With Every Beet of My Heart

13 Saturday Feb 2016

Posted by strangeandyummy in Fall, Miscellany, Red, Roots and Tubers, Spring, Winter

Tags

beet, bull's blood, creamy, crunchy, earthy, heart, nutty, raw, red beet, root, round, Valentine's Day

Confession time: I’m a convert.

If you can believe it (I can’t), I once said (on this very blog!) and I quote: “Some raw food types grate them into obscurity or juice them in order to eat them, but I don’t recommend it. ”

Ah, the ignorance of youth! Or at least the fears of a beet newbie. You know what’s awesome? You know what is possibly the greatest salad in the history of salads?

Raw Beet Salad.

Raw.

Bloody.

Red.

Beets.I know! I astound even myself. Or, rather, Mark Bittman does.

Red beets are indeed bloody and gory (and, not to be too déclassé, but seriously – put a note in the bathroom that you ate beets yesterday. Seriously. Especially if you have kids. You’ll think someone’s hemorrhaging. Everyone thinks someone’s hemorrhaging the first time you eat a lot of beets. If you’re pregnant? Forget about it. You’ll be on the way to the emergency room before you remember that you’re only chock-full of vitamins, or, ahem, no longer quite so chock full of vitamins). But the redder they are, the sweeter they are, and though I used to prefer Golden Beets and I still think Candy Cane Beets are just the cutest, if you’re going raw, you’ve got to go red, baby.

This isn’t just because of the taste, though it’s mostly that. The other reason you should go for the red beets (or beetroot if you’re British) is that the other kinds change color really darn quickly. We’ve tried the below salad with golden beets, and they turn greenish-mud and look kind of like a bowl of vomit. The white parts of the chioggia beets turn brown, and when grated you lose all their cuteness (though they might work okay if mandolined and eaten quickly – I can’t say, I haven’t tried it).

But the red beets – grate them or slice them thin enough, and you have sweet, crunchy, earthy, beets coupled with a fresh and bright dressing, offset by the smooth, tangy creaminess of little dabs of goat cheese and rounded out by hearty, silky walnuts. It’s perfection.

Valentine’s Day, however, deserves a little something extra. {Drumroll, please}

Red is great; hearts are better.

Heart Beet Salad
adapted from Mark Bittman’s Raw Beet Salad

I’ve adapted this recipe for 2 adults and 2 young children, because that’s what I serve – If it makes too much for a romantic dinner for two, save the hearts you mangled and the parts you trimmed off the beetroot, grate or slice thin, mix with the dressing, and store in the fridge. It will keep for a couple of days – but mix with the dressing first. Unlike leaf salads in which the dressing makes it soggy, the vinegar here helps keep the beets from losing their color – but only for a day or two. Then they’ll get soggy, too.

Dressing:
1-2 large shallots, thinly sliced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1-2 teaspoon Dijon mustard, or to taste
1/2-1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1-2 tablespoons champagne vinegar (the original recipe uses sherry vinegar; we prefer champagne; red wine vinegar is too strong)
1-2 sprig fresh tarragon, minced
1/8-1/4 cup chopped parsley leaves (a nicely-sized ripped off bunch)
*the measurements vary depending on how much dressing you like. Start on the low end of all if you’re not sure or don’t like everything drowned. Make the higher amount if you don’t mind leftover dressing, and then dress to taste.

2-3 medium beets – if you’re making hearts, the more spherical, the better
1-2 inch log of goat cheese, crumbled
1/4 c walnuts, crumbled

In a small bowl, whisk together salt, pepper, mustard, oil, and vinegar. Taste to adjust seasonings (keep in mind you’ll be adding herbs – taste for ratios of oil to vinegar, and saltiness, not so much for exact flavor). Stir in shallots. Avoid mixing herbs into dressing to save a step – the whisking and tossing bruises the leaves and makes them lose a little of their floral sweetness.

To make beet hearts:

Peel beets. Cut off the top and bottom where the greens sprout and where it gets spindly – you want a nice-looking circle with two flat sides.

Placing one flat side down, cut in half (lengthwise if it’s not a perfect circle). Working with one half-circle, cut the bottom round edge off at a diagonal – this will be the bottom edge of half a heart.

Trim the top edge to remove the corner and round it out.

Repeat with the other half-circle.

Turn round side facing up and slice into very thin slices. Place two halves next to each other to form hearts on the plate.

Crumble goat cheese and walnuts on top, drizzle with dressing, and sprinkle with minced herbs.

If you want to just make the grated salad version:

Peel the shallot and the beets and put them through the shredder blade of the food processor, or pulse to grate. Don’t overprocess.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the dressing, leaving out the herbs. Toss the dressing with the shredded beets, then toss briefly with herbs. If you’re making it for a crowd, you can sprinkle the goat cheese and walnuts on top now, and serve, but if you’re making individual plates, dish up the beets first, then crumble goat cheese and walnuts on top so that the beets don’t turn the cheese pink. (Vegans: the original has no goat cheese and is also awesome.)

Info on peeling, seasonality, etc. is the same as Golden B eets.

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A note: It takes a lot of time and effort to create these posts. I share the information I’ve found because I want to be helpful, but I’m also a professional writer, and other people pay me for my work. Please, please, STOP STEALING MY POSTS. I don’t disable copying because the majority of lovely, honest people who come around might want to copy and paste the recipes to their computers – but I also really, really don’t like thievery. If you find my information useful, please give credit where it’s due, and post a link to my page! The vegetables, the universe, karma, and your mother will thank you. And I won’t have to get all high-security up in here or shut the whole thing down.

Teeny Tiny Prune Plums

14 Wednesday Jan 2015

Posted by strangeandyummy in Blue, Color, Fall, Fruit, Purple, Stone Fruit, Summer

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

juicy, pit, plum, prune, smooth, speckled, sugar plum, sweet

I saw these babies at the market a couple of years ago and couldn’t resist taking them home:

So cute! And they looked great for quick snacking. Unfortunately, though they were called French Sugar Plums, they weren’t very sweet, and the lack of juiciness was unexpectedly disappointing. They tasted so nondescript that I didn’t know how to respond – they weren’t bad, but that’s because they weren’t anything. They didn’t even really taste like plums, just like they were some generically labelled Fruit.

But because I’d bought a whole pound of them anticipating snacks to last us at least a week, I started surfing the Internet for how I could use them up. They’re also known as Italian Prune Plums, so there were suggestions for turning them into homemade prunes, but that seemed a lot of trouble for a food I didn’t really love anyway. And then I found The Cake.

Apparently, I’m slow to a whole bunch of trains, because this recipe was published in the New York Times every year for about 20 years, but I only found out about it recently. But it’s what these plums were made for. Their tiny little oval shapes wink at you as the syrupy topping settles into the crevices left by their big, fat pits (you don’t see syrupy topping in the link? That’s ‘cuz I changed the recipe. Scroll down.), and the heat of the oven transforms their blah generic flavor into something layered, complex, concentrated with sugar but not overwhelmingly sweet. In short? It’s the best coffee cake in the history of the universe.

Except it wasn’t. I mean, it was clearly delicious and was clearly what these plums were made for (being baked, broiled, roasted or otherwise made delicious by the magic of fire), but I found it a bit dry. So finally I decided to fiddle and futz, and now, if I do say so myself, it is the greatest coffee cake in the history of the universe. It’s amazingly easy, moist, beautiful, and easily swappable with apples, pears, or other fruits that are not particularly juicy – I wouldn’t use peaches or overly ripe pears or something along those lines because the juice runs out underneath the seam of the pan and makes you have to clean your oven afterwards. But feel free to swap out another liquor or flavor of your choice as well – I’m not a fan of orange myself, but I think cranberries or pears and cointreau might be very nice…

Modified Plum Cake adapted from Marian Burros
1 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
pinch of salt
14 tbs softened unsalted butter
1 cup sugar (can reduce slightly)
2 eggs
1/2 cup 2% or higher Greek style plain yogurt or European-style yogurt (thicker kinds with no sugar or flavorings added – you could probably sub in sour cream if you can’t find either of these, but I haven’t tried it)
15-20 prune plums depending on size of fruit and your pan
1-2 tbs brandy, amaretto, or other liquor
1 tsp cinnamon for tossing, 1 tsp cinnamon for batter
2 tsp sugar
almond extract (could use vanilla or combination of the 2)
springform pan, lightly sprayed or lightly buttered

Preheat oven to 350. Halve the plums (over the bowl to catch the juices). The easiest way to remove the pit is to simply cut in half, and twist:

Then remove the pit.

Toss with approximately 2 tsp sugar, 1 tsp cinnamon, splash of almond extract, and generous splash of liquor. Let sit while you make the batter.

Mix flour, baking powder, salt and 1 tsp of cinnamon. Cream butter, yogurt and sugar and blend with well-beaten eggs.

Add in flour mixture just until combined without flour streaks. Spread into the bottom of springform pan (it will be very thick).

Press plum halves skin side down in concentric circles (if you want it to be pretty)

so flat sides of plums are level with batter.

Messy plums before cooking

Messy plums after cooking

If your plums were overripe and fell apart while you were taking out the pit, that’s okay. It won’t look as glamorous, but will still look nice and taste just the same.

Spoon remaining syrup in bowl over the top of the cake. Bake at 350 for 40-50 mins or until set in the center and pale golden. Separate the edges from the sides of the pan with a knife while the cake is still hot and let sit for about 5 more mins before removing the sides. Serve warm or room temperature.

For French Sugar/Italian Prune Plums:
Look for small, oblong, slightly plump fruits. They should have a little bit of give when you squeeze them, but not be soft. Wrinkled skin means they’re on their way to prune-town; too soft means you’ll definitely need to cook them (but these should really be cooked when fresh for best flavor anyway, and if you’re making cake or sauce, the wrinkled ones will plump right up with a little liquid…) Small bruises and brown spots can be easily cut out; large scales are a bad sign. The fruit is too small to save when it gets a large blemish. They don’t smell like much of anything when ripe -at most, a slightly acidic, plum-like scent.

Peel? No.
Edible seed? No. It’s a stone fruit. Less ripe plums will actually pop off the pit very nicely; as they start to overripen they will hang on, so stick with fruits a little on the firmer side if you want them to look pretty when pitted.
Edible when raw? Yes. If you’re just eating them plain, let them ripen a little more so that you get the maximum juice possible.
Worth the price of organic? Probably. Imported plums are high on the lists for pesticide use, though domestic aren’t bad. If you don’t know where yours come from, I’d err for organic. If you know your farmer, you could probably get away with conventional.
In season: Late Summer into Early Fall. (In L.A., all the way into early January.)
Best with: Heat. Cook them to concentrate the flavor and bring out the juices. Otherwise, cinnamon, nutmeg, almond, vanilla, cream (and creamy substances – yogurt, sour cream, pudding, etc.), and orange all go nicely for sweet uses. Because of their small size and subtler sweetness, they’re also ideal for use with dark meats or game, like chicken thighs, rabbit, lamb and duck.
How to Store: In the fridge, they’ll keep as long as 2 weeks or more. If they start to shrivel and get prune-looking, they’re still great for baking though less tasty for eating raw.

You Can’t Go Wrong with a Name Like Candy Roaster

08 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by strangeandyummy in Fall, Orange, Squashes, Winter

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

banana, butternut, candy roaster, nutty, pink, roasted, smooth, squash, sweet

OMG. WTF. LOL. #WhateverAcronymTheKidsAreUsingTheseDays

Over a year??? Over a year since I’ve been on here?!? I’m officially fired, I suppose. But I’m full of excuses (bought a house, construction on new house, two toddlers, brand new built-by-hand-from-scratch complete urban farming oasis of which I hope to grow many things to share with you, excuses, excuses), and I have not been completely absent from my food and camera this whole time, just absent from my blog. But I’m here! I’m here! Yowp! And I have so much deliciousness to share.

First up: This funny-looking squash.

Admittedly, we bought it for a Halloween display. It looked to me like a swaddled baby (perfect for that extra creepy touch to a Jack O’Lantern massacre!) but, much like everything else, time got away from us in October and the baby never came to be. Luckily for all concerned (including the early colonists, I suppose), squashes keep! So two and a half months later, we sliced it up.

It turns out it is NOT a Swaddled Baby Squash. It’s either a Pink Banana or a Georgia Candy Roaster, though it seems those names might just be interchangeable. But come on. “Hey kids, would you like a banana squash salad for dinner?” sounds like a bad episode of Chopped and potentially some sort of smoothie. “Hey kids, have some nutty baked Candy Roaster!” Sold!

I don’t always like squash. Patty pans and several summer squashes are nasty and mealy, and winter squashes can sometimes smell like cucumber and taste like mush. And that quality that made them so valuable to the colonists (Feed a crowd with one giant vegetable!) can be, frankly, annoying to a modern family that does not want to eat the same punk squash for the next 43 days. Plus, you need to be an ogre to chop into the darn things. I don’t own a cleaver or an axe, and if you’ve seen my history with knives, that’s probably a good thing.

Yay for Candy Roaster! It’s small enough both that my husband could hack it for me (I am not to be trusted) and we weren’t stuck eating it until the end of time. Actually, I made the recipe below for a holiday party and there wasn’t enough left over to take any home-

The outside is a pale pinkish-orange color, and the inside is bright orange. Some sources suggest cutting it lengthwise, but I did not read those sources before beginning, of course, so I cut it in half the other way. Bonus: I could slice it into pretty circles this way. Less bonus: to scoop out the seeds I had to go elbow-deep in squash goo. Hats off to you, midwives and OBG’s…

The seeds are pretty easy to scoop out, and the stringy goo not as stubborn as some squashes. You’ll be able to feel the difference between orange gunk you don’t want and orange flesh you do – the strings are very slimy and mushy, where the meat part of the squash is very hard and will crunch a little when your spoon goes too deep. Clean it completely, and you’re good for roasting!

You can peel it before or after cooking. Before cooking has the advantage of being able to eat it hot, but the squash is pretty hard (if your slices are thick, you may have trouble cutting neatly without losing too much meat). After cooking, you’ll have to let cool first, but the peel comes off so easily at that point it’s almost easiest to peel by hand than with a knife. I always prefer to roast it before peeling, because by the time I’m done cleaning and hacking, I want a 40 minute break…

You can roast it giant hunks (great if you want to make a mash, a puree, or use in pies – it’s a great alternative to pumpkin they say, if not even tastier, in baked goods) or slice it first. We sliced it into half moons in order to fit them on our baking sheets, though the circles looked prettier. Drizzle olive oil on top or toss in a little oil to prevent sticking. (I cook almost everything on aluminum foil in our house because I hate cleaning pans, but you only need to do this if you’re as lazy as I am.) Bake in the middle rack of the oven at 375 until very soft, about 50 minutes to an hour total, flipping halfway through.

If you can get this gorgeous carmelization on there, do. It’s delicious. If I can figure out a better way than luck to ensure it, I’ll update this post. About half my slices came out like this, and the other half still orange but cooked through, so out of the oven the pan came.

The raw squash smells a bit like cucumber and banana, of all things, but when roasted it’s sweet and nutty, with a touch of bitterness like when you accidentally eat a walnut shell. I didn’t like that aspect of it very much, which is why I went searching for some recipes with good acidity and maybe a little sweetness to offset it. And I found a winner!

The original recipe was from Real Simple for a butternut squash, but I thought it would adapt well for the Candy Roaster.

Roasted Squash with Mustard Vinaigrette

1 Candy Roaster squash (or, obviously, butternut, or most likely buttercup, acorn, or other sweetish squash)
2 shallots, sliced
olive oil
Mizuna, arugula, or other mesclun green (baby mustard, baby kale, or other spicy/peppery leaves should do well) – measurement depends on how much greens you want. For a side dish, I would do about 3/4 cup. For a salad, I might go as much as 2 cups of greens.
Optional add-ins: Dried Cranberries; pomegranate seeds; other dried fruit; toasted nuts

For the dressing:
1 cup apple cider (all we had was apple juice – pretty sure they’re the same thing?)
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
2 tbls olive oil
1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard
1/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
2-3 sorrel leaves chopped fine (a lemony spinach-looking herb), or a tiny squeeze of citrus (lemon or orange) juice, or a dash of citrus zest
1 pinch fresh tarragon, chopped fine, or one shake dried
1/2 tbs roasted walnut oil

Before roasting your squash as above, toss with sliced shallots. Roast squash and shallots for 30 minutes, turn squash slices, and roast until done (another 20-30 minutes). Immediately on removal from oven, sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. If not done before cooking, peel before adding to salad (they will be HOT out of the oven. You’ll need to let them cool at least 5 minutes if not longer before doing this with your fingers, or you’ll need to use an oven mitt and/or a knife).

While the squash is cooking, simmer the cider in a small saucepan until reduced to ¼ cup. The original recipe said 12 to 15 minutes, but it took me closer to 20. Let cool for 5 minutes. Whisk in the other ingredients.

Slice the mizuna into bite-sized pieces. Toss with the peeled squash, and drizzle vinaigrette on top. This is the version we made (and loved!) but I couldn’t help thinking as I made it, and again as I was eating it, that dried cranberries, or pomegranate seeds, would be a great addition, and then while writing this up, I thought dried raisins, cherries, or even figs might be interesting, or toasted walnuts.

The peppery sharpness of the mizuna goes so well with the sweet dressing – I thought it would be too sweet, but it was just what this squash needed to cut that funky mustiness I tasted when it was on its own. It’s a great little squash, but like many squash, I think it needs some spice or some sugar to cover up its less admirable qualities. Then again, don’t we all?

Peel? Yes, though theoretically they’re edible if you like tough, chewy hunks of blandness in your food. Also, if they’re conventionally grown, they’ll most likely be coated in wax. So, you know, there’s that. Peel it.
Edible when raw? No.
Worth the price of organic? Yes. Winter squash, because of its hard shell, is treated pretty liberally with insecticides, which can sink through the surface. It also has the tendency to draw certain harmful chemicals up out of the soil. Good for renewing the soil, not so good for your insides if you’re worried about that sort of thing.
Best with: Pretty much everything in the spice department – chili, coriander, cumin; rosemary, thyme, sage; cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice; chinese five spice, soy and sesame; parsley; nuts, especially winter nuts like walnuts and pecans; sour flavors like goat and blue cheeses, greek yogurt, sour cream; fruits, especially dried; honey; heavier flavored meats like lamb, roasted chicken (especially dark meat), steak
In Season: Summer through Fall, Winter in Warm Climates
How to Store: Winter squashes will keep as much as 6 months or more if stored, uncut, in a cool, relatively shady spot, like a garage or cupboard. Once cut, it will keep wrapped in plastic in the fridge for a few days, perhaps a week. If it starts to get slime on the surface, toss it. Once cooked, it will keep in the fridge a few days if well wrapped.

Figs in a Blanket

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by strangeandyummy in Black, Brown, Fall, Fruit, Green, Miscellany, Summer

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

earthy, fig, pink, raw, rich, slimy, smooth, soft, sweet

Growing up in a humid, mid-Atlantic suburb on the East Coast, the only figs I knew of were the Newton varietal – but man oh man were they tasty! So when I moved to California and starting expanding my fruit and vegetable repertoire (not a difficult task, when my chosen produce at the time consisted of apples, berries, and iceberg lettuce), what could be tastier, I thought, than the inside filling of a ~~cookie~~ fruited cake.

Bleh. Raw fresh figs do NOT taste like fig newtons minus the cake part, just FYI. Some people, lots of people in fact, love them, but I am not one of them. So I thought I hated figs.

But as with most things in life (I swear to you, I promise on all that is good and holy, at some point soon I will post a whole series of posts that are kosher and/or vegetarian and/or vegan and/or don’t negate all their yummy nutrients by simply mixing with bacon and/or goat cheese…but today is not that day) they just needed to be wrapped in pork product to change my view.

Raw figs have a hint of sweetness, and a somewhat earthy, flowery flavor. When very ripe, they’re quite syrupy and gain sweetness, but to me the flavor is like a mushroom masquerading as a pear, with a suggestion of banana. It’s the mushroom quality I don’t care for, along with the slightly slimy texture broken by the rows of seeds that makes me feel a little like I’m biting into a raw sea creature. Dried figs, on the other hand, are basically candy, a concentration of sugar so sweet and yet so complex that I knew there was something in there worth exploring, even if it wasn’t eating the fruit raw out of hand.

Do something to a fresh fig, however, and you’re in entirely different territory – and when I say something, I mean almost anything. Poach in red spiced wine for a winter dessert served over ice cream, roast with any number of meats for a restaurant-quality entree, or bake into pies, galettes, tarts, cakes, or custards for a multi-layered flavor extravaganza of a dessert. Figs are incredibly versatile, and incredibly delicious if you pair them with anything that stands up to their complexity.

There are several varieties of figs, ranging in color from dark almost black, to almost lime green. They’ll get softer and softer as they ripen, and are at their sweetest when fully ripe (edible even to the point of mush if you plan on baking or something), but they don’t travel that well once they get close to that stage, so look for a little softness without bruises. They should feel slightly heavy for their size, and should smell slightly sweet, not sour. Very firm figs will not ripen further, so don’t buy them. To prepare them, I like to slice off the hard bit of stem at the top, but otherwise everything is edible, skin, seeds and all.

I love sweet and savory together. Medieval cuisine, aka gamey meats and dried fruit? Awesome. Mediterranean couscous salad with raisins? Bring it. Chicken salad with grapes? My favorite. My husband? Not so much. And by not so much, I mean I sneak the fancy prepared salad bar at Whole Foods when I have to buy lunch, and that is the extent of my exotic pairings. He doesn’t even do pork chops with applesauce or lamb with jelly (which, come to think of it, neither do I, so I guess our marriage is saved). So imagine my delight when I not only discovered this dish, but discovered that he loved it. Sweet, salty, savory – it could be a dessert if you put a sweet balsamic glaze on it, but makes an even nicer salad on top of a bed of arugula and a simple balsamic vinaigrette; but we like them just the way they are: delicate appetizers that you can pop in your mouth, the prosciutto crisp around the edges and the juices of the meat and fig mingling into a salty sweet syrup that pools beneath each morsel. As fancy appetizers go, they’re fast, decadent, and would be elegant if we didn’t end up licking our plates afterwards. A true endorsement, indeed.

Figs in a Blanket

Fresh figs
Goat cheese
Sliced prosciutto (2 slices per 3 whole figs)

Options: balsamic vinegar, crusty bread, arugula, blue cheese

Slice the figs in half lengthwise. Slice each slice of prosciutto into thirds lengthwise. Place a small portion of goat cheese in the center of the fig.

Wrap the fig and cheese in a thin slice of prosciutto

and place in a 400 degree oven for approximately 10 minutes, or until the prosciutto begins to brown and crisp at the edges. (We cook them on an aluminum foil-wrapped sheet in the toaster oven for easy cleanup – it gets messy.) Serve warm, but not immediately – the centers get very, very hot and we always burn ourselves when we pop them in our mouth too quickly.

Other options? Drizzle with balsamic for a little acidity to cut the sweetness, serve with crusty bread to sop up the syrup that will form on the pan, or serve over arugula for an elegant appetizer/salad. Some versions call for blue cheese instead of the goat, so feel free if that’s your preference, but we’ve tried it both ways and in my opinion, the goat lends a sweet tanginess that goes better with the fig. If you use blue, I would definitely add the drizzle of balsamic.

For fresh figs:

Peel/Trim? No. Everything is edible, though I do like to cut off the top stem – just a centimeter or two.
Edible seed? Yes. Technically, it’s an inside-out flower, but whatever, you can eat the whole thing.
Edible when raw? Yes. Best when very ripe.
Worth the price of organic? Unclear. Figs aren’t that common, so they don’t show up on various “Dirty Dozen” or “Safe” lists at all, and from looking into growing them, it looks like they’re easy to grow in the right climate, and the main problems that affect fig trees can’t be controlled chemically, so it’s probably a reasonable assumption that conventional figs are not heavily doused in chemicals. If you’re buying dried, however, I would err on organic because whatever’s there is going to be concentrated in the drying process, as well as probably have sulfites added, as most conventional dried fruit does to keep them moist.
In season: Early Summer briefly, and then Late Summer through Fall for the main crop – though in a place like Southern California where they grow well, you can usually find them all summer long.
Best with: Almonds, hazelnuts, vanilla, orange, cinnamon, black pepper, rosemary, arugula or other sharp greens, gamey or strong meats, rich/creamy cheeses or desserts (custard, ice cream, etc.), deep red, jammy wines (port especially)
How to Store: In the coldest part of the fridge for up to 3 days, max. Don’t wash them before storing – if they get wet, they’ll mold quickly. If they’re already soft or squishy, use immediately as they won’t keep.

Fava Beans, and the Spring-iest Salad that Ever Was Sprung

11 Saturday May 2013

Posted by strangeandyummy in Beans and Peas, Green, Spring, Vegetables

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

broad beans, buttery, earthy, fava beans, fave, green, legume, mild, nutty, pod, raw

Poor fava beans. Besmirched by Hannibal Lecter, neglected by most Americans, their fat, lumpy pods looking like just a whole lot of bother.

Don’t get me wrong, favas are a bit of pain in the heinie. (Fun Fact: also spelled hiney! But not heiny, as I originally thought. Thanks, dictionary.com!) As anyone who has read, oh, even one of my posts can attest to, I’m a lazy cook. I don’t like peeling, trimming, turning, shelling, or barely even washing. I eat the parts most people toss and if it can all quickly go into one pan, preferably with bacon, and just get stirred around until it looks done, I’m happy.

Not so with favas.

Fava beans (also known as faba beans, fave, broad beans, English beans, horse beans, pigeon beans, field beans – I’m getting the sense that these suckers have been around a while, yes?) take a comparatively whole lotta work. They’re protected from the elements by not just one but TWO casings – the outer pod and an inner soft shell – and you have to shuck both before you can eat them. Don’t, ahem, assume other bloggers and cookbooks are being fancy pants and take a bite of the de-podded but still white-shelled bean. It’s nasty. Not that I did that.

But the good news is that the whole double-shucking process isn’t nearly as time-consuming as it reads. The beans pop out of the pods pretty easily, and with a good blanching the worst part of the de-shelling is a bit of vegetation under your nails – which might not even be true if you blanch properly. I never have ice on hand, so my ice water is cold tap water, which if you’ve ever taken basic science class, you’ll realize means that as soon as you add hot favas to the water, the whole thing heats up instantaneously and does a horrible job of blanching. But good news continues! Because even with sub-par blanching, the beans are still pretty easy to peel. It just takes time to go bean by bean.

And then! You get these squat, nutty, oh so green nuggets of delight. They don’t taste like beans at all, in my opinion, because they’re not little explosions of mealy mush. (I’m not a big fan of beans, as you might guess.) The closest approximation is garbanzo beans, but really only in terms of texture, since fava beans have nothing of garbanzos’ astringency. Fava beans taste like a nut that doesn’t stick in your teeth, a little sweet, a little buttery, and a wee bit ‘green.’ But what they really taste like is Spring.

I don’t know how, I don’t know why – maybe it’s their intense green color, their cute little shape, their inherent freshness since you’re eating them essentially raw – but when you taste a fava, it tastes like a sunshine-y day and a cool breeze. They were so spring-like that we actually laid out a blanket in the back yard and made a picnic out of our meal rather than eat at the table. I’m not kidding.

Look for healthy, springy, pale to medium green pods without a lot of brown spots (a few are okay), and in which the beans aren’t bulging out of the pod. Bulging beans means they’re a bit old and overgrown. (I feel like there’s a pot belly joke in here, but having been pregnant twice in the past 3 years, I have stopped commenting on bulging bellies.) And then, to the work:

First, de-pod your beans. There’s technically a string that runs along the back:

And if you can catch it it will peel right open, but if not, just tear it open. You’ll find 3-6 beans nestled snug in their beds. The cushioning looks like a pillow:

While you’re de-podding, boil some water. When you have your little pile of whitish-looking beans and the water is rolling, toss them in for just 1 minute:

While they’re boiling, fill a bowl with ice water (not just cold tap water). When the timer goes, toss them in and let them sit 1 minute. The outer waxy covering should shrivel and pull away from the green legume a little. Then, bean by bean, remove that outer coating. On the left, a boiled bean; on the right, the coating removed:

See how green they are? That’s it. Now they’re edible. Some people puree them, some people saute with garlic and lemon (though I find cooking further isn’t necessary), but we chose to make

The Spring-iest Salad that Ever Was Sprung

Prepared fava beans
Breakfast Radishes
Fennel
Cooked Breakfast or Sweet Chicken Sausage (optional)
1 lemon
Olive oil
Sea or kosher salt (you want it chunky, not finely ground)

Slice the radishes into small pieces and shave the fennel as finely as you can. Mix with favas and and the sausage if you’re using it. Our fennel was particularly licorice-tasting this time, so we combined in a ratio of about 2:2:1 for radishes, fava beans, and fennel so it didn’t overpower. Squeeze the lemon juice on top, drizzle with olive oil, and toss to coat. Sprinkle with salt.

That’s it. It was awesome. The fava beans are mellow and nutty and add an unexpected bit of richness of flavor, the radishes and fennel added a little bite and complexity, the lemon dressing and chunky salt added a brightness that enhanced the freshness of all the ingredients. It was spring in a bowl and was the inspiration for our impromptu picnic – good crusty bread, a few slices of quality cheese, and very cold wine and you had a happy little family, though the toddler just ate the favas and sausage and ignored the sharp little radishes and fennel slices. I honestly think I’ll leave out the sausage next time, as we really only added it because we wanted to use it up, and though it added a nice savory sweetness, I think the salad would be even springier without it. Other additions? Next time I’m adding thinly sliced asparagus, even garlic scapes if I can find them, but in my estimation, the best Spring Salad is one just like this: find the freshest Spring ingredients you can, toss them together, and put down a blanket in the back yard. And just this once, leave out the bacon.

Peel/Trim? Definitely. A few sources say you can eat without the second shelling if the beans are absolute babies, but the casing is pretty bitter in anything bigger.
Edible when raw? Sort of. Blanch to remove the casing, and then they’re edible. It’s possible to buy them dried like other beans, and then you have to cook them just as you would black, pinto, kidney, etc.
Worth the price of organic? One of the few foods to which I’m going to say Probably Not. There’s so much peeling and shelling going on here that any pesticides sprayed on won’t make it to your plate. It’s true that what you’re eating is the seed, so anything in the soil is going to be concentrated in here, so if you’re that concerned, feel free, but if you’re that concerned, you’re probably buying everything organic already.
Best with: Do I have to say liver and a nice chianti? Yes, yes I do. Otherwise, spring vegetables that taste clean, green, and fresh are the way to go: radishes, young garlic, young onion, mint, dill, lemon. Ricotta would be lovely, even a mild goat cheese, but anything stronger will overpower the subtle, mild flavor of the fresh nutty beans.
In Season: Spring. In some areas they grow into the summer, but in Southern California, they’re usually gone by late May.
How to Store: In the fridge. They should keep about a week in their pods. After blanching and preparing, the shelled favas keep a few days, but rinse in water before using if you prepared them in advance.
Note: There is a potentially fatal disease called favism, that is an allergic reaction to fava beans. While very rare, it can affect some people of African, Mediterranean, or Southeast Asian descent.

Stinging Nettles

29 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by strangeandyummy in Green, Herbs, Leafy, Miscellany, Spring, Vegetables

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

citrus, flower buds, green, hairy, leaf, leafy, mild, sharp, stinging nettles, toothy

I don’t know that I’ve ever been more excited to eat something that I’m afraid to touch.I first heard of nettles as edibles (whee! That’s fun to say!) years ago when I was reading a book on the Irish famine. I’m Irish-obsessed, in case you didn’t know (my daughter’s name is full-blown Irish Gaelic), and at the time I found it tragic that they ate weeds to survive when the potato crop failed. But in a different Irish famine book (yes, obsessed), there was some mention of nettles as actually a staple food before the famine (if you don’t know Irish history, it’s tragic. TRAGIC tragic. The English were right bloody arseholes.) because they’re one of the richest sources of iron, vitamins A and C, and a full 10 to even 40 percent protein (and to that I say, what the what?? Vegetarians, get in here!). They’ve also long been a staple in herbal medicine, since they supposedly are one of the best treatments for hay fever, and also for arthritis. I was intrigued. Nettles seemed pretty awesome.

Except that they will sting you. The taxonomy derives from the Latin for “I burn” and they’re chock full of little stingers especially on the new growth. Standard rule of thumb for harvesting is to wear gloves, but I don’t own rubber gloves for cooking, and I was frightened. The farmer at the market ~~made fun of me~~ dismissed my fears and said they weren’t that bad, but I wasn’t taken chances. So here was my oh-so-graceful and professional method for dealing with nettles:
1. Let farmer with callused hands and scoffing bravado put them into bag. Don’t put other veggies in same bag in case the prickers brush up against things and stick to my innocent chard or beets.
2. Remove from bag by grabbing only the bottom two inches of stem and awkwardly hold the whole bunch under the faucet to wash. Rinse by shaking vigorously, thereby blessing the whole kitchen with nettle holy water.
3. To prepare for cooking, just as awkwardly hold giant nettle stalks over the largest frying pan I have, hot with oil, and chop off hunks with kitchen shears, trying not to get burnt by the spitting oil because the nettles weren’t really dry from the vigorous shaking and in case you haven’t heard, oil and water don’t like each other and in a hot pan they take it out on me.

Miraculously, this method worked out really, really well.

The nettles lose their stingers within about 30 seconds of cooking, so you could probably cook them, then slice them more neatly if you liked, but I’m not fussy about presentation so much, and I don’t like getting burned by hot, thornless nettles any more than I like getting stung with raw nettle thorns… Most sources DON’T recommend my version of preparing them (I can’t imagine why) but recommend blanching instead:

Plunge nettles into already boiling water for about 30 seconds to 1 minute to get rid of the stingers)
Plunge into an ice bath to stop the cooking
Roll in towels or paper towels to dry them off

At this point, they can then be sauteed, sliced, frozen for later, whatever, and they’ll be a brilliant green to boot. I 1) am lazy 2) never have ice on hand and 3) broke my favorite and largest mixing bowl last week, so plunging and bathing and creating more dishes [4) don’t have a dishwasher] is not part of my repertoire. But if you are the opposite of me in any of those criteria, you can blanch like a normal person.

Nettles taste a bit like the lovechild of spinach and an artichoke. They don’t have the chalky feel of spinach and are milder in flavor, but they do have a little of the mineral/metallic/plastic tang that artichokes always seem to have. There’s a hint of lemon in there as well, and though they’re a little grassy, they don’t in any way taste like grass or weeds – though if you buy nettles instead of picking them, make sure you pick out the long strands of actual grass that seemed to show up in all the bunches. Nettles are toothy-leaved and roundish-stalked, not long, flat blades. (Did I, I know you’re thinking, shrug and assume those long blades were perhaps a rogue type of weird nettle stalk among my branches? Yes, yes I did.) Look for healthy-looking plants that have not yet begun to flower (flowering makes the leaves turn bitter), the younger the better for sweetness and mildness of flavor. You can just use the young leaves, not the full stalk and tiny flower buds the way I did, if you want to keep the flavor as mild as possible and still reap all the nutrient benefits. Nettle soup is a classic way to use them, or nettle pesto once they’ve been blanched, but I liked them sauteed:

Lemon-Parmesan Pasta with Stinging Nettles
Nettles
Olive Oil
Freshly grated parmesan (not the green tub)
Lemon
Garlic cloves
Spaghetti

Boil water and start the pasta. Once you’ve added the noodles to the water, start your nettles:
In a very large pan, saute chopped nettles in roughly a tablespoon of olive oil (Use as many nettles as you like – like any leafy green, they cook down quite a bit).
When the nettles are wilted, squeeze the juice of one to 1 1/2 lemons into the hot pan.
Add a little more olive oil, along with chopped garlic (we used 2-3 cloves for just 2 1/2 people, but we love garlic). Cook until the garlic smell hits you, just a minute or so.
Drain the pasta, reserving about 1 tablespoon of the pasta water (you can save yourself the trouble of “reserving” boiling hot water by just draining the pasta lazily so a little of the water stays in the pot). Add the pasta and reserved water to the frying pan, and mix.
Spread the pasta dish out in the frying pan to get the most surface area, and grate fresh parmesan on top. Fold the pasta dish into the serving bowl as if it were an omelette – slide half in, then fold the other half on top – then toss immediately. This gets the parmesan integrated into the food so you don’t just have hunks of parmesan in certain bites and none elsewhere.
Top with salt, pepper, and a little more parmesan if you like.

Next time, I’m making Dungeness Crab and Wild Nettle Frittata or Stinging Nettle and Asparagus Risotto. They both sounded awesome, but I didn’t find the recipes until I’d already eaten my bunch. But I’ll buy more. They’re too tasty not to try again, and besides, I refuse to be intimidated by a vegetable. I’ll brave you yet, nettle thorns! Just not, you know, this season.

Trim? You can trim a bit of the tough base and eat the rest, or trim off everything but the leaves – your choice. But watch out for the stingers! They’re most prevalent towards the tips, so you can grasp the bottoms without getting stung. Use gloves, or my wimpy method as above.
Edible when raw? No. You will get stung, and possibly get burning welts in your mouth and throat, even if you puree them – it’s an acid that causes the burning, and it needs to be cooked to be deactivated. Unless, of course, you’re part of a contest.
Worth the price of organic? Probably. Though they’re basically a weed, so there’s no real reason someone should be using a bunch of sprays on them anyway, I’d still go for organic since you’re eating the leaves where the residue will sit. If you can’t find them organic, I would definitely do the blanching technique and probably toss that water rather than using it for tea (as some people do).
Best with: Frankly, kind of everything. They’re such an ancient food and grow in so many places that recipes abound, from Italian pestos to Scottish soups to Indian curries. I like to eat as seasonally as possible, so I like them with other spring flavors like young garlic ramps, lemon, fresh fennel, asparagus, peas (if you don’t hate them)… Nettles are a bit more delicate than some other leafy greens, so I personally avoid stronger flavors like anchovies or my beloved bacon as well, but that’s only because nettles don’t need it the way bitter greens do. It certainly would taste fine if you decided to go that route.
In Season: In cooler climes, you can probably find them Spring into early Summer, maybe even again in fall, but here in Southern California, you’re looking at a window of just a few weeks in early Spring, so jump on them while you can.
How to Store: In the fridge, in a produce box or plastic bag, they should keep for a week or more uncooked. Once they’ve been blanched, use or freeze pretty quickly.
Note: If you get stung, dock leaves are the miracle cure, but since most people don’t have those lying around – make a paste of baking soda and water and apply to the area, and once the inflammation goes down, make sure there are no stingers stuck in your skin. If so, remove with scotch tape. There’s no danger in getting stung other than the pain, so it should go away with no ill effects in a couple of days regardless.

Eating the Vines (aka Pea Tendrils)

27 Wednesday Mar 2013

Posted by strangeandyummy in Beans and Peas, Flowers, Green, Leafy, Miscellany, Spring, Vegetables

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

crunchy, curling, delicate, greens, nutty, pea shoots, pea tendrils, snow pea, sweet, vine

True Confessions time:I despise peas. They are the eyeballs of the vegetable world, quite literally – tiny, pasty eyeballs that show up to ruin otherwise lovely dishes, like carbonara and shrimp with lobster sauce and, worst of all, the ubiquitous fish and chips “with mushy minted peas.” How on earth does anyone think that sounds the least bit appetizing???

But I digress. Spring as they may hearken, it will be a long time before you see a post about English peas on this blog, which is why I felt something of a personal victory in purchasing pea tendrils at the market on Sunday.

I’m not sure if they’re the tendrils of shelling peas or pod peas (HUGE difference to pea haters, by the way – snap and sugar peas are just fine, thank you), or if they just mix them all in the bin and it doesn’t matter, but to purposefully (and rather expensively) purchase things that might have some connection to the peas I deplore is dedication to experimentation, my friends.

In short: slap my ass and call my Sally. Or whatever the expression is.

Yup, you heard it here first: they’re delightful! I assumed they would taste sort of like peas, so I mixed in the leftover nettle greens I had on hand as well just in case I hated them, but I needn’t have, and maybe even shouldn’t have, as the two greens have very different flavors and yes, my plate seriously resembled lawn clippings. But the pea tendrils had a delicate nuttiness, a vegetative crunch without the grassy flavor so common in most greens, an underlying mild sweetness, and tasted just simply fresh. It was spring on a plate. Add to that the graceful curve of the vines’ tiny fingers flash-sauteed in hot oil and fresh garlic, the bright deep green, the shy head of a white flower poking out from a tiny swaddle of leaves and the entire thing took on something of a gentile air. I wanted to slow sip a pale sparkling wine while discussing poetry in a cool mid-afternoon sun. (Instead of shoveling food into my face before I pass out from exhaustion and drinking my wine like it’s shots of tequila while watching DVR’ed shows with closed captioning because the kids are asleep and my house is too small? Yes.)

Pea tendrils are the young shoots of pea plants, which makes me so happy because snow peas are one of the few things that I have grown successfully more than once, except I forget to water them and they never produce pods. But now I can just harvest the vines! The older they get, the tougher, and some people say to ditch the thicker stems, but I used everything in the bag I bought and the thicker stems were simply slightly crispier – mine were probably young enough that nothing had gotten woody or chewy yet.

Look for young, spry-looking pea shoots without wilt or yellowing. Many people chop them before cooking, and if you purchased long strings of them, you probably should, but my farmer sold them in roughly 3-inch long pieces, and they were perfectly manageable on a fork and retained their beautiful curls on the plate – half the fun in the first place. The best method for cooking them seems to be exactly what I found: very hot oil, throw them in for a quick saute and a minute later add garlic until you can smell it (the whole process goes fast – maybe even just three minutes start to finish), put on a plate with salt, and enjoy. People that like spices add red pepper flakes, too. I tossed mine with some pasta for a vegetarian dinner. You might also serve them with a fried or poached egg. You see what I’m going for here? Keep it simple, folks. Simple and spring-like. And if you have time for a little poetry, let me know how that goes. I’m jealous already.

Trim? Conventional wisdom says that if you can see flowers, remove the stems nearby as they’ll be too thick to be appetizing, some even include the tendrils. I think the tendrils are pretty and had no problem with thicker stems, but if you’re eating raw I would follow the advice.
Edible when raw? Yes, but trim off the thicker stems.
Worth the price of organic? Hard to say. Peas are traditionally considered a “clean” food, but I think that’s because you toss the pod. I would definitely go organic for the tendrils – they just seem to invite pesticide residue based on how they grow.
Best with: Simple, spring-like flavors – fresh garlic, lemon, radishes, eggs, plain grains – brown rice is as nutty as I’d go; heavy starches like bulgur or barley or beans would overpower the delicacy of the shoots, in my opinion.
In Season: Spring
How to Store: They don’t keep well. Use the day you buy them, the next day at the most. Store in the fridge if you’re keeping them at all, but honestly, they wilt very fast.

Brussels Sprouts

12 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by strangeandyummy in Fall, Green, Miscellany, Spring, Vegetables, Winter

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Tags

bitter, brussels sprouts, crunchy, earthy, green, nutty, tiny cabbages

This is how pathetic my life has become: when my husband goes out of town, I live it up by eating brussels sprouts. Seriously. (Did you know there was an ‘s’ on the end? No? Me neither. I mean, I know they were named for the city, but I always assumed the vegetable was “brussel sprouts.” Ah the wonders of google’s super-condescending Did you mean brussels sprouts? as if google was channeling the annoying grammar kid in grade school…)But they’re lovely little nuggets of nutty vegetable goodness and he hates them, or did. Conventional wisdom (read: the label on the bag when you buy them at the store) suggests popping them in the microwave for a few minutes with a hole cut in the corner for venting, and voila! Delicious veggies! So here’s a tip: NEVER TAKE COOKING ADVICE FROM A PLASTIC BAG. Even if it does have friendly-looking exclamation points and promising adjectives.

Brussels sprouts microwaved in the bag taste like, well, vegetables microwaved in a bag. They’re sorta steamed and sorta healthy-tasting and sorta mushy and definitely edible and definitely fast, but when all is said and done they taste a little…sad. And definitely need to be smothered in soy sauce.

Like any somewhat tough, somewhat bitter vegetable, the key to brussels sprouts is to roast them. Sweeter roots and tubers like sweet potatoes and beets can be cut thin and survive a quick 20 minute roast and come out just fine, but with brussels sprouts? You’ve got to roast the crap out of them.

Cut off the ends,

Cut in half,

toss with a bit of olive oil, and pop them in a 400 oven for at least 30 minutes. About halfway through cooking time, shake the pan to toss them around a bit, and then back in they go. When they’re done, they’ll be absolute mush in the center, which sounds really unappetizing, but what happens is that all the bitterness dissolves away and the residual sugars caramelize in the heat and the mush you’re left with is a little sweet and a little caramelly and a little nutty and tastes awesome with anything with a little strength behind its flavor – red onion, goat cheese, walnuts, steak, or just very nice sea salt. They’re very earthy when they’re left almost whole like this, and would probably be wonderful smoked.

But if you don’t have time for a long oven roast, there’s another secret that we only recently discovered that makes them even better, and way faster and easier: shred them. If you have a food processor, run them through the slicing blade. The resulting pieces are thin enough to pop into any pan for a quick saute or stir-fry with whatever else you’re serving, or even edible raw. I’ve swapped them out for the kale in my raw kale salad with fantastic results, used them in place of the cabbage in a cole slaw (since brussels sprouts are really baby cabbages anyway), and tossed the shreds into a spinach salad with warm bacon dressing for a little vegetable variety. When shredded, the natural bitterness is not nearly as noticeable, and just lends a little sharpness; if you’re cooking, you’ll get to that sweet nutty flavor ASAP instead of waiting for the slow roast.

A quick recipe: Throw some sprouts and a shallot through the processor, and into a pan with a little olive oil. Cook until everything is soft. Feel free to leave it without turning much, ‘cuz you know I like my bitter things a little burned. Splash some champagne vinegar on there if you have it, or cooking sherry, or rice vinegar, or apple cider vinegar. Sprinkle with salt. Eat by the panful because it really is that good.

Look for tight sprouts without yellowing or curling on the outer leaves and few spots. If you’re buying them from the market instead of the store, you may see them in their natural state, which is attached to a giant stalk, which looks bizarrely attractive but is inedible. If you do buy them on the stalk, you can cut each sprout off with a knife, or just twist and pull each one off – the little stems that sometimes come off too are edible, but will need to be steamed or roasted very well first. You get a lot more bang for your buck when you buy on the stalk, but a lot more work, and frankly, my fridge isn’t big enough to hold it…so no pics. Sorry. When we move to a bigger house and get a bigger kitchen, I swear I’ll buy a giant specimen just for you.

Trim? Yes. Slice off the bottom brown edge. Some people say to just put an ‘x’ in the base, but that seems like more work to me and I don’t like tough stems. Remove any wilted leaves.
Edible when raw? Yes, but better sliced thin or shredded first.
Worth the price of organic? Apparently not, though I would have thought otherwise. Organic brussels sprouts are particularly hard to grow, so they’re not that common, and because each little sprout is packed so tightly, they don’t harbor a lot of bad stuff. So give ’em a good wash and save your pennies.
Best with: Strong flavors with a little sweetness that can stand up to the bitter earthiness but bring out the sweetness of the sprout – shallots, lemon, soft cheeses, pine nuts, walnuts, bacon/ham/piggies… Strong flavors that have a bitter edge, like marjoram, turmeric, or even my beloved garlic, can heighten the sulfuric edge, making them taste a little like rotten eggs if you’re not careful.
In Season: Fall through Spring.
How to Store: In the fridge, in a produce box or loosely sealed plastic bag, they should keep for ten days to 2 weeks. If they start to yellow at the edges, peel off the outer leaves and eat within the next day or two.

Parsimony and Persimmons

02 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by strangeandyummy in Fruit, Miscellany, Orange, Winter, Yellow

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

crisp, exotic, fuyu, kaki, persimmon, raw, sharon fruit, soft, sour, sweet

Alright, I took a serious long blog break. I have unedited photos and half-written posts galore for you all, but somehow (oh, I don’t know, running a new business while parenting a 2 year old and a newborn?) I couldn’t seem to find the time to clean up the posts enough to post them. So an entire winter has gone by full of turnips and cabbages and various hard squashes and I have left you, the four loyal readers that are out there, bereft of deliciousness.

And I’d like to say, but no longer! But alas, I tried persimmons recently, and, well, I was unimpressed.

I’ve seen persimmons at the market for years now, though before moving to California I had only seen them in still-lifes. They look like a yellowish to deep orange tomato, or, frankly, rather like a heart ventricle. [Can you tell my father was a doctor?] They’re apparently quite popular in Asian and Mediterranean dishes, and that makes some sense to me, as those cuisines tend to not have overly sweet components…but I like sugar in a fruit, and persimmons ain’t it.

There are two main kinds you’ll find widely: Fuyu and Hachiya. The Fuyu tend to be more tomato-y looking while the Hachiya are more oblong, but be sure to ask before you buy. Both kinds shouldn’t be eaten until they’re ripe, as I guess ‘green’ persimmons are horribly bitter (the Hachiyas are apparently so astringent that they’ll suck all the moisture out of your mouth! sounds horrid), but Fuyus will ripen to pretty firm, something like a pear when it’s just ripe but before it gets juicy, where Hachiyas should be soft and mushy before you eat. The Fuyus can be eaten when they’re soft, too, but my guy (yeah, that’s right, I’ve got a persimmon guy) said they’re better when they’re a little firmer. Look for green leaves, not brown, on a Fuyu, and let it get just a wee bit soft to make sure it’s ripe. For Hachiyas, let them get mushy – go on solidity or lack thereof, not color.

I didn’t expect the seeds inside, so I’m glad I sliced it open. I went with Fuyus since spoonable fruit seems like, well, baby food, and I deal enough with that already, thank-you-very-much. Let me be clear, persimmon lovers, before I get hate mail: I didn’t HATE the persimmon. I just found it…useless. It tastes something like an apple or a pear, but without the crispness or juiciness of either. It’s basically just an innocuous fruit that’s twice the price of more familiar specimens. That’s it. You can eat them raw in hand like an apple or slice so you can remove the seeds, and many people like to cook them down into puddings and tarts. I’ve seen colanders heaped with them at people’s houses and heard exclamations of excitement when the season hits, so I guess I’m turning it over to you, dear readers: What the heck do you do with these suckers to make them worth your while? ‘Cuz I’m cheaping out. No more persimmon experiments for me unless it’s going to be fantastic.

Peel? No, but you do want to chop off the leaves on top, and if you plan on cooking them, they’re often peeled for texture reasons.
Edible seed? No. There will be 6 to 8, but they’re pretty big so you can pick them out easily.
Edible when raw? Yes, though Hachiyas are more often cooked.
Worth the price of organic? Unclear. They’re not common enough in the U.S. to make some of the standard Dirty Dozen lists in any capacity – since apples are #1 on the list and other soft-skinned fruits rank in the top 20, I’d err on organic if you plan on eating the skin. But they’re notably disease and pest-resistant for gardeners, so it’s quite likely that even conventional ones don’t go too heavy on the sprays.
In season: October through February.
Best with: cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cardamom, black pepper (warm spices); apple, pear, orange; cream in puddings, panna cottas and cheesecakes
How to Store: On the counter until ripe, in a paper bag to speed up ripening. Once ripe, Fuyus can go in the fridge for up to a couple of weeks; Hachiyas can go in the fridge for a few days.

Haricots Verts, Golden Wax and Other Sorta Green Beans

21 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by strangeandyummy in Beans and Peas, Fall, Green, Miscellany, Purple, Summer, Yellow

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

beans, earthy, green, haricots verts, long, purple, raw, snap, string, thin, wax beans, yellow

I used to hate green beans as a kid. Frankly, in most cases, I still do. I don’t blame my mom for this – she bought high-quality frozen green beans as I recall – but to be honest? They taste like vegetables. Like the vegetables of kids’ tear-induced tantrums – a little sharp, a little bitter, and very, very green. And they squeak. Seriously. Some people actually know them as squeaky beans. And God forbid, in my opinion, you buy them canned. Add to the squeaky bitterness a metallic aftertaste, and it’s like eating medical equipment.

I discovered 2 problems with my green bean past. 1) I was eating the wrong kinds, and 2) I was cooking them wrong. Most of the time, if you buy something labeled green beans, it’s probably Kentucky Wonder or Blue Lake – a relatively fat, fleshy bean with a succulent pod surrounding thin, tiny seeds. I’m sure plenty of people like the somewhat meaty, earthy flavor, especially when smothered in cream of mushroom soup and fried onions, but I am not one of those people. I am, however, something of a Francophile, so I’m pretty sure many of those same green bean loving people think I’m merely being pretentious by saying that I hate green beans but I love Haricots Verts. Which, yes, translates to “green beans,” I know.

But Haricots Verts are a different breed entirely from the fleshy cut variety that taints many a side dish. For one thing, they don’t have to be green. They come in purple and yellow and speckled and all sorts of beautiful colors. Haricots Verts and their slender brethren are thin, dainty, unimposing in their somewhat parched state. They crisp easily or soften and blend in with the crowd when necessary while still maintaining a wee bit of vegatative flavor. They’re milder than their heartier cousins. They still squeak, but I like to imagine more of a dainty accident than the bold mouse-like squeak of their friends.

As for eating them wrong, every blog and recipe I can recall commands steaming, blanching, boiling or microwaving. And to that I respond: bleh! It’s a good way to release some vitamins, sure, and to soften them up, of course, because they can get a bit stringy or a bit of a chewy-wood thing going on when they’re not cooked enough. Sure. But…bleh. What a way to make them taste like earthy, mineral-y mush. Nope, the trick I discovered? Burn them. Burn them all. (And if you’re not picturing a creepy Donald Sutherland in Backdraft right now, you don’t watch nearly as many movies as I do, and also, I envy your uncluttered brain.)

I don’t like burnt food. I scrape burnt toast, pick around burned roasts, hell, I throw out burned cookies and if you know me that’s practically a hangin’ crime for all the rules it violates, but green beans, as far as I can recall, are my one exception. Get a little burn on them and all that metallic minerality takes on hints of something akin to a savory caramel, the last wee traces of succulence get dessicated into crispness, and you’re left with something sharp and sweet and so tasty we always end up eating all the green beans before we even touch the main.

When buying haricots verts and their friends, look for fleshy, bright beans that snap easily. They shrivel and get tough and bendy as they dry out and get older, and as much as I like them drier, you want to do the drying, in the pan, not nature on the vine. Any variety that’s young and slim will do (have I lived in Hollywood too long?) but I like ones labeled Haricot Verts, Haricots Jaune (the thin yellow ones at the top), Golden Wax for something a bit fleshier (the ones in the red bowl), or these Purple Queens for Halloween – they look almost black. All of them, really, are varieties of filet beans, so you can look for those, too. Snip off the ends with the stem still attached, and burn away.

Burnt Green Beans

Any color Green beans
olive oil
Herbes de Provence (or at least Rosemary)
garlic cloves
sherry (optional)
goat cheese (optional)
sea salt

Heat enough olive oil in to lightly cover the bottom of a pan, preferably cast iron (you want a pan that will get nice and hot, and that’s not a brand new non-stick – the non-stick doesn’t give a great burn, though it’s serviceable if that’s all you’ve got). Toss the green beans into the pan, and let them sit. This is the hard part. DON’T TURN THEM, toss them, or otherwise touch them. Make something else, do the dishes, whatever, until they start to get a little burn on the bottoms. (If your beans are on the fleshier side, you may want to add a healthy dose of sherry here to steam them open a little, then let them burn afterwards.) Toss/flip and let them start to get a little burn on the other side – you don’t want them burnt beyond recognition, but you want some blistering/black color going on. Chop the garlic (I like 2 cloves, but one will do.) Sprinkle liberally with herbes de provence and stir. Add the garlic and cook very briefly, until you can smell it, maybe 1 minute tops. Put on a plate and sprinkle well with sea salt. If you like goat cheese, mix some in just before you remove from heat – they’re AMAZING with goat cheese, but just as nice on their own if you’re not the dairy type. Added bonus? They don’t work well if you fuss over them, so screaming babies, rambunctious toddlers, and a big, balloon glass of wine can all be addressed while your green beans get nice and crispy. THAT’S the kind of side dish I like.

Trim? Yes. Snip off the stem end. If they’re larger or fleshier, you may want to peel the string down the side as well, but younger specimens don’t need it.
Edible when raw? Yes.
Worth the price of organic? Yes. Green beans don’t make the Dirty Dozen, but they make the Dirty Twenty, and that’s enough chemicals for me, thanks.
Best with: Stronger flavors – goat cheese, lemon/citrus, garlic, ginger, vinegars. Woodsy flavors like rosemary, sage, thyme and mushrooms complement nicely. They hold up well as a side dish from everything to the lightest sole to the meatiest steak, so there are really no holds barred.
In Season: Summer, though in warm-season climes like here in L.A, that actually means Late Spring and Early Fall, since the hot months are too hot for the vines to flower.
How to Store: In the fridge, in a produce box or loosely sealed plastic bag, they should keep for a few days. If they start to get bendy or a little shriveled, they’ll still taste fine if you crisp-cook them as above; if you can see bean seeds outline through the tight, shriveled skin, they’ve crossed the hump and are no longer very tasty.

What is That and How Do I Eat It?

~ strangeandyummy farmer's market finds

With Every Beet of My Heart

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Figs in a Blanket

Fava Beans, and the Spring-iest Salad that Ever Was Sprung

Stinging Nettles

Eating the Vines (aka Pea Tendrils)

Brussels Sprouts

Parsimony and Persimmons

Haricots Verts, Golden Wax and Other Sorta Green Beans

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