Category Archives: Green

Frilly Purple Kale

15 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by in Fall, Green, Leafy, Purple, Spring, Vegetables, Winter

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It’s a little annoying when I go to the Farmer’s Market and there are seven thousand and three varieties of kale, and they’re all very pretty but they all look a little like something greenspeople plant by the thousands at Disneyland in Autumn rather than something I want to put on my plate, and you ask the farmer, “How do I eat this?” and he replies, “Like any kind of kale!”  Yeah, thanks.

But I guess that’s why I started this blog in the first place.  I don’t have cookbooks full of kale recipes, and even if I did it’s unlikely I’d have tried enough of them to be able to speak nonchalantly about them, like, “oh, of course, I’ll just whip up my Kale a la Bligadibong.”

This guy:

is technically called Redbor Kale, I think, but I like to call it Frilly Purple Kale, for obvious reasons.  He’s not red, for starters.  But he was pretty, and I need more iron in my diet and it’s a little hot for Kale Chips (what are Kale Chips you say?  Glad you asked!  Post on them coming up shortly…  Posted!) so I figured, why not?  Let’s try something new.

I thought a kale slaw of some kind might be nice, since kale is related to cabbage after all, but I couldn’t decide whether to go traditional mayo-type, or interesting peanut dressing, or something else entirely.  Finally, I settled on modifying this one for the main reason that it contained no red peppers which I’m not a big fan of.  In addition to being a lovely little side salad, I very much like that it’s vegan, which makes no difference to a bacon-lover like myself, really, except that bacon is always my go-to for bitter greens, and probably isn’t the healthiest counterpart.  More importantly, though, since it’s vegan that means no dairy, which means it can sit outside at a barbecue most of the afternoon and not poison my friends.  Score!

Kale Slaw with Toasted Walnuts

My changes:  I used 1 bunch Frilly Purple Kale and then at the last minute threw in 1/3-1/2 bunch of Curly Kale because it was in the fridge about to go bad and I didn’t think I had enough salad.  As an added bonus, however, the salad turned out much prettier with a little more variety of color, so I think I’ll do this in the future as well.  The recipe calls for just one large carrot, but I had 3-5 medium (again, about to go bad – end of the week fridge clean-out here) so I went with those instead.  And again, I recommend a little heavier on the carrot – it gives it a nice crunch.  I also wasn’t about to take the time to mince walnuts, so I took my good ol’ trusty bag of Walnut Halves and Pieces and just sort of crumbled them into more uniform sizes with my hands.  I probably ended up using more than the 1/4 c called for, but I also liked that I could actually taste them.  Minced seems…picayune.  But do take the time to toast them – toasting nuts brings out the flavor so you can use less, and the bit of warmth when they’re fresh out helps wilt the kale a bit.

  • 1 1/2 bunches Kale, preferably Frilly types because they’re prettier
  • 3-4 medium carrots – I like  to use multi-colored instead of just orange, again, for looks
  • 1/3 cup red wine vinegar, separated into 2 tbs + what’s left
  • 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil, separated into 1 tbs + leftover
  • 1 tablespoon honey
  • ½ teaspoon ground ginger
  • 1 clove garlic, minced
  • ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
  • ¼ teaspoon sea salt, more to taste
  • 1/4 – 1/2 c crumbled walnuts (toasted)

First thing after washing, you’re going to want to get rid of this guy:That’s the center rib of each leaf.  I often skip this step when I’m cooking kale, but for raw kale salads, it’s just too fibrous and unappetizing.

The easiest way to remove that rib from Frilly Kale is to fold the leaf in half and just run the knife down the side of the stem.

Please don’t mock my knife skills.  I have none.  I’m amazed I haven’t lost a thumb yet.

Pull all the lovely leafy parts away and toss the ribs into the compost pile.

Line up your leaves and slice them into thin strips.  This will make a giant mess that will severely disappoint your dog when she races over to see what you are spilling all over the floor.

Now comes the kinky part.  Put your shredded greens (purples?) into a bowl, add 2 tbs red wine vinegar, 1 tbs olive oil, and some salt, and give it a massage.

That’s right, a massage.  Don’t just toss it people, rub it in.  That’s the key to eating raw kale.  Raw kale is a tough, somewhat bitter little bugger, and as a tough, somewhat bitter little bugger myself, I can tell you, the only thing that makes it palatable is softening it up through a good massage.  And doing dishes for it.  Oh wait, that’s just for me.

Give it a good 3 minutes of rubdown, working the dressing and salt in, and then let it sit.  Turn on some ocean sounds for it so it can really relax.

Meanwhile, start toasting walnuts on aluminum foil in toaster oven at 325 for 8-10 minutes.

Peel your carrots and remove the tough stem end and maybe a bit of the tip if your peeling skills stink and it’s got dirt on it still.  If you have a food processor, I recommend attempting to put your carrots through the grater because if it works it’s super-fast, looks much nicer, and gives you just a wee bit of crunch without making the salad all about the carrots.  But since my carrots were getting a little wiggly, it only worked on 2 of them, so I had to chop the last one into shredded carrot size by hand.  Pain in the patootie.  Lazy lazy people might just want to buy pre-shredded carrots from the grocery store and I wouldn’t blame you.

Toss the carrots with the now-placid kale.  With a whisk or blender, combine the remaining oil and vinegar, honey, ginger, S &P, and garlic – do use a fresh clove if you’ve got it instead of garlic powder; it makes a difference.  Toss the dressing into the salad.Take the toasty walnuts out of the oven and dump them into the salad – toss quickly and carefully – they will be hot.  You will accidentally burn your hands and may suck on your fingers on instinct and then have to remind yourself to wash your hands again before continuing to toss.  Not that I did that….  You may choose to let them cool first, like intelligent people probably do, but I actually like that the hot walnuts help the kale wilt just a little bit more – if you’re making this salad right before eating, that’s a good thing.  If it’s going in the fridge until tomorrow, it probably doesn’t matter.

I honestly love this salad – it’s good cold, it’s good room temp, it keeps well, and it’s a lot healthier than cole slaw or potato salad for summer barbecues.  Also, it’s pretty.  I like pretty.

Some General Kale Facts:

Trim? Not necessary if you’re cooking it, though often preferred – for this recipe, lose the center rib.
Edible when raw? Yes – it needs to be massaged or wilted slightly to reduce the toughness, but it’s lovely.
Worth the price of organic? Yes – greens are on most “Must Buy Organic” lists, kale in particular, frilly kales especially in particular because pesticides get trapped in the curves and frills.  Organic all the way.
Best with:  Kale in general is good with bacon, goat cheese, vinegars – strong flavors to help counteract the slightly bitter taste of the leaf.  I also like soy sauce, peanuts/peanut oil, teriyaki, and other Asian flavorings for the sweet/sour interplay.
In Season:  It likes a frost, so technically fall, winter and spring, but I’ve never NOT seen it for sale unless it’s been 100 degrees for a straight month.  If one variety of kale is gone, you can usually swap in another.
How to Store: A trick I learned from an Internet stranger on a forum for all greens – as soon as you get home, fill your sink with warmish water.  Soak your greens as you scrub them with your fingers to get the dirt off the stems.  Drain the sink, then refill with cold water – the warm water opens the plant pores so they’ll absorb more water; the cold closes them to prevent wilting.  Pat dry with paper towels or spin in a spinner and put in the fridge.  Kale is a nice hearty green that we’ve been able to keep around for as long as 2 weeks, but I wouldn’t count on longer than a week if you want to be able to use the whole thing without yellowing bits.

Purslane Makes You Peaceful

07 Saturday Jul 2012

Posted by in Fall, Green, Herbs, Leafy, Summer

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I had never even heard of purslane until about 6 months ago, which is surprising because I’ve always been pretty into herbs.  I thought maybe it was a new name that’s making the rounds or something, because when I googled it, it also came up as pigweed.  Now THAT I’ve heard of.  I think Thoreau ate it at some point in Walden, and what a horrible name for such a cute little plant.  I’m sticking with purslane.

Apparently, purslane, pigweed, verdolaga, whatever you call it, is a notorious weed that runs rampant all over the place.  I’m clearly in the world minority for thinking this is a new thing.  Frankly, I feel a little stupid, but there you go.  Everyone recommends you just pick it out of your own sidewalk if there’s no pesticides around, but for the life of me I can’t figure out which of the myriad of weeds in my backyard might be purslane, so I will buy mine at the farmer’s market for now, thank you very much.  I’m 98% sure we have some lovely patches of it growing where the grass died, but that leaves me about 89% sure it has dog pee on it, since it’s growing where, you know, the grass died.

It’s a green, low-growing succulent, which means it’s leaves and stems are a bit on the fleshy side, but for some reason I just think it’s adorable.  It’s leaves branch off from the fleshier stems – either green or a darkish red – and each little branch ends in a miniature nosegay of flat, happy, oval leaves with the thinnest amount of red or golden piping around each one.  Both stems and leaves are edible, and they have a slightly sour, slightly lemony flavor with a texture somewhere in between lettuce leaves and lettuce stem.  It’s definitely chewier or juicier than a regular old lettuce leaf, but it’s not quite crunch (not like a carrot; more like cucumber crunch), and not really as watery as you might imagine.  Purslane’s big appeal, other than being able to harvest out of your yard if you don’t have a dog, is that it is chock full of omega-3s.  It’s got the highest concentration of omega-3s of any plant, say some, so salmon-haters (talking to you, sis) and vegetarians, rejoice!  You too can get your omega-3s, and for way cheaper than wild sockeye.  It also has very high levels of vitamins A, B (pretty much all the variations), C and E, though apparently it’s also higher in oxalic acid than even spinach, which means very little to most people, but if you’ve ever had a kidney stone, your hackles probably just went up.  So if you’re worried about that stuff, don’t overindulge.  But in addition to Thoreau trying it out, Gandhi practically lived off the stuff.  He called it luni; most sources credit its origins in India, though it grows worldwide.  So if those two guys can eat it, I hereby decree purslane as the Harbinger of Peace and Harmony.

We tried our purslane two ways.  The easiest way is to simply chop into bite-sized pieces and toss it in among the rest of your greens in a lovely salad.  It lends a nice bite and an interesting addition, and goes very nicely with a simple oil and vinegar dressing (balsamic works better than red wine vinegar here – the purslane is a bit too sour for a sour vinegar.  I imagine sherry vinegar might be lovely as well, but I ain’t splurging on sherry vinegar to dress 50 cents worth of weed.)  This salad sounds awesome, but we didn’t have any zucchini on hand.

We also tried “Huevos con verdolagas” which is to saute purslane and onion, then scramble in some eggs, and wrap the creation in a tortilla.  I think corn tortillas are traditional, but all we had was whole wheat with flax seeds, so that’s what our huevos got. 

Honestly, I was only trying this recipe because of this blog.  The salad seemed a fine way to eat it, and the rumors of leaking mucilage when you cook this succulent skeeved me out.  But Huevos con Verdolagas was something of a revelation.

Chop up equal parts onion and purslane, stems and all.

Saute in butter until the onion starts to soften, about 3-5 minutes.Scramble eggs in a separate bowl and add to the sautee.  Scramble until the eggs are cooked, just a couple of minutes.  Wrap in a tortilla and eat.

So why was this such a revelation?  Because I really want to like purslane since it’s so good for me, and the salad was good, but the purslane works better as an addition there rather than the main event.  It’s a little too lemony/sour to be the only green in the show.  But this dish was an easy way to use a lot of purslane, and frankly, was surprisingly delicious.  The smell of the onions and purslane cooking reminded me of the smell of green pepper, which always smells great but ends up tasting like bile and old burps – sorry – so I was nervous.  But the taste!  It did taste like a bell pepper, but like the best parts of them without the bitterness.  It was sharp and acidic and had a little bite but not enough to be in the least bit harsh.  There was a little sourness and a bit of citrus, and I have to admit, I added some cheese because cheese makes everything better, but it didn’t need it.  I even forgot to add salt, and didn’t notice until I’d finished it.  THIS is how I’m going to eat my purslane.  In less than 10 minutes, wrapped to go, and chock full of yummy vitamins.

Many people recommend wilting it, boiling it, putting it in soups to thicken things, and in innumerable other dishes, but we only were able to procure a small bunch at the farmer’s market and it’s 100 degrees out, so doing anything involving soups or long prep time wasn’t going to happen this post.  But if you have a favorite way you like it, please post!

Trim? Not necessary.
Edible when raw? Yes, edible in all forms, though you either want it raw, or you want it cooked down to nothing – Since it’s a succulent, a medium amount of cooking (5 mins+) will release its mucilage, which is as gross as it sounds.  It means it will get slimy.  That slime will thicken soups and things, so you can let it cook a good long while and it won’t be so icky/you won’t even notice, but anything in between “raw” and “cooked to death” is probably going to ruin the dish for you.
Worth the price of organic?  I think so.  You’re eating the whole plant, so there’s no place for those pesticides to hide, and since it is considered a pest among gardeners, I imagine non-organic will be chock full of pesticides since it grows just everywhere and is so hard to eradicate.  I have no evidence for that last bit, it just seems to make sense in my head.  On the other hand, it’s classified as a “noxious weed” by the Dep’t of Agriculture, which means most people that routinely eat purslane probably think I’m nutso for purchasing it at all.  Just pluck it out of your sidewalk, I guess.
Best with: fish, cucumbers, garlic, feta – anything that goes well with a little lemony flavor.  Also, olives, anchovies, avocado, or other oily foods where the sour citrus cuts the grease nicely.  Avoid sour vinegars or other sour accompaniments – they’ll highlight the sour notes of the purslane and make everything taste ‘off’.
How to Store: In the fridge, washed, it should keep about 2 days.  Try placing the stems in water if your bunch came pre-tied stems down.  It gets slimy pretty quickly, so try to eat it as freshly picked as possible.

Heirloom Tomatoes

03 Tuesday Jul 2012

Posted by in Fruit, Green, Orange, Purple, Red, Summer, Vegetables, Yellow

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Okay, I overbought on the tomatoes.

But you can’t blame me.  It all started last summer…we overslept one Sunday and raced to the market to try and get there before everyone packed up, which I highly recommend, by the way, if you’re looking for deals.  No one wants to cart crates of perishables back to the farm, so everyone slashes their prices.  Pickings can be slim, but they’ll also be cheap.

Which is how we found ourselves with a GIANT box of heirloom tomatoes for $10.  It probably weighed 20 lbs, maybe more.  It was awesome.  We couldn’t figure out what to do with them – we ate caprese salads and avocado salads and made fresh tomato sauces and fresh tomato soup and ate them raw and sliced for breakfast.  We were so worried they’d go bad that we stuffed them into every meal and somehow managed to finish them off by Saturday.

So the next Sunday we went back for more.  Imagine our shock and chagrin when we casually asked, “Hey, could we get one of those boxes like last week?” and the guy said, “Sure, that’ll be $40.”  Um, what?  Um, no.

Except we couldn’t stop thinking about them.  It’s been almost a year and I can still taste the sweet juice that dribbled all over my hands when I transferred the wedges to a plate, the sharp tang of balsamic and the creamy counterbalance of fresh buffalo mozarella, the aroma of garlic and lemon bubbling in the sauce.  See, once you’ve had fresh tomatoes, and I mean really fresh, I mean ripened by the summer sun and then hours later popped into your mouth, you become very, very spoiled.  I can’t eat grocery store tomatoes anymore.  I can barely eat homegrown Romas or Beefsteaks or any of the other standard-variety-bred-for-toughness-and-shipping varieties.  They taste mealy and bland and chemical-y.  They taste like what I always thought tomatoes tasted like, which is why I swore I must be allergic to them and literally THREW UP when my mom made me eat one as a child.  (Did I mention I was an actress in an earlier life?  Majored in Theater?  A bit melodramatic?  Oh, I didn’t?  Ah.)

So we’ve been tomato-free in our home since last fall.  Oh, we’ve probably cheated once or twice, picked one up for a certain something and been so horribly disappointed we don’t even remember it, but our salads are just greens and dressing these days, twiddling our tomato thumbs and waiting impatiently for the heat that will bring the heirlooms back to market.

So when we went to the market 3 weeks ago and a handful of farmers had them for sale, it was Veggie Christmas [Except when you taste these, you realize why they’re botanically a fruit.  They’re so sweet, they’re practically dessert.  Seriously.  I drizzled fig balsamic vinegar on one and it was too sweet to eat with the meal.  We had to save it for after dinner and have it with tea.]  Determined not to make last year’s Giant Box mistake and overspend, we bought a modest 3 happy fellows and took them home – where we promptly devoured them in about 12 hours.

So this week, when we were a little later to market and one seller slashed their prices by only 50 cents, we dove in.  They’re WAY too expensive, they really are.  Typical prices are $4/lb, and I’m not even sure that’s for organic.  $3/lb is considered a bargain.  But they’re so delicious and unusual and beautiful and you can just put them on anything – you can slice firmer ones or dice ripe ones for bruschetta or mush soft ones into sauce.  They can go in cold things like sandwiches or accidentally get warm like when you dice one on top of an omelette, or get really purposefully hot in ratatouille or soup, and there they’ll still be, sweet and bright and just a wee bit sour.  The really good ones, the heirlooms, the weird varieties, don’t hold up well.  They barely travel well from market to house, much less farm to store, so even heirlooms at the grocery aren’t the same as the ones you can get from the farmer, or grow yourself.  Look for firm but not hard.  A little give is okay; anything soft will turn within a day so eat it immediately.  They do get mealy as they over-ripen, but toss it into a sauce with half a good one to save the flavor and you’ll never notice.  Heirlooms come in every color and size imaginable – from teeny tiny to the size of a shrunken head, round and oblong and lobed and flattish,  in orange and yellow and  red (of course) and striped and purple to almost black and even ones that are still pretty green when ripe, so experiment and see which kinds you like the best – though I did ask a farmer this week and was informed that even green tomatoes should get a yellowish tinge as they ripen.  If it’s still completely green, even with green stripes, it’s not ready.  I like the orangey-yellows, the purples, and the deep reds myself.  Not sure what their names are, but since I’ve only got a few months to eat them, I’m not wasting any more time trying to figure it out.

The best way to eat heirlooms?  Simply.  A drizzle of olive oil, a shake of sea salt, and dive in.  But if you need stuff to go with them, keep everything nice and raw to really let the sweetness shine:

Caprese Salad: alternate slices of tomato, fresh mozarella (the kind that comes in a tub with water – preferably buffalo if you want to splurge, but cow’s milk tastes just dandy, too), and fresh basil leaves.  Drizzle with good quality olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and sprinkle lightly with salt.

Avocado-Tomato Salad: Chop avocado and tomato wedges into similar-sized chunks.  Toss with garlic powder and a dash of salt.  If the tomato is slightly underripe, you may want to add a teeny amount of olive oil or lime juice to get a little juiciness going, but I usually don’t.

Bruschetta:  Dice tomato and as many cloves of garlic as you can stand and mix with olive oil, salt and pepper.  Use more oil than you think you need – it shouldn’t be swimming in it, but all the oil shouldn’t get soaked up by the tomato either.  Let sit for up to a few hours – the longer it sits, the more the garlic will infuse the oil and mellow out, but we often don’t let it sit more than the two minutes it takes to toast the bread.  Lightly toast really nice sliced bread – go artisan here; skip the sandwich bread.  Top the bread with the tomato mixture, spooning the remaining oil in the bowl on to the bare parts of the bread.

Slightly-healthier alternative to above bruschetta: skip the olive oil mix.  Spread good bread with ricotta and top with diced tomatoes, garlic powder, and a dash of salt.  Add sliced olives if you want a little kick.

I could seriously go on and on.  Feel free to post your favorites below!  I’m sure this topic is going to come up again.  A lot.

Peel?  No.  I don’t even peel if I’m making them into a sauce – the skin is thinner than grocery store tomatoes bred for shipping, and I don’t mind it.
Edible seed? Yes.  I don’t like a ton of seeds or my concoctions to be too acidic, so if some of the insides leak out on to the cutting board, I don’t mind; some people strain the seeds, especially in a sauce, for texture purposes, so feel free to strain if you like.
Edible when raw?  Heirlooms are best raw, in my opinion, unless you have a ton you need to use up – then go for a same day sauce, not one you’re going to jar and freeze.
Worth the price of organic?  Questionable.  Tomato leaves are poisonous to a lot of animals (humans included) so tomatoes can survive pretty well on their own, and are pretty low on the list for foods that absorb pesticides like the dickens – they used to be high, but recent efforts have lowered their residue.  On the other hand, you’re eating the whole thing, skin and all, so it might be a good idea.  The good news?  Heirlooms are still considered something of a specialty item, so most sellers are organic anyway.  Hence the high price.
In season: Summer.
Best with: Garlic, balsamic, lemon, any kind of cheese but soft cheeses really let the complex flavor of the heirloom shine, almost any savory herb (basil, rosemary, oregano are all classics), zucchini, eggplant
How to Store:  On the counter.  Do NOT refrigerate!  Tomatoes leach out their vitamins in the refrigerator and lose their flavor.  Don’t cut into a huge tomato if you’re only going to use half, if you can help it – find something to put it in or have a few extra slices than you intended.  Ripe tomatoes that aren’t yet soft will keep up to a week; if they’ve got a soft spot, you’ve only got about 2 days max, so use it or lose it.

Those Are Some Pretty Ferocious Greens….

03 Sunday Jun 2012

Posted by in Green, Leafy, Spring, Vegetables

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Yowzas!

Those dandelion greens are strong stuff.

Dandelion greens are excellent for you – they’re nature’s answer to winter’s famine, chock full of potassium and calcium and vitamins K and C and A.  They’re also the food of fools, fools I tell you! Or at least fools that shop at farmer’s markets, because we looked at their gorgeous display and said, “Ooo!  Those look interesting!  Let’s try some, shall we?” Wherein we proceeded to pay $2 for a bunch, and then got home and weeded $40 worth (at farmer’s market prices) out of our overgrown, pesticide-free lawn and threw them in the yard bin.  Sigh.  We ain’t so bright.

The ones at the market are toothier than the ones in your lawn, though:

and at least we know (or can hope) they don’t have dog pee on them.  If you’re picking them yourself, also be aware that they seriously resemble another plant called sowthistle, especially when young.  Sowthistle’s leaves are wider than dandelion’s and often have a bit of purple in them, but they’re almost identical in a young plant – in older plants, the flowers even look almost the same, but sowthistle will grow a huge leaf-lined stalk up the center (as high as six feet in our untended garden) where dandelions will stay pretty low to the ground and just grow their flowers in the center.  Dandelion leaves sprout up in a little circle, with bright green toothy leaves and a very tough root that can run very deep.  Roots and flowers are edible as well, but not in this post.

But wow are they bitter.  Some people describe them as peppery, which I suppose they are, but I find them more straight up bitter than spicy or peppery.  It’s a little like when you take a bite of walnut shell accidentally, but not nutty.  Of all things, there’s a plastic undertone to the bitterness, like you’ve eaten something that just came off an industrial belt.  I’m really selling these, aren’t I?

Yeah, well, they’re not my favorite.  Cooked, they do become a more interesting thing.  They add a nice sharpness to bland dishes, and I imagine they’d be stellar in some sort of soup or spicy dish, but here’s where a confession needs to take place: I can’t eat spicy foods.  Red pepper flakes? Out.  Chili powder?  Nope.  Indian food?  Hahahahahahahaha!  I like horseradish and garlic and a lot of root-based ingredients that add a little strength, but I can’t take the heat, people.  (Exit the kitchen jokes here.)  So my choices are limited in terms of recipes to try, since there seems to be a bit of a spice consensus in the canon.

We tried them two ways.  First, we followed the “always wilt them” advice some experts touted, which involves cooking them in boiling water for about 5 minutes.  This leaches out a lot of the bitterness.  They were then sauteed in garlic and olive oil, tossed with pasta, olive oil, balsamic, and, because it makes all bitter greens better, bacon.  Delicious!  As I said, they add a nice sharpness and a good counterpunch to the smoky, slightly sweet bacon.  I imagine a vegetarian option without bacon would be just as nice if you used a balsamic glaze rather than straight vinegar – something a bit thick and syrupy to play off the greens.

We also shredded them up and tossed them with regular spring greens into a regular salad with tomato and avocado.  That’s where the yowza comes in.  I repeat, yowza!  That’s some bitter stuff for you right there.  Frankly, they ruined the salad.  We picked out the tomato and avocado and couldn’t even eat the regular greens anymore because we were so scared of spearing a dandelion green accidentally.  Supposedly really young dandelion leaves are much nicer raw, which makes sense, and I vaguely recall trying a dandelion green salad recipe in the past, I think something like Dandelion Salad with Warm Hazelnut Vinaigrette that was edible at least, helped by the hot dressing, but yeah.  Raw is out for me from now on.

Trim? The stems can get a little tough when the leaves are old, but in general, especially if you’re cooking them, they’ll soften up when you cook them, so most trimming is unnecessary.
Edible when raw?  If you like the taste of ear wax, baking soda, or aluminum foil…  Young leaves might not be so bad, and old leaves certainly won’t kill you, but if you’re hesitant about trying new foods, definitely start with cooking them.
Worth the price of organic?  Probably.  I can’t imagine someone who sells dandelion greens (a specialty item to be sure) being crazy heavy on the pesticides, and they’re tough little suckers, as anyone with a yard knows, but on the other hand, you’re eating nothing but the greens which means you’re getting nothing but the surface area that’s been sprayed.  I’d go organic, or at least “No Spray.”
In season: Spring through early summer.
Best with: Garlic, bacon, red pepper flakes, balsamic – preferably strong flavors with a sweet edge that can counterbalance the greens’ bitterness.
How to Store: In the fridge, washed, they should keep for about a week or even longer.  They’re quite hardy.

That’s Not Kale!

13 Friday Jan 2012

Posted by in Green, Leafy, Purple, Spring, Vegetables, Winter

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I was duped!  Duped I tell you!

I purchased this beautiful bunch of leaves at the farmer’s market this weekend.  They were labeled kale.  Another purchaser told her son, “Look!  They have dinosaur kale!”  I believed them all, like the fool I am.

After getting home and quickly realizing it was too fragile and purple to be dinosaur kale, and hours of googling images of various other kinds of kale, I finally asked around online.   It’s not kale.  It’s Purple Mustard Greens.  

Alrighty then, kale chips will have to wait until next week.  Maybe I’ll try Mustard Green chips, but I think they’ll be too bitter.  They are gorgeous, however.   They have a broad flattish leaf that’s a bit frilly on the edges that’s a really bright shade of purple.  The backside of the leaf is a rich green color that makes a beautiful contrast when they’re raw.  When they’re cooked, everything just looks dark green and relatively slimy, so admire them raw.  I want to have fancy parties with platters just so I can line up tiny appetizers on top of one of these bright purple leaves. 

They have a VERY sharp flavor when raw, like horseradish, or, dare I say it? spicy mustard, but if you slice them into thin strips they’re a nice addition to a salad.  When they’re cooked, they mellow out a lot and just add a interesting tang. 

Most people recommend a little pre-cooking for bitter greens.  A nice quick way to prepare them is to throw your greens into a pot of boiling water.  While they’re wilting (about 5 minutes), heat a little olive oil or butter on the stove, then toss in the wilted greens (you can drain them in a colander so they’re not so watery) and as much garlic as you like (or, in our case, can stand – we toss in whole heads.  No one likes to come over for dessert.) and eat when the garlic smells delicious, about 2 minutes.  I really wanted to try this recipe for Mustard Greens Salad with Gruyere and Anchovy Croutons (my mother just went slack-jawed.  “Mustard Greens?  with Anchovies?? Who is this??”  But it sounds yummy!  What can I say, I’m all growed up.) but was afraid the greens were going to go bad before I got a chance.  There are lots of varieties of mustard greens out there, so I’ll try it next time. 

They also go nicely tossed into soups or random meals.  We made a very bland dinner of white beans and parnsip circles and a little ground beef we’d bought for hamburgers that we didn’t get around to grilling and instead just cooked up the ground beef real fast so it wouldn’t go bad – not exactly a meal worth polishing the silver for.  But we threw these mustard greens in the skillet and let them wilt, and it turned out delicious.  It tasted like we’d spent hours simmering things in a complex herbal sauce, when it was just some wilted sharp mustard greens tossed in at the end.  Some people think the stalks are too tough and send them to the compost pile, but if you’re cooking it down anyway, they’ll soften up.  Do cut your greens into bite-sized pieces, however.  I kept stealing my husband’s fork to shred my big greens into more manageable sizes.  What, get up and get a knife?  You people have way too much energy.

Trim? You can cut off the tougher ends of the stalks if you’re eating raw or don’t like them, but they’re edible and soften when you cook them.
Edible when raw?  Yes, though the flavor is much sharper.
Worth the price of organic?  Yes.  Leafy greens tend to soak up pesticides pretty well, and conventional farmers tend to use pesticides pretty heavily on them because consumers don’t like bug holes in their leaves.  Love the bugs!  It just means another species likes it too.
In season: Winter and Spring – they like cold weather.  Heat waves make them bolt, which makes them bitter.
Best with: Bland dishes to give them bite or one additional strong flavor they can stand up to, like garlic, anchovy, bacon, chile peppers, or vinegar.  Good in soups and Asian stir-fries.
How to Store: They should keep in the fridge for three to four days, preferably in a crisper, produce box, or plastic bag.

More Alien Babies!

08 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in Fall, Green, Miscellany, Spring, Vegetables, White

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Only this time they’re delicious.

I love fennel bulbs, even though sometimes the flavor of the seed or stalks can overpower dishes.  This happens a lot with soup, I think, but if you’re going to buy sweet sausages from the Italian place that makes them in-house (and why wouldn’t you?  Seriously, they’re delicious.  Which Italian place you ask?  ALL OF THEM.), buy the ones with fennel seed rather than without. 

I kind of feel like fennel is going to grow talons and attack me, but that’s probably because no matter how deep I stuff it into my bag at the market, fronds poke out from among the lettuces and apples and tickle me as I walk, completely freaking me out.   They will also attack you every time you open your fridge.  Those stalks are pretty mischievous.  Or under orders from their alien overlords.  Luckily, it’s the benevolent bulb you want to eat, not the tough, stringy stalks.  Some stores and sellers sell fennel pre-trimmed, but I don’t really recommend buying it that way since the cut edges get dry and shriveled pretty quickly.  If you’re into presentation, save a few of the more delicate-looking fronds to sprinkle on top of whatever you end up making with it.  If you’re thrifty, save the stalks to add to other vegetable leavings to make a vegetable stock, or use them in poaching liquid for fish or chicken.  They can overpower if they’re the main ingredient, but as an addition they’ll add a fresh almost grassy flavor that guests will find hard to place but can really make something simple taste complex.

If you’re not going to eat it right away, store it with stalks on so that it doesn’t get dried out, but don’t store it too long.  If it starts to go old, the bulb will get slightly shriveled with brown edges.  If the outer layers are too dry or brown, you can peel them off and still eat the bulb underneath, but fresher is obviously better.

Cut the stalks right where they meet the bulb – basically cut off anything green. 

Trim the tough bottom part of the fennel as well.  There will be something of a disc in the center, depending on how big your bulb is. 

This is the core.  Some people keep trimming and throw out anything solid-looking, or cut the bulb in half at this point and ditch the core; I don’t mind it as long as it’s not too tough.  I just chop the entire bulb into fourths or sixths if I’m cooking it and it will soften up, or slice it very thin if I’m slicing it to eat raw.

The interior of the bulb resembles celery.  It has a slightly tougher outer layer with a more succulent pocketed inner layer.  Pockets of deliciousness, that is!  

If you remember biology, it really should be used for the picture of cambium in textbooks.  Xylem and phloem anyone?  No?   I’m not a fan of celery, licorice, or dill, so I personally resent the comparisons on fennel’s behalf.  Fennel is related to all three of these stronger-tasting plants, and while it’s taste does closely resemble anise or licorice, it’s not nearly that potent.  If you like licorice, you may either love fennel or find it too bland.  If you don’t like any of the above flavors, like me, you may still love fennel.  It tastes like Spring.  It has a great crunch and enough moisture that it automatically tastes refreshing.  It’s slightly sweet, very slightly grassy, with just a tiny hint of licorice-like sharpness.   Just to clarify, the kind of fennel I’m talking about here is Florence fennel – it’s been cultivated to have this big delicious bulb.  Other types of fennel, including wild, have a slightly sharper taste and slightly different uses, though they’re just different variants of the same species.

There are lots of different ways to prepare fennel, both raw and cooked, but my absolute favorite is also extremely easy.  (You may be noticing a trend with my recipes.  I’m lazy.  I have a toddler.  I own a mismatched set of skillets I bought at Marshall’s and one nice omelette pan we received as a wedding gift that I subsequently used metal utensils on and ruined.  I don’t really do complicated.)  Slice the fennel as thin as you can without injuring yourself.  If you have a mandoline, your fennel will look much prettier than mine.  Break up the slices (they’ll come apart when you pick them up) so that you can pile them artfully on a plate.  Drizzle with olive oil.  Squeeze the juice of half a lemon on top.  Pick out the seeds that inevitably fell into your salad.  Top with a tablespoon (who are we kidding here?  I use more like half a cup.  It’s cheese!) shaved or grated parmesan (use fresh here, not the stuff in the green can) and sprinkle with a little chunky sea salt.  If you’re fancy, top with those saved feathery fronds so it looks pretty.  That’s it.  It doesn’t look very glamorous, but I could eat this salad almost every day.  Yes, it’s topped with half a pound of cheese (did I say half a cup earlier?  I probably lied), but if you have more self-control or perhaps more lactose-intolerance than I do, it doesn’t have to be.  It’s crisp, it’s summery, it goes with almost everything, and fennel is supposed to aid digestion and have other magical herbal properties including lots of vitamins, so that cancels out all the cheese I just put on there.  Isn’t that how vitamins work?

Peel? Trim.  All the parts are technically edible, but it’s the bulb that’s the tastiest.  Trim off the stalks and tough bottom part, and peel off any outer old layers if necessary.
Edible seed? Yes, though you won’t see it on the bulbs you’ll buy at the market.  Fennel seed, pollen, and other varieties will be the subject of another post.
Edible when raw?  Yes.  Raw or cooked are both delicious.
Worth the price of organic?  Probably.  The bulb sits just above ground, so it gets contact with both sprayed-on pesticides and things sitting on the soil.  Insects don’t love fennel (in fact, some gardeners use it as a natural repellant), so it shouldn’t need tons of pesticides to grow well anyway.
In season: Fennel is a cooler weather crop, so you’ll find it in Spring and Autumn.  Spring fennel is usually a little sweeter than Autumn fennel, since an unexpected heat wave can make the plant bolt, making it sharper. 
Best with: lemon, fish, chicken – milder flavors let the subtler bulb shine. 
How to Store: In the fridge for up to a week, though if you keep it that long you’ll have some old layers to peel off.
Note on Growing Your Own: Almost every plant on Earth hates fennel, so if you decide to grow it yourself, put it in a pot or raised bed alone, or plant it in a separate area from other plants, especially fruits and vegetables.  If you plant it anywhere near dill, they’ll cross-pollinate and neither will be the flavor you want.

Pretty Sure It’s an Alien Egg…

07 Saturday Jan 2012

Posted by in Fall, Fruit, Green, Melons, Orange, Spring, Summer, Winter

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Okay, so this isn’t from the farmer’s market, it’s from the grocery store, but I mean, just LOOK at the thing:

How do you NOT wonder what the heck it is?  Yeah, yeah, read the sign.  Thank you.  The grocery store claims that it’s called a Kiwano Melon or Horned Melon (one store said “Horny Melon.”  Ha!  Yes, I’m a twelve-year old boy at heart.)  The Internet claims that it’s one of the few sources of thirst-quenching liquid in the Kalahari Desert.  Seeing as I am not in the Kalahari Desert, I just haven’t gotten off my duff to go to Trader Joe’s and buy some water lately, I was dubious, yet hopeful.  Trying foods you’ve never seen before is an optimistic endeavor – I keep hoping to find something a-MA-zing like Uglifruit, or better yet, crème brûlée I can grow on a vine.  (What’s uglifruit you ask?  It’s a seriously ugly fruit that I used to see at Whole Foods in Chicago in January.  They only grow it in Jamaica, I think, and for the life of me I can’t find one in Los Angeles.  I’ve been looking every winter for over ten years.  It’s like a peach decided to dress up like an orange on the inside and a troll on the outside.  It’s awesome.  If I can find one, it’ll be a post topic one of these days.)

So would the kiwano melon turn out to be my new extravagant long-sought love?  Alas, no.  But first, what to do with it.  A ripe kiwano is oblong-shaped and bright yellowish-orange with spikes all around.  Cut it open either horizontally or lengthwise and you’ll find this: 

Green, seed-filled goo.  I’m really selling this, aren’t I?  But it is what it is.  The interior is filled with little gelatinous sacks that each contains a seed.  For a little botany in your life, I expect the purpose is to protect each seed from drying out so there’s a chance a few can survive even the Kalahari sun.  Evolutionarily, it’s ingenious.  Practically, it’s a pain in the ass.  You see, to enjoy said goo to its fullest, you need to spoon some out, put a little in your mouth, and try to just eat the goo without eating the seed.  You sort of bite down on the tip of the seed to hold it in place and suck off the jelly-like casing.  It’s not something you want to do in public.  It’s messy, a little gross, and feels a little creepy, like you’re sucking on eyeballs or something.  Okay, now that I’ve made you NEVER want to try one, I should put in the disclaimer – it’s the consistency of jello.  If you like jello, you may not find this whole process that distasteful.  I hate jello.  It feels like I’m sucking on eyeballs.  So there’s that.

But I also have to add: to me, the only possible appeal of jello is how easy it is to eat.  It’s why they serve it to people in full-body casts.  So if you just take jello and make it hard to get to…well…you’ve lost me.  The flavor is pretty nonexistent as well.  There’s a hint of melon in there, but so subtle that it’s almost nil.  It’s like honeydew but without any of the sweetness and almost no juice whatsoever.  If this is how you quench your thirst in the desert, I have learned that I do not want to ever be stuck in the desert.  Some have said it’s reminiscent of cucumber, but there’s not nearly that much flavor to it.  It’s very, very subtle.

Now the lazy among you out there (me! me! oh that’s me!) might think, Forget the goo-sucking, you pansy.  Just eat the stupid seeds.  And you’re right.  You can.  I did.  You know when you’re enjoying a nice ripe cantaloupe and all of a sudden you get an accidental seed that slipped through?  It’s got that sharp taste of melon-flavored rock?  That’s exactly what the seeds taste like.  They’re not awful or anything; they just taste like melon seeds and make the whole mouthful taste like melon seeds instead of subtly-flavored goo and make you wonder why you paid three bucks for this alien egg.

Now it does have its good points, I’m sure.  For starters, my toddler kept coming back for more spoonfuls, seeds and all.  This is a child whose favorite food since he started solids is sauteed spinach, so granted, he’s a weird kid,but clearly there was something likeable about the thing other than the fact Mom was eating it with a strange expression on her face. I also think that if you like pomegranate seeds or similar in, say, a salad, but the flavor’s a little strong, this would give you the same textural effect without the berry flavor, so that might be nice.  As decor, the thing’s gorgeous.  They keep on the counter for months and look smashing in centerpieces, or you can hollow them out and they have very cool pockets you could stuff something more tasty inside as serving bowls.  You could also stab it with a pointy stick and make a very effective mace out of it, I imagine. 

It has its uses.  If you try one and like it, let me know.  More importantly, let me know WHY.  Were you stuck in the Kalahari?  Ah, that makes sense then.

Peel? Scoop, really.  A few websites say that the peel is edible with salt or sugar, but I haven’t been able to find any particulars.
Edible seed? Yes, but not preferred.
Edible when raw?  Yes, straight out of the shell.
Worth the price of organic?  They’re so rare as it is, I don’t know if there are even organics available.  Personally, I don’t think they’re really worth the price at all, except as a novelty.
In season: They need hot, desert conditions, but if those exist, they’re in season.  Currently, they’re grown in Africa, New Zealand, Australia, and California, and a different cultivar in Latin America.
Best with: cocktails seem to the popular use, and fruit salads.  The seeds are unusually high in iron, for a fruit.
How to Store: On the counter, not in the fridge.  They’ll keep for up to three months.

The Illustrious Avocado

01 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in Brown, Fall, Fruit, Green, Spring, Summer, Vegetables, Winter

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Alright, so an avocado isn’t the most exotic food to start a page called “Strange and Yummy,” but when you grew up with your vegetable choice of frozen peas, frozen corn, or the more mysterious frozen mixed vegetables – consisting of frozen peas, frozen corn, frozen carrots, and the dreaded lima bean – an avocado was a revelation.  Other than pre-sliced on my California Turkey sandwich at Au Bon Pain, I don’t think I saw an avocado in the flesh until I actually moved to California at the age of 20. 

If you’re an avocado newbie like I was, you might be wary of their alien bumpy skin, afraid of their fatty reputation, or worried about what occasionally appears to be green goo oozing out of the sides of the sandwich.  You shouldn’t be.  An avocado is nature’s mayonnaise.  Well, okay, if you hate mayonnaise, you might not like an avocado.  A ripe avocado is silky and almost eggy in its richness.  If you splash it with fruit vinegar you’ll notice that an avocado is technically a fruit, not a veg, but an avocado really shines with fresh garlic, ripe tomatoes, shellfish like crab and shrimp – especially with a sharp acid to counter the smooth, slightly sweet avocado, like a splash of lemon, lime or balsamic vinegar.  An avocado is equally at home mashed into a guacamole and served with chips or served in a crystal martini glass filled with fresh ceviche, in California rolls, in salads, and divine in a BLT. 

Okay, it’s definitely weird that a fruit can be fatty.  That just seems…wrong, doesn’t it?  I’d think it was unfair somehow, but the nice part at least is that at least avocados are full of the good kinds of fat – you know, the kind that gives you boobs instead of love handles.  Wait, that’s not what that means?  Oh.  Anyway, it’s full of yummy yummy good fat and lots of vitamin E, which doesn’t show up in tons of places and is absorbed best with food instead of supplements and is super good for you but now I forget why because all the knowledge on nutrition I used to have memorized has been replaced with versions of the Alphabet Song.  The perils of having a toddler.

So what to do with it?  First, you’ve got to know what to look for.  A ripe avocado should have a little give when you squeze it; if it’s soft or actually squishy, it’s overripe.  It might still be good in something mashed into oblivion, but it will be too squishy to holds its shape in anything else.  Don’t squeeze too hard or too obviously though – ripe avocados actually bruise pretty easily, and sellers don’t like people mushing up their produce. 

Avocados start out with bright green skin (some varieties are quite smooth, most regularly available kinds are bumpy) and turn brown as they ripen.  Again, too brown and it’s too ripe.  A little hint of green is a good thing to look for unless you plan on using it as soon as you get home.

 

Cut the avocado in half lengthwise, but watch out for the big pit, and watch out for your hand.  That’s how I got this scar:

Okay, you can’t really see it, but I know it’s there and it hurt like a sonofabitch when I stabbed myself with the tip of the steak knife.  I never use the right knife for the job, by the way. 

The inside will be greener towards the skin, paler towards the pit, and will usually get a little yellowish when it’s really ripe.  If it’s hard – not apple hard, even just green-tipped banana hard – it’ll be bitter and gross.  You want it soft and creamy – if there’s any separation of layers or brown spots, cut them out and use the rest.  See these?

That’s separation.  This guy’s getting close to guacamole time.

Something I just discovered from a grower this fall?  You can keep avocados in the fridge to stop them from ripening.  I know, I know, you can do that with almost everything, but I’d always heard avocados were counter fruit.  Not so!

You can use the sharp tip of a knife to jab the pit and pluck it out – envisioning some enemy’s eyeball if it makes you feel a little more badass when making a salad – but I’ve got issues with knives slipping away from me (see nonexistent scar above), so I like to sort of wrestle it out with a fingernail even if it mangles the pretty indent a bit. 

Use a big spoon to get between the thick skin and the avocado flesh and take out the whole half at once, then slice, dice, julienne or mash to your heart’s content.

So now to the yummy part…Yay!  I love avocados.  I could eat them almost every day.  I personally don’t like them even the least bit warm – maybe someone out there has a recipe that uses them cooked, but I haven’t seen one – so I don’t even like to put them on top of something like an omelette until it’s already on the table.  My favorite way to eat them is the simplest: cut one avocado and one tomato that’s roughly the same size into roughly the same size chunks.  Add a little raw red onion if you’re feeling snazzy.  Drizzle with balsamic vinegar and maybe the tiniest bit of olive oil if you want more of a dressing, sprinkle with salt and garlic powder and enjoy!

Except once you’ve had farmer’s market tomatoes fresh from the sun in summer, grocery store tomatoes in the dead of winter are pale pink lumps of tastelessness, so instead I’ll be eating today’s purchase in my secret non-dairy tuna salad recipe:

Mash half of one ripe avocado.  Drain one can water-packed tuna and mix together.  Add a splash of lemon juice and some garlic powder if you’re more adult-like, or a teaspoon of pickle relish if you’re a traditionalist.  Voila!  Tuna salad without the mayo.   I had some lovely pics of it piled elegantly on crackers, but when all is said and done, well, tuna salad, even with avocado, looks a little like pinkish mush.  And I accidentally deleted them from the camera while they were downloading.  But trust me, it tastes delicious.

This is how I get my son to eat avocado, by the way – he used to love it raw when he was just starting solids, but now he wants nothing to do with it, so I have to hide it in tuna salads so he gets that precious vitamin E.  What’s that for again?

Peel? Definitely – skin is inedible.
Edible seed? Nope.  Pit it.
Edible when raw?  Definitely.  At its best.
Worth the price of organic?  Not really.  Their thick skin protects them from absorbing most pesticides.
In season: Haas avocados (the most common kind available) from January through fall in California.  Since they’re a more tropical fruit, they’re usually in season somewhere in the world all the time.
Best with: shellfish, garlic, cilantro, tomatoes, red onions
How to Store: A heated debate, especially when cut into, which we’ll get into another time.  Whole avocados can be stored in the fridge to make them last longer or on the counter to ripen.  Once ripe, store in the fridge for two days to a week.  If you overbought, you can puree the ripe flesh with a squeeze of lemon or lime juice and freeze for up to five months.