Category Archives: Orange

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

08 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by in Fall, Orange, Squashes, Winter

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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.

banana ghost fairy tale blue hubbard squashFirst up: This funny-looking squash.

candy roaster squashAdmittedly, 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.

cut candy roasterIt 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…banana squash circles

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…

sliced pink banana squashYou 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.

carmelized banana squash moons 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 saladRoasted 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.
mustard vinaigrette dressing

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.

Parsimony and Persimmons

02 Saturday Mar 2013

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

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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.

Fuyu persimmonAnd 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.Persimmon

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.

Persimmon seedI 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.

persimmon slicesPeel?  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.

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.

Golden Beets

01 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by in Fall, Orange, Roots and Tubers, Spring, Summer, Winter, Yellow

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I’ll admit it.  After years of trying, I still can’t get totally into beets.  The first time I had them was borscht, i.e., cold beet liquid mush, the second time I had them was pickled from a jar, and after getting so nauseated from the smell that I had to not just leave the kitchen but the HOUSE to get some air, I was a sworn beet hater.

Beets are, shall we say, an acquired taste.  Imagine, if you will, a clod of dirt that someone has dripped peach juice on.  Take a bite.  That’s a beet.

Now the beet lovers out there are going to protest and call them “earthy” and tell me I should roast them, and they’re right.  Roasted beets do become an entirely different thing, sliced into chips and baked at high heat they’re actually better than potato chips (I swear!), but you still have the problem of looking like Lady Macbeth after peeling them and not allowing your toddler to touch them even though they’re FANTASTIC for him because you know you’ll never get the stains out of ANYTHING.

And then I discovered golden beets.  Like massive golden jewels radiating sunshine among the stalls, golden beets solve all the problems of red beets and taste even better.  The flavor is milder, for starters – they’re slightly earthy, but they have a nuttiness to them reminiscent of walnuts, and a mild sweetness like the smell of apples or apricots.  They’re absolutely gorgeous – slice them and they look like orbs of sunlight; halve them and their whitish veins shimmer out like rivers in a golden meadow; wedge them and they look like yellow sapphires just mined from the earth.

The smaller, the sweeter, as with most root vegetables, but golden beets will stay pretty sweet even in softball size, so the rule isn’t as applicable here.  Give them a good scrub and remove all the root hairs.  If they’re quite young and the skin is quite thin, it’s not absolutely necessary to peel them, but the skin toughens up as they get older (ain’t that the truth!), and even the young ones usually have some rough stuff near the stem, so peeling is usually required to some degree.  Basically, I default to: Peel, and if they’re young and you’re feeling lazy, half-ass the job.  When you buy beets, they’ll always ask if you want the tops off.  Most people say yes.  Most people are crazy.  Before I came to like the beets themselves, I used to get free beet tops from the market all the time – hang around a stall for a few minutes and someone won’t want theirs.  Offer to split the cost and it’s a win-win for everyone!  More on beet greens in a different post, but if you do take them home, chop them off about an inch above the beet part before storing in the fridge – they’ll quickly wilt while they continue to feed the beet.

The two best ways to eat beets, in my opinion, really come down to the two ways to slice beets.  If they’re relatively spherical, slice them as thin as you dare (if you’re fancy-shmancy and own a mandoline, now is when you get your money’s worth) so they resemble potato chips.  If they’re funky-shaped or too small, cut them into wedges.  Either way, toss with a little olive oil and spices of your choice – if I’m making chips, I often add garlic powder to the standard salt and pepper; if I’m making wedges, whatever spices I’ll be using in the main dish, or nothing until I decide.  Chips get spread out on a cookie sheet so they don’t overlap, wedges usually go into the toaster oven because I hate to turn on the big guy for one meal, but either way, I line the sheet with aluminum first because I hate cleaning up.  (There’s a distinct theme running through my posts, I’m noticing…I mean, I knew I was lazy, but when you put it in writing repeatedly…yeesh.  In my defense, we don’t own a dishwasher.  Yeah, I don’t think that makes up for it completely either.)  Pop either cut into a 400 degree oven for about 20 minutes.

Bake until chips are crisp or wedges are soft and beginning to blister.  Toss the chips with salt while they’re hot, but they’ll taste great hot or cold.  The wedges can go with anything – side dish, pasta, cous cous.  Cool, they make a really nice addition to a salad.  My favorite dinner with beet wedges:

Spaghetti with Goat Cheese, Beets and Walnuts

  • Roast beet wedges in oven (how many completely depends on your size of beets and your size of family – I typically use about 3 smallish ones for 2 adults and a toddler)
  • While they’re cooking, boil pasta – any mild preferred carb will do here really.  I also like this with cous cous, either whole wheat or Israeli, or pearled barley, but nuttier things like brown rice, lentils, etc. will overpower.  I like spaghetti instead of shapes for the same reason – keep it thin and out of the way.
  • While the pasta water is boiling, slice the beet greens into strips.  Saute in a decent amount of olive oil with at least one clove garlic.  (Decent amount = maybe 1/2 to 1 tablespoon more than you need just to stop them from sticking.  This garlicky oil will become your sauce.)
  • Toss together the pasta, the beets, the sauteed greens and their oil, adding a splash of pasta water and/or a little more oil if the whole thing needs more moisture.  Add walnut pieces and goat cheese.  If your goat cheese comes in a log like mine, use a fork to break off big chunks into the pasta bowl; pre-crumbled works fine too, but it will disappear into the hot pasta.  I like chunks.  Add a little salt and pepper if necessary, though I usually don’t.  It’s sweet and salty and oily and probably isn’t the absolutely healthiest meal on the planet because of my excessive love of goat cheese and walnuts, but it’s chock full of vitamins and vegetarian and oh-so-pretty.

Want the lunchtime version?  Toss the roasted beets (cooled) with mixed greens (include something a bit sharp like arugula, endive, or even just baby spinach), goat cheese, and walnuts.  Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic.  Same thing, only without the evil carbs.

Peel?  Yes, especially the thicker skin.  The young, thin skin can stay on.  As long as they’re well-scrubbed and no root hairs are left, the skin is edible; it’s just not very tasty.
Edible when raw? Technically…Some raw food types grate them into obscurity or juice them in order to eat them, but I don’t recommend it.  I’ve seen them sampled at the market raw with oil and salt, but if you’re a beet newbie, I’d cook them.
Worth the price of organic?  Not sure.  If you’re eating the greens, it seems to be a good idea to keep it clean, and lettuce, spinach, kale and collards – other similar greens – are all on the “Dirty Dozen” of pesticide-absorbing foods.  But most root vegetables hide beneath the soil pretty well, especially if you’re going to peel them.  If you’re keeping the greens, I’d make the splurge.  If money is tight and/or you’re buying your beets from the grocery store so you don’t even get the option of keeping the greens, I’d probably save my cash and risk conventional.
In season: All year, though most sources say June-October.  I don’t think I’ve ever NOT seen them at the market, though I know from trying to grow them that they like a cold snap.
Best with: soft, mild cheeses to counteract their natural sweetness; nuts (especially walnuts, sunflower seeds or similar) to increase their nutty flavors; sharp or slightly bitter greens – arugula, beet greens, radish tops; almost any herb – garlic, rosemary, thyme, sage quickly come to mind, but others swear by curry, dill or any number of other favorites.  Golden beets in particular, because they’re so mild, really go nicely with almost everything.
How to Store: With greens removed, store in the crisper – leave a bit of stem on top and don’t peel until ready to use, though you can scrub before storing.  We’ve kept them as long as 2 weeks or more, but a week or less is probably a better idea.

Squash Blossoms!

30 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by in Fall, Flowers, Orange, Spring, Yellow

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Squash blossoms are back!  And somewhat less importantly, so am I…

So you might not care at all what happened to me after only 4 posts, but I’ll tell you anyway because I have control of the keyboard.  It’s a tragic story for an experimental veggie-lover, filled with heartache and loss and gross things growing in the fridge…  Basically, I got knocked up. Woo-hoo!  Baby #2 on the way!  But in early January, when I had just found out that I would not be allowed to have alcohol for ALL OF SPRING AND SUMMER (the tragic part), I also got violently ill for a week.  I had just purchased the most glorious abundance of strangeness to try simply for your reading pleasure: kabocha squash and purslane and frilly mustard greens that I forget the name of and tatsoi, and the one I was most excited about, nettles – crazy stinging nettles that you need gloves to cook with and that the Irish survived the famine with and oh, it just sounded so bizarre and exciting.  I even took a picture of some of it the morning before The Sickness:

And yes, that’s my son in the corner, judging me for photographing vegetables, or possibly pre-judging me for considering serving them to him.  Cut to 1 week later when I could finally crawl out of bed, morning sickness kicking in so the only thing I wanted to eat was toast and jelly beans, and a plastic bag filled with green slime where beautiful greens used to be, and I didn’t want to touch anything new for months.  Seriously.  My veggie consumption consisted of very plain green salads, the occasional stalk of broccoli, and my beloved illustrious avocado.  I don’t think I blanched or sauteed or even chopped until the 2nd trimester.

But to come back to the blog with squash blossoms!  What a resurrection!  See, squash blossoms are pretty much the epitome of farmer’s market glory.  They’re extremely perishable and extremely fragile and have a relatively short-lived season and are hugely popular and yet no one grows them for sale, so they’re just, frankly, the elitist little goody two-shoes of the market.  You have to get to the market within an hour of opening times to even GET squash blossoms, because all the chefs buy up garbage bags worth and there’s nothing left by 10 am (did I say 10?  I meant 11:30) when we’ve finally rolled out of bed.  Don’t even try the grocery store.  They won’t have them.

Squash blossoms are just meant to be stuffed.  They have long beautiful petals that you can fold over each other and tuck under the base like a ballerina’s limbs.  They have a very delicate flavor – mildly squash-like, but not mealy or bitter.  They don’t taste of perfume like other edible flowers, either.  They just taste like pockets of Fresh.  Most recipes for squash blossoms call for stuffing with some kind of filling (soft cheese and/or shellfish-based, generally), then dipping in batter and deep frying, and to that I say, ARE YOU NUTS??  I’m not a huge fan of batter fried veggies in general, I’ll admit, but with something so delicate, the entire thing just melts in the oil and you’re basically left with deep fried filling…which now that I type it doesn’t sound so bad.  So the other reason I’m against it is, meh.  Deep frying?  What a chore!  I’m not a fan of really messy time-consuming preparations that waste a lot of an ingredient (oil in this case), so we’ve only bothered deep frying once, and it wasn’t worth the effort.  Here’s my tips and shortcuts:

You’ve got to start when they’re fresh.  And I mean REALLY fresh.  If you can’t get them at the market, grow your own.  Zucchini start by putting forth male flowers, followed by female flowers – the females will grow a zucchini from the base of the flower, so if you want zucchini, don’t pluck all the blossoms in the first flush of growth, or all the blossoms on your plant.  Apparently, the ancient Romans loved squash blossoms so much they barely even knew it grew a fruit – they only grew fruit for the seeds and didn’t eat it.  They only ate the blossoms, or so says some semi-reputable source.  Probably wikipedia.

If they’ve sat around in the heat of the morning, they’ll start to wilt – this is what happened with ours, and why there are so few pictures on this post.  When they wilt, they get thin, and even more delicate, and they rip ridiculously easily when you try to stuff them.  Save the slightly wilted and ripped for non-stuffing uses – they’re still yummy.  If they’ve sat around on the counter for a day, they’ll turn slimy.  Throw them out.  You really have 2-3 days tops from plucking if you put them in the fridge or better yet put their stems in water; otherwise, wait until next market day.

So How to Stuff:  There’s no other way to say it.  You’re going to need a suppository.  Take a half tsp of your mixture (we like goat cheese, fresh herbs- especially rosemary- and garlic, but shrimp or crab with ricotta is also extremely rich and delicious) and roll it in your palms until it’s suppository-shaped: mostly oblong and thinner at one end.  Open the blossom as carefully as you can, stuff the thin end into the base, and then squish in the fatter end.  Twist up the petal tails to close it off, or tuck them under if cheese is oozing out the sides.  Most recipes, again, will tell you to remove the pollen stamens first, but we’ve never bothered.  Most also say to destem, but I like the stems – they’re the most vegetable-tasting part of the whole thing, a very tiny, very mild zucchini flavor, and if you’re deep frying, they’re helpful to leave on for plucking the blossom out of the hot oil.

But we don’t deep fry.  We put them on a piece of aluminum foil on a toaster oven sheet and bake or broil at 400 or 425 until brown on top.  If you spray or drizzle with oil first, you can get a little crisp on them, which is divine.  And that’s it!  They’re basically attractive, labor-intensive, goat cheese receptacles at this point, but they’re oh so good.

For the wilted and ripped, put a 1/4-inch of oil in a skillet and flash fry.  Toss into a salad for a crouton-y crunch – salads meant for warm dressings, like spinach or arugula, fare the best with the addition of hot veggies, and you can use some of the leftover oil in the skillet to make a hot dressing – or, better yet, toss with pasta and whatever you would have used to stuff them with if you hadn’t been too busy to get to them the day you bought them.  You can douse them in a bit of egg before you fry to help them hold their shape.  Blossom Day 2 dinner was pasta with chopped bacon, shredded chard, goat cheese, and flash-fried squash blossoms, tossed only with rosemary-infused olive oil.  It was so good we actually fought over who got the last squash blossom.  IN A MEAL WITH BACON.  That’s pretty impressive.

Trim? Most people recommend trimming off the stem and pulling out the stamens, especially if they’re already at the pollen stage.  I don’t.  I think they taste delicious, and I’m lazy.
Edible when raw?  Yes, though pretty bland and VERY green-tasting, especially in the more succulent base.  If you’ve ever chewed on sweet grass, it’s a little like that.  Cooking preferred.
Worth the price of organic?  Yes, if you can find them.  Squash blossoms appear for harvest before the more popular fruit, which means they appear at the stage in which even farmers who try to reduce pesticide use are probably doing one last pre-fruit spray.  As a result, though, only really die-hard organic farmers are going to have organic squash blossoms, and they’ll cost you – they’re often used as bait to trap/lure bugs away from the zucchini themselves, so the blossoms get eaten to shreds by nature.
In season: Early summer, and sometimes mid or late fall, a very brief window.  If you see them, nab them.
Best with: Soft cheeses (especially goat), shellfish, fresh herbs (rosemary, garlic, cilantro in particular), avocado.
How to Store: They don’t store well.  A note: don’t wash them.  They’ll rot quite quickly.  Brush out bugs with your fingers or a paper towel, and if they stems are long enough, place in a glass of water like you would any cut flower.  Store in the fridge until they start to wilt, maximum 2-3 days.  If the stems are short for water, a paper bag is best, but it makes little difference.  You should eat them before the packaging has a chance to matter.

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.