Tag Archives: sharp

Stinging Nettles

29 Friday Mar 2013

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

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

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

Miraculously, this method worked out really, really well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breakfast Radishes

09 Saturday Jun 2012

Posted by in Red, Roots and Tubers, Spring, Vegetables, White, Winter

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

Radishes for breakfast?

Nuh-uh.  Me neither.  But I didn’t think I liked radishes particularly until I tried these babies.

Radishes come in a lot more varieties than I ever gave them credit for.  I always thought of them as the little red spheres that Peter Rabbit got in trouble for and that cafeterias thinly-sliced into cheap salads, and they are, but it turns out they come in white and purple and in between – watermelon radishes are whitish-green on the outside and red in the center – and in spheres and oblong and big like cucumbers, and that’s not even including varieties like daikon and other Asian relatives.

If the only kind that you’re familiar with are the little red salad spheres, you probably think of them as crunchy, spicy, and a little useless, and in general I agree.  Breakfast radishes, on the other hand, are lovely.

They’re smaller and oblong, red from stem almost to the end where they are daintily tipped in white.  Look for ones with nice healthy greens attached.  They should be firm, and the smaller the sweeter, though the teeny ones rot faster.  When they start to turn, they get squishy from the inside out, so the middle will cave before the ends will shrivel.  Good ones look and feel a lot like small fingers.  Sorry, but they do.  If one of them grazes you while sticking out of your straw bag, you’ll jump a foot into the air.  It’s creepy!  Or maybe I’m just jumpy.

But they’re not nearly as sharp-tasting as the supermarket variety, which gives them a fresh, watery flavor – like a pickle without the vinegar.  They have a nice subtle bite so that something’s going on, but if you cook them down, it’s slight enough that it will practically disappear, which can be good when you have too many in the fridge that you don’t want to waste.  Think very, very mild horseradish.

They really shine, however, in simplicity.  Chop them into chunks, drizzle with olive oil and chunky salt, and eat them with your fingers while you sit on the porch on a warm evening with a glass of wine or beer.  Or slice them thin, layer on really excellent bread spread thick with a good butter and sprinkle very lightly with salt.  That’s it.  Cream cheese? Unnecessary.  Spices?  Not here.  Just crispy, crunchy deliciousness that tastes exactly like Spring should taste.

P.S. Don’t throw out the greens!  Use them like you would any mildly bitter green – beet, chard, mustard – and toss with pasta.  More on the greens later…

Trim? Trim off the root hairs or the really spindly long root at the end, and take a little off the top.  If you’re saving the greens, chop them off about 1/2 inch from the root as soon as you get them home – they’ll continue to feed the radish and will wilt faster.  If you’re not saving them, leave them on to help the root stay fresh a little longer.
Edible when raw?  Yes.  Best when raw, in my opinion, though cooked can go in almost anything as filler.
Worth the price of organic?  Probably, and easy to find if you don’t mind them looking a little ugly.  Radishes are one of the key “trap crops” used by organic farmers to lure bugs away from more desirable fare, so plenty of growers have radishes by the bushel-full…Trouble is, they’re trap crops.  They’re gonna look a little worse for wear unless the farmer is doing something to protect them better.  Ignore the bug holes and chomp away!
In season: Spring.  Radishes like a cold snap- it makes them sweeter- and they’re usually best when dug up before the soil gets too consistently hot.  In L.A., I don’t like to buy radishes much past June unless we’ve had a very mild Spring, but in the rest of the country you may be good straight through until August.
Best with: almost nothing – a little oil or butter, a little salt, and nothing else to compete.
How to Store: In the fridge they’ll keep a week or longer, but they will get squidgy about the edges or soft in the center if they go too long.  If they’re no longer firm but not really soft, toss them into any sort of stir-fry/saute-type meal and they’ll cook down and taste just fine.

Those Are Some Pretty Ferocious Greens….

03 Sunday Jun 2012

Posted by in Green, Leafy, Spring, Vegetables

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

Yowzas!

Those dandelion greens are strong stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s Not Kale!

13 Friday Jan 2012

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , ,

I was duped!  Duped I tell you!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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