Tag Archives: raw

With Every Beet of My Heart

13 Saturday Feb 2016

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

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Confession time: I’m a convert.

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

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

Raw Beet Salad.

Raw.

DSCF8560

Bloody.

grated beetsRed.

Cut beetrootBeets.beetroot closeupI know! I astound even myself. Or, rather, Mark Bittman does.

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

DSCF8566This isn’t just because of the taste, though it’s mostly that. The other reason you should go for the red beets (or beetroot if you’re British) is that the other kinds change color really darn quickly. We’ve tried the below salad with golden beets, and they turn greenish-mud and look kind of like a bowl of vomit. The white parts of the chioggia beets turn brown, and when grated you lose all their cuteness (though they might work okay if mandolined and eaten quickly – I can’t say, I haven’t tried it).

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

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

Heart Beet SaladRed is great; hearts are better.

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

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

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

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

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

To make beet hearts:

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

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

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

Beet Heart Half Repeat with the other half-circle.

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

My heart on a plate

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

Grated Beet SaladIf you want to just make the grated salad version:

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

Figs in a Blanket

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

figs are doneFigs in a Blanket

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

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

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

goat cheese figWrap the fig and cheese in a thin slice of prosciutto

DSCF6335fig in prosciutto

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

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

figs in a blanket

For fresh figs:

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

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

11 Saturday May 2013

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

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

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

Not so with favas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fava with and without membraneSee how green they are?  That’s it.  Now they’re edible.  Some people puree them, some people saute with garlic and lemon (though I find cooking further isn’t necessary), but we chose to make

The Spring-iest Salad that Ever Was Sprung

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

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

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

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

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.

Haricots Verts, Golden Wax and Other Sorta Green Beans

21 Sunday Oct 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Burnt Green Beans

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.