge.  Flour your counter and rolling pin well.  The dough shouldn’t stick at all.  Take the larger disk and roll it out about ¼-inch thick, about a foot in diameter.  Roll from the middle out in all directions.  Don’t grind the dough down into the counter—push it out to the sides.  If the dough sticks, sprinkle more flour.  Transfer to your pie dish by lifting the edge of the dough over the top of the rolling pin.  Gently lift and push until the dough is draped over the rolling pin (a bench scraper or even a spatula under the dough really helps).  Align dough over pie plate and gently unfurl.

Dump rhubarb mixture into pie shell.  There will be a small pile of sugar and flour in the middle.  Redistribute evenly.  Pour cream mixture over the top evenly.  Roll out the second pie crust the same way as the first, only slightly smaller.  Using a pastry wheel or sharp knife, cut thin strips for a lattice topping.  Arrange strips like so.  Fold over edges of bottom crust and crimp however you like.   Place in oven on top shelf with a baking sheet on the bottom shelf to catch any drips.  Bake 20 minutes.  Reduce heat to 350°F and bake until bubbly, puffed, and crust is richly caramelized, about 45 minutes more.  Keep an eye on the crust—if it starts to brown too much, cover with foil.

Let cool.  Serve with vanilla bean ice cream.

Local Sources:
Rhubarb: Verrill Farm, Concord, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Salad Dressing Refresher

We haven't had a bottle of salad dressing in our refrigerator for more than 10 years.  True story.  Now, some of that time had to do with me not eating very much salad, I will confess.  I’ve always been more of a meat and potatoes and dessert kind of girl.  But, most of that time had to do with me not liking bottled salad dressing, and finding that I eat a lot more salad when I actually like the dressing. 

My younger, restaurant-going years were spent in part devouring wonderful tangles of micro-greens, tender lettuces, and pea tendrils and wondering how these little bistro salads could attain such a level of deliciousness while my own homemade lettuce piles remained so uninspired.  The thing to know about salads if you want to like them is that you need to use fresh vegetables.  Like really fresh.  Straight from the farm if you can get them.  They should talk back.

The second thing is to wash your greens and spin them dry, dry, dry if you want your dressing to cling to the leaves instead of sliding off into a puddle at the bottom of the salad bowl.  If you don’t have a salad spinner, toss them into an old pillowcase, then walk outside and whip your arm around real fast as if it were the sole windmill powering the entire Internet.  The people on the sidewalk might look at you funny.  Just aim the centrifugal stream of water at their faces and they’ll keep right on walking.  

Thirdly, you should make your own dressing.  Supermarket dressing sucks.  Most of it, anyway (if you have a favorite, you can put it in the comments).  I don’t even know what they put in those bottles half the time, but you don’t need more than five ingredients, which you probably already have.  Two, if you’re really short on time and patience.  It will only take 30 seconds to make your own and it makes everything go down so much better.

The final thing to remember about green salads is that you should never dress them ahead of time.  Do it approximately one second before you’re going to eat.  Everyone should already be sitting down and complaining about the fact that there's salad tonight.  Don't worry.  They'll shut up once they taste the dressing. 

30-Second Vinaigrette

Here’s my everyday vinaigrette technique.  There’s no recipe—just a basic ratio that you can scale up or down depending on how many people you’re feeding.  Store any extra in a jelly jar in the fridge.  The olive oil might congeal, but some time warming at room temperature and a brisk whisking will revive it.

1 part red wine vinegar, white wine vinegar, or apple cider vinegar
Touch of Dijon mustard (optional)
2-3 parts extra-virgin olive oil (I like my dressings tangy, so I use closer to 2)
Salt and pepper

Whisk together vinegar and mustard.  Add oil in a slow, steady stream until the mixture thickens and emulsifies.  Season with salt and pepper. 

To upgrade this to a 3-minute vinaigrette, juice a lemon instead of using vinegar, add the mustard along with some minced garlic or shallots and chopped herbs.  Then whisk in the oil, salt, and pepper.


Buttermilk Herb Dressing

When I get sick of vinaigrettes, here’s what I make instead.

2 parts buttermilk
2 parts mayonnaise
1 part minced shallots or onions
1 part chopped herbs like tarragon, parsley, and chives (but the seasonal variations are endless)
Salt and pepper

Whisk or shake together in a jar, adding more buttermilk if too thick, or more mayo if too thin.  Season with salt and pepper.  Store in the fridge.  Always shake before using.  This is also great for crudité platters.  Use extra mayo for a thicker consistency.