17 February 2010
Turnips redux
The smaller are sweeter. The terroir is there too. Even soft on the shelf seems to cook well and taste as I might expect. When making batch one of the puree of turnip I cut each into smallish chunks: 1/2 and 1/2 and 1/2 and 1/2. I guess that makes 16 pieces. The boiling was short, monitored by a fork. As in potatoes: softened is done. Off to the food processor with a bit of butter, salt, and some grinds of pepper. They were fantastic, almost as good as I had hoped; however, they were a bit watery. The watery tone did not make the taste bad, or look bad, but it wasn't where I wanted to be. I am certain it was a) boiling and b) too small a piece. So the following batch was only in quarters. Same processing, and a much, much better consistency. They were not like a whipped potato, but they did hold a peak somewhat. They were slightly more particulate, softly granular, and still had a bit of water. Last time I whipped parsnips - no water, even though boiled too. So now I might try the roasting then into the processor. I am certain I will have to put it through a chinois because I don't think the baked will process smoothly. We'll see. Winter is the perfect time to do this experiment as the fragrance scents the house and the heat, well, the heat is welcome.
13 January 2010
Turnips of the purple tops
On the shelves now the purple topped turnip is sweet. Keep away from the softballs and stay around hardballs to golf balls (for size reference note "Onions" prior to this post). A 1/4" dice sauteed at high heat, agitated to keep them cooking uniformly, without salt or pepper, makes a nifty side to many dishes. I am strongly against salting at the start of or in the middle of cooking. I think it forces too much moisture out of the food. There's plenty of time to salt afterwards. I just cut off the top knot and bottom root, peeled with a vegetable peeler and sliced and diced.
Food preparation is cutting. I don't think you can get away from it. For an average dinner I spend most of the time preparing in some fashion which most often is cutting: slicing, dicing, peeling, paring, and so on. I am a big fan of cutting as you increase the surface area and so can cook faster and taste more of the food and have a great texture.
I do want to try mashing/whipping turnips to see what that is about.
I got distracted and will make a turnip dauphinoise The recipe is simple and is really slicing, mixing, and cooking.
The whipped turnips still intrieuges me so it will be worked on soon. Liz was selling wonderful, firm purple tops at the winter market here. An experiment sponsored by Berkshire Grown to see what response could be had from growers, servers, and buyers. Although overcast it it was well attended and festive and very social.
Food preparation is cutting. I don't think you can get away from it. For an average dinner I spend most of the time preparing in some fashion which most often is cutting: slicing, dicing, peeling, paring, and so on. I am a big fan of cutting as you increase the surface area and so can cook faster and taste more of the food and have a great texture.
I do want to try mashing/whipping turnips to see what that is about.
I got distracted and will make a turnip dauphinoise The recipe is simple and is really slicing, mixing, and cooking.
The whipped turnips still intrieuges me so it will be worked on soon. Liz was selling wonderful, firm purple tops at the winter market here. An experiment sponsored by Berkshire Grown to see what response could be had from growers, servers, and buyers. Although overcast it it was well attended and festive and very social.
04 January 2010
Brussels sprouts
Those vegetables that were distasteful, were over cooked. You know the ones I'm talking of. Very overcooked. I think the fibre without flavor is a real deal killer. Colorless vegetables or dull ones also work against the pleasure. I think a recent foray into Brussels sprouts was notable. I hashed the sprouts after cutting off the old looking ends and any worm-eaten outer leaves; not many in my case. I found them on ice in a large display at my local green grocer.
A cut in half, the long way, the cut in thirds, long way again, then dicing them across the previous cut yields what I am calling hashed Brussels sprouts. What is waiting for the Brussels sprouts is important. I slowly cooked, at low heat, 4 cloves of garlic. When fragrant I then cranked up the heat under the pan. Then into this pan I put the hashed (diced) veggies. Stirring a bit to mix it all up you can see the greens and yellows intensify. I take that as a good sign when cooking vegetables. You're done. Less than a minute. Or two at best. When sampling the sprouts at the end of cooking you can taste a wonderful tone of nuts, but the essential sprout flavor is there. To finish before serving there are lots of options. A light salt and pepper is important. You can grate some Reggiano or basic Parmesean cheese. I served mine with some sauce made with French Dijon mustard and chicken stock, simmered a bit. Butter would be a real crowd pleaser. I think these Brussels sprouts are often not cooked to show off their great taste.
I think serving them as individual leaves is also great, but a real effort. You have to love those for whom you will make it. It's a sit in the lap with a bowl and paring knife kind of day. Either a silent meditation or a chat with some friends.
Karen toasted some pecans, chopped them a bit and sprinkled over sauteed sliced Brussels sprouts. Very notable.
I ate at a new restaurant in Lenox last night. That chef put Brussels sprout slices in with balsamic, blue cheese, and pancetta. Wonderful combo. For my taste the Brussels sprouts were cooked a bit more than necessary. Maybe cooked and held for service.
I think, though, they are really seasonal and may disappear from shelves at some time in early winter. I would check to see if they were available from my local CSA.
A cut in half, the long way, the cut in thirds, long way again, then dicing them across the previous cut yields what I am calling hashed Brussels sprouts. What is waiting for the Brussels sprouts is important. I slowly cooked, at low heat, 4 cloves of garlic. When fragrant I then cranked up the heat under the pan. Then into this pan I put the hashed (diced) veggies. Stirring a bit to mix it all up you can see the greens and yellows intensify. I take that as a good sign when cooking vegetables. You're done. Less than a minute. Or two at best. When sampling the sprouts at the end of cooking you can taste a wonderful tone of nuts, but the essential sprout flavor is there. To finish before serving there are lots of options. A light salt and pepper is important. You can grate some Reggiano or basic Parmesean cheese. I served mine with some sauce made with French Dijon mustard and chicken stock, simmered a bit. Butter would be a real crowd pleaser. I think these Brussels sprouts are often not cooked to show off their great taste.
I think serving them as individual leaves is also great, but a real effort. You have to love those for whom you will make it. It's a sit in the lap with a bowl and paring knife kind of day. Either a silent meditation or a chat with some friends.
Karen toasted some pecans, chopped them a bit and sprinkled over sauteed sliced Brussels sprouts. Very notable.
I ate at a new restaurant in Lenox last night. That chef put Brussels sprout slices in with balsamic, blue cheese, and pancetta. Wonderful combo. For my taste the Brussels sprouts were cooked a bit more than necessary. Maybe cooked and held for service.
I think, though, they are really seasonal and may disappear from shelves at some time in early winter. I would check to see if they were available from my local CSA.
25 November 2009
Cranberries
Obligatory: of course. Fun to tinker: more fun than a barrel of..... What? Plastic blister wrapping? You get the same effect when cooking cranberry sauce. At a slow boil you hear the pop-pop-pop until there are no more.
A bag of 12 ounces makes a little more than 1/2 a quart of finished. This year I dispensed with white or brown sugar and went with miel corse (a Corsican honey) and some local honey to dilute the Corsican; lime zest, lime juice, orange juice and white wine instead of other liquids; a dash of salt; allspice, ground black pepper, and cinnamon sticks; and some dried cherries (at least 2 or 3 ounces). The cranberry seems to exude pectin so gelling is easy. I would have added maybe a full cup of liquid instead of 3/4 and 2-shot glasses.
It's very intense. It would surely be perfect in a turkey sandwich on Saturday. I'm curious to hear what the eaters say tomorrow.
A bag of 12 ounces makes a little more than 1/2 a quart of finished. This year I dispensed with white or brown sugar and went with miel corse (a Corsican honey) and some local honey to dilute the Corsican; lime zest, lime juice, orange juice and white wine instead of other liquids; a dash of salt; allspice, ground black pepper, and cinnamon sticks; and some dried cherries (at least 2 or 3 ounces). The cranberry seems to exude pectin so gelling is easy. I would have added maybe a full cup of liquid instead of 3/4 and 2-shot glasses.
It's very intense. It would surely be perfect in a turkey sandwich on Saturday. I'm curious to hear what the eaters say tomorrow.
21 November 2009
Onions
I really have to post a photo of Karen's onion crop. I have below, part of the crop. They are so beautiful and plentiful. They are actually a very sweet red onion. I have noticed in my travels that American commercial produce tends to be BIG. Apparently we like our green peppers big. Big, better, more; that's some mantra here. Sometimes it works, but I know the economy is suffering. Clearly the smaller green peppers from non-commercial sources are available, possibly from farmers markets, and surely from our garden. Their flavor is more intense and concentrated. There is more thickness to the flesh of the commercial green pepper but it doesn't result in a satisfactory flavor.
When living in Pennsylvania in the 70's I had a friend named Richard who loved to hike and one of his favorite foods was green peppers. He might have other foods, but the fact that it was a water food and fresh was enough incentive for Richard. He'd eat them whole. I think that's where I got my habit.
The onions. I carmelized a whole onion this week. Thinly sliced on my Benriner and slowly cooked to golden transformed and concentrated the sweetness. Not a dot of added sugar was necessary. I made it as a side for some chicken livers bought for dinner from the local chain market. Don't ever read the label of chicken livers. Rarely do you see any ingredient providing more than 100% of anything; if I recall they had 136% of my daily required minimum intake of cholesterol. Yikes. Undaunted I made some and had a richly rewarding dinner.
I don't know how long our onions will last but they will surely accompany many dishes this winter.
When living in Pennsylvania in the 70's I had a friend named Richard who loved to hike and one of his favorite foods was green peppers. He might have other foods, but the fact that it was a water food and fresh was enough incentive for Richard. He'd eat them whole. I think that's where I got my habit.
The onions. I carmelized a whole onion this week. Thinly sliced on my Benriner and slowly cooked to golden transformed and concentrated the sweetness. Not a dot of added sugar was necessary. I made it as a side for some chicken livers bought for dinner from the local chain market. Don't ever read the label of chicken livers. Rarely do you see any ingredient providing more than 100% of anything; if I recall they had 136% of my daily required minimum intake of cholesterol. Yikes. Undaunted I made some and had a richly rewarding dinner.
I don't know how long our onions will last but they will surely accompany many dishes this winter.
14 November 2009
Kale
I don't know why I wrote about kale in the chard post.
Cooked it again tonight. It was a curly kale but softer than what Karen grew in the garden. Since I actually bought it at the chain-store it may have been in the pipeline a while. It was unlabeled as to origin (I really, really hate that and hope soon that all veggies will be tagged as to origin).
The stem/stalk was as thick as a chair leg but the leaves were dense and tight but soft. It appeared to be younger rather than older. The taste, as reported from around the table, was to the eaters' liking.
I think, if one only cuts, cleans, dries, and sautees the kale that it will not be cooked. It seems so important to blanch it in water first, even to return to a boil after putting it in the water. Hard to kill this stuff I think.
Onions and oil finished the cooking. Salt and pepper and white balsamic finished it off before serving.
Cooked it again tonight. It was a curly kale but softer than what Karen grew in the garden. Since I actually bought it at the chain-store it may have been in the pipeline a while. It was unlabeled as to origin (I really, really hate that and hope soon that all veggies will be tagged as to origin).
The stem/stalk was as thick as a chair leg but the leaves were dense and tight but soft. It appeared to be younger rather than older. The taste, as reported from around the table, was to the eaters' liking.
I think, if one only cuts, cleans, dries, and sautees the kale that it will not be cooked. It seems so important to blanch it in water first, even to return to a boil after putting it in the water. Hard to kill this stuff I think.
Onions and oil finished the cooking. Salt and pepper and white balsamic finished it off before serving.
27 October 2009
Olives
You win some and you loose some. Usually at this time my friend John and I purchase raw, uncured fresh olives from Pennas, in California, by mail (actually UPS). Green a bit earlier and black into first two weeks of November. I have been using a recipe for green olives I was given by a Turkish boat captain. He had a small farm/homestead outside of Bodrum and would put up his olives using a water cure method. A former diver assisting archeologist in studying and sorting antiquities on the Mediterranian bottom. He was a good fellow with a dead-on preparation.
I actually stumbled upon the green olives at my local super market. Several trays in the produce department. After not too much work I put up a case of 1/2 pint jars of the olives. In addition to eating them as I wished they made a great gift for olive lovers. 10 Nov 09: I'm going by on the way home on the off chance they are (still) there. Not likely, but it's worth a stop.
After some years John suggested we try the black olives. I trolled literature for some time before arriving at a simple salt-cure. I found the results to be beyond my wildest imagination. Deep rich earthy flavors with hints of all those words they use to describe amarone or even classic clarets. So simple, coarse salt packed above, around, and over the olives. Keep raking it up and adding more salt as necessary to keep it covered. I've done it in an orange crate and in a burlap sack (John's favorite) but it all works. The time is the only thing: not quick, but all I did was check it often. I will reduce them to a thin covering of a pit, which while it tastes great, is not so satisfying as a plumper outcome, pulled from the salt sooner rather than later.
While I have probably eaten pounds of lye-cured olives I never thought it a path worth following. Apparently it is a fast trip to cured olives. Bitter from the tree the taste will leave your mouth only slightly sooner than your memory.
I think part of the secret is to cure the olives and then flavor them before serving. Rosemary or orange or lemon zests, the durable garlic, hot and spicy touches. The more delicate scents appeal to me but a green olive scented with cracked red peppers is intoxicating. My last pass a curing the olives and scenting with lemon and mildly hot peppers didn't work for me; the flavor was off. I reviewed all I did but couldn't understand what made them turn off in that direction.
If you have ever eaten Canard Chez Allard, memorialized in Patricia Wells book Bistro Cooking, you can almost feel the urge to get to Chez Allard in Paris and compare your to theirs. Mere Allard was certainly not living when I first went there; her hayday being around 1940. The history and gravitas sweats out of the wooden paneled walls. The olives impart their scent and an ephemeral spin to the fowl. Slow cooking at it's best and regional ingredients. I think this one is coming to the table before the year is out.
All of these olives are so far distant from the gigantic, pimento stuffed, green things that were never, ever properly washed of their packing brine. I know that brine made it into "Dirty Martini's" for some reason I can't fathom.
I actually stumbled upon the green olives at my local super market. Several trays in the produce department. After not too much work I put up a case of 1/2 pint jars of the olives. In addition to eating them as I wished they made a great gift for olive lovers. 10 Nov 09: I'm going by on the way home on the off chance they are (still) there. Not likely, but it's worth a stop.
After some years John suggested we try the black olives. I trolled literature for some time before arriving at a simple salt-cure. I found the results to be beyond my wildest imagination. Deep rich earthy flavors with hints of all those words they use to describe amarone or even classic clarets. So simple, coarse salt packed above, around, and over the olives. Keep raking it up and adding more salt as necessary to keep it covered. I've done it in an orange crate and in a burlap sack (John's favorite) but it all works. The time is the only thing: not quick, but all I did was check it often. I will reduce them to a thin covering of a pit, which while it tastes great, is not so satisfying as a plumper outcome, pulled from the salt sooner rather than later.
While I have probably eaten pounds of lye-cured olives I never thought it a path worth following. Apparently it is a fast trip to cured olives. Bitter from the tree the taste will leave your mouth only slightly sooner than your memory.
I think part of the secret is to cure the olives and then flavor them before serving. Rosemary or orange or lemon zests, the durable garlic, hot and spicy touches. The more delicate scents appeal to me but a green olive scented with cracked red peppers is intoxicating. My last pass a curing the olives and scenting with lemon and mildly hot peppers didn't work for me; the flavor was off. I reviewed all I did but couldn't understand what made them turn off in that direction.
If you have ever eaten Canard Chez Allard, memorialized in Patricia Wells book Bistro Cooking, you can almost feel the urge to get to Chez Allard in Paris and compare your to theirs. Mere Allard was certainly not living when I first went there; her hayday being around 1940. The history and gravitas sweats out of the wooden paneled walls. The olives impart their scent and an ephemeral spin to the fowl. Slow cooking at it's best and regional ingredients. I think this one is coming to the table before the year is out.
All of these olives are so far distant from the gigantic, pimento stuffed, green things that were never, ever properly washed of their packing brine. I know that brine made it into "Dirty Martini's" for some reason I can't fathom.
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