Tag Archives: Ramps

The Year of the Radish

Twenty-Eleven will go down in history as the Year of the Radish.  We planted too much.  And so we were stuck with eating too many.  Believe it or not, you can begin to feel you ate too many radishes, like anything else you grow too enthusiastically in the garden.  Last year it was bitter spring greens. This year, radishes.

When the season started and the first little red and pink orbs started forming, I started with my go-to seasonal favorite radish dish: on crackers with butter.  I make my own butter, so this is pretty much a no-brainer of deliciousness.  I slice the radishes thinly and maybe, maybe, add a chive to the top if I am having a dreary day.  Then, I sprinkle sea salt on top and I always use Nabisco saltines. I don’t use any other brand.  Only Nabisco.  And only eat them the day I open the sleeve.  You can blow thru a good portion of the sleeve when you have a lot of radishes.  I did. Leftover make good bread crumbs or I feed ‘em to the chickens.

I don’t buy a lot of prepared products but there are a few times I feel you need something specific and nothing else will do. This spring snack is one.  Then there’s Hawaiian Punch when I am really strung out from helping too many people. Wonder Bread for garden tomato ‘n butter sandwiches is another. Don’t judge me until you’ve tried it and, in case you are gonna try it, you are welcome.

This year, the go-to salad for spring was shaved fennel and radish with spinach and honey vinegar dressing.  I bought the fennel, of course, but there’s enough spinach in the garden that I actually started eating this salad for breakfast, but only when I added aged ricotta.  Sometimes, too, dried tangelos on that breakfast salad.

For lunches, I mostly ate it plain, although once I tried preserved kumquats. They were a bit mushy so the texture combinations seemed weird to me.

Sometimes I ate that salad with my fingers. Sometimes with a fork.  I only used Madon sea salt and I occasionally added 1-inch long chives, which I can make without measuring because I worked for a dickhead French chef during a dark time in my life.  He’d throw out your chives if they weren’t an inch long.

He didn’t appreciate it when I asked him how he knew how long an inch was by site, since he grew up metric.

I made Spring Chow Chow. Grate one head cabbage and add in about 15 ramps, finally chopped, about 10 radishes, also finely chopped, and about 2 tablespoons of salt.  Let that drain for about 8 hours for a workday or overnight and then added in a pickle of equal parts apple cider vinegar and sugar, seasoned with dry mustard, dry ginger, dried lovage powder and some brown mustard seeds.  After you dissolve everything in the vinegar, add the drained vegetables and cook about 10 minutes.  Pour into hot canning jars and seal.  I. Don’t. Boil. The. Jars.

Heresy.

I added diced radish to chicken salad. I also made beef tacos so I could add them, slivered, to the tops of the tacos. Those two things were a bit of a bust, radish-wise, because I only used two radishes each. And I really sorta needed to use more.

So, I made some of Mary Klonowski’s Cancer-fighting Kale Salad.  The salad is basically a mix of slivered Tuscan Kale (you can use any Kale by why would you when Tuscan kale tastes so delicious), smashed raw garlic, red pepper flakes, olive oil and lemon juice.  It is ready in 15 minutes and can hold up for 3 days.  You can mix in all sorts of things then, parm and pine nuts, dried lemon chunks and walnuts,  preserved lemon and Marcona almonds, or … radishes!  I added a lot.

But using all these radishes meant that I had a lot of radish greens.

So, the next thing I made was beer- braised chicken thigh with whole radishes and radish greens. You can’t use overgrown radishes for this dish as they will come out tough. But basically you sear off a chicken thigh, at the end of cooking adding in diced garlic and onion so they get a little translucent.  When that is done, fill the pot with water, some dark beer, maybe at about a 1:4 ratio, and bring to a boil then reduce to a simmer.  I used Big John from Goose Island because I had a bottle open and I couldn’t finish it.  Let it cook until it is done.

I also made a quiche with sauteed radish greens subbing in for spinach and lots of gruyere cheese.

By Memorial Day weekend, with radishes growing since about mid-April, I was getting a bit strung out on radishes and it was then that I made  Straccetti di Manzo con la Radish Greens, only subbing in the radish greens for the arugula in this classic Roman dish. Basically, it is super thinly sliced beef sauteed in garlicky oil (I  used green garlic, since it was spring) with wilted arugula. Turns out, the bittery tang of the radish greens is a great foil for the steak.

Everything can be made in one pan, which is always a bonus, and you make it by basically adding one item following the next as you go. By which I mean saute steak, towards the end add a big handful of diced green garlic, saute a bit, add the radish greens, wilt. The radish greens have to saute a bit longer than arugula, so you may want to remove the steak before adding the greens. Finish with a splash of lemon-Bay leaf vinegar.


Homemade Butter:  Seriously, you just take a good quantity of cream that is getting oldish and let it sit out all day.  Then, whip the crap out of it. The liquid is buttermilk. Pour it off.  Then add cold water and whip. Drain. Repeat until the water drains out clear.  Add a little salt and whip that in. Voila.

Lemon-Bay Vinegar: bring lemon rind and Bay leaves to a boil in white vinegar.  Boil for about five minutes then pour it into a bottle and stick it in a dark place to macerate.

Honey vinegar:  Mixing together honey and water in a ratio of about 1:8 and then float a little raft of yeast on toast on the top of the mixture for about a week or two, until the fermenting happens.  You can then take off the toast and let it cure for about 6 months.  The vinegar will keep for about ever, but it doesn’t last that long, so I make it is huge batches of about 4 gallons.

Hating on the Vertically Challenged Pizza Oven

A chef is coming over to dinner tonight.  I’d imagine most people would crumble in culinary fear, assuming that nothing would even hope to turn out properly — OMG! The salad even fell like a souffle!

Me, I know the chef doesn’t really care one way or another if something is over-salted or underdone. They’ll notice, sure, but they also just appreciate someone cooking for them, making the effort for them, no matter how it turns out.

But a dull knife can really frustrate a chef.

And my knives are dull.

And as far as tonight goes, my pizza oven is still sits about 1 foot off the ground. Generously. If you came over and measured it, you might say 8-inches. OK, I measured it, it is 8 inches.

My chef friend will be cooking pizzas in an oven a mere 8 inches off the ground.

Seems hella worse than a dull knife.

A few weeks back, Grant and I started the several weeks long, pain-in-the-ass project of moving my new wood-burning oven from it’s original home to my backyard.  One trip involved moving the stove itself.  The next was to break up and move the stone base.  The third was to move the last two layers of base, fused into a solid mass of stone.  A concrete pad was laid and cured.

And then it rained a cold rain, even snow, and the whole thing sat out back in a heap of stone and waiting stove for a few weeks.

And when my meetings were over yesterday, I dashed out into the yard to get the base assembled myself.  Heaving stones into place. Or what I thought was “place” and them moving them again. Referring again and again to the picture.  Cursing my crappy markings. Moving them again.

I am convinced I am missing stones the way I am always convinced I am missing puzzle pieces.

So, I’ll be inviting my friend AVH over because she is a puzzle whisperer. When you look at her looking at a puzzle, you can swear she sees a computer animation of pieces and their corresponding places being highlighted. If I suggest a trade of pizza dinner in exchange for her figuring out the puzzle that is the base, she’ll assume she hit some kind of crazy puzzle jackpot and likely giggle with joy the whole time she is here.

That said, there’s dinner tonight. No matter how mad and embarrassed I am by the vertical challenge that is the pizza oven.

Charcuterie Board of Bessie Lomo, Head Cheese, Housemade salami and Rillettes. Served up with Picklee Plums and Toast (if I have the energy to go get the bread).

Pizzas featuring ramp-bourbon smoked paprika chorizo from a recipe I adapted from the blog From Belly to Bacon. Delicious stuff. I had some last night with goat yogurt sauce.

Fresh sausage is a good beginner bit of charcuterie.  Firstly, it is insanely easy (as Mark S’s directions on his blog quite wittily showcase). Second, it is incredibly forgiving. Third, if you make your own fresh sausage and serve it to friends, they will assume you so brilliant that you could also, say, survive the apocalypse with your mad survival skills.

Mine basically involved the following:

  1. Pick and clean ramps. This, actually, is the hardest part of the recipe.  Especially when it is raining and has been raining because the ramps grow in thick parts of the forest and are generally filthy and your collection bag will likely be full of rotting leaf bits.  I suggest a mesh bag and a good rinse with the power spray of the garden hose outside.*
  2. Cut off and mince green bits. I used about a cup, but then again, I am spatially challenged so it could have been two cups. I am sure it was not a half cup, though.
  3. Dump ramp greens, about 2 pounds of fatty ground pork, about 1 tablespoon each of hot pimentón, Bourbon-Smoked Paprika and Bourbon-Smoked Pepper and a healthy dose of kosher salt into the stand mixer.
  4. Mix until it comes together.
  5. Cook up a bit and taste.  Adjust.
  6. Easy peasy.

I also made a batch of olive oil-pickled mushrooms to have for future parties. Basically, you make pickled mushrooms and sub in olive oil for some of the vinegar at a 1-3 ratio (oo=1, vin=3).  They are best when they sit in the pantry for a few weeks, but I vacuum-sealed part of the batch for tonight’s pizza and they’ll do fine.

I am topping this off with an attempt at homemade Campari. It is my first attempt. And it isn’t one of those miraculously brilliant first attempts that brand one a Campari Savant.  It is the bottom of the hill and the climb up seems precipitous and steep. But, I try.

For the pizza oven’s future, I of course first plan on getting it properly off the ground.  Along with, I’d like to tackle some other homemade pizza-on-the-spot things, like red pepper flakes, Italian hot pepper sauce, salt-cured anchovies and a hard cheese made from raw milk. But for now, I’ve got sausage, mushrooms and a few things assembled over the weekend.

For those who need to know the full details of a meal, the balance includes:

  • No-knead dough from Ideas in Food.  I am partial to Joe Yonan‘s Miraculous Jim Lahey No-Knead Pizza Dough but because I just read Ideas in Food the other night and I was completely freaked out by how brilliant the book is (and desperately want them to do a Modernist Cuisine-size version of their book), I decided I had to try it.
  • Mozzerella di Bufala, which I bought because I didn’t think in advance enough to buy some rennet to make the cheese here.  But I do plan on having a make your own mozzerella option for future pizza dinners because, well, you’ve obviously never had freshly made mozzerella, still warm from the whey, if you even have to ask.
  • Homemade goat cheese, because I can make it blindfolded. And it is good.
  • Homemade pizza sauce which is basically home-canned tomatoes cooked down with pizza-sauce things.  This batch has ramp pesto from the freezer, a few garlic cloves and dried herbs because I need to get rid of them before the summer gets in full swing.

Salute!


* You know that garden hoses contain a lot of lead, right? Which means that if you are watering vegetables with your hose, filling up the dogs bowl or you’re letting your kids play on a Slip and Slide, you are dousing the very things you love with lead. Lead-lead. The kind that causes permanent learning and behavior disorders in children. This is another one of the head-shaking stupid things that really makes you question the efficacy of capitalism.  Here is a source for lead-free garden hoses.

Sorry to end on a downer.

Wherein my Turnip Kraut Channels Madonna

I struggle with kraut of all kind. It goes moldy, it’s too salty, I forget to eat it for two years and it metamorphosizes into a glump, I accidently give all of it away and end up with none on the very day I am making choucroute.

So it is not surprising that I am currently krautless.

Which is why I ordered 15 pounds of the World’s Most Expensive Purple Top Turnips* from Spence Farm. Because I am determined to make enough kraut to last through the rest of my pig, Bessie. And I have a lot of pig left.

I discovered that my most often too salty cabbage kraut has a delightful home in the runzas of my friends A&TVH, so when I make a kraut for myself, I turn to turnips.

Turnip Kraut is pretty easy: top and tail, peel, shred in whatever shredder device you have, weigh, add 1/2 tablespoon of salt per pound and leave overnight.  Next day, pack into crock and push down.  The turnips should be covered by about 2 inches of briney water.  If not, add salty water to the tune of 1.5 teaspoons of salt per cup of water.  I also add some whey, about 1/4 cup, to kick off the lactic fermentation. Then cover mine with a double layer of muslin and weigh with a board and a large mason jar filled with water.

After about two weeks, it has krauted.  Which for me is just the start because I process my kraut in jars.

And I flavor it.

With all kinds of flavors.

In individual jars.

I am pretty sure this is against all kraut rules, but I really hate eating the same thing over and over again.**  But I am not a big processed food gal and I can’t make food from scratch every day and keep my sanity. So, I tend to make a base of something and then make variations I can pop on a pantry shelf for later.

So, my turnip kraut is going to get dressed up in all manner of guises when it goes into the canning jar. This year, I am making:

Spicy Kimchee-Inspired But Spanish Really Turnip Kraut
I make this with pimentón — and yes, it makes me feel so clever. Even if it makes you think I am culinarily insane. Basically I make a fire-y paste with the pimentón, homemade garlic powder and the kraut liquid, dump it into the jar with the fermented kraut and process it.  Totally not traditional, I know. You are supposed to add the heat as part of the fermenting! Kimchee is made with Napa cabbage! I know, I know. So, don’t get your underwear in a bunch and then don’t even think of then turning around and asking me for a recipe after you try it after bashing it.

This stuff, this is good for hangovers served along side some scrambled eggs. But you can’t have a hangover for at least a month or so because the flavors need to blend.  So, be careful there, my friend.

Boatloads of Fresh Bay Turnip Kraut
I happen to have a bunch of Bay that has been hanging around for a while and three trees for the garden on the way so I don’t need to dry it.  I love fresh Bay. I use too much of it in everything I can.  This can be an awesome way to complement a mild hot dog, if you make your own hot dogs or buy them from a reliable source.  If you don’t let me know where to send the flowers.

Caraway Turnip Kraut
You can mess with the cabbage-y part, sure, but don’t mess with the flavors of choucroute, Yo.  I put a bunch in the bottom of the jar before filling up with the kraut.  Seal and leave until choucroute time to marry the flavors.

Ode To Rob Levitt Fennel, Coriander and Chili Flake Turnip Kraut
As I continue to make the meaty things Rob tells me to make, it will be handy to have a complementing kraut on the shelf.  Rob is obsessed with the fennel-coriander-chili flake combo.  If this turns out, I’ll bring him some just to say thanks for being an awesome dude.

Ramp-y Turnip Kraut
Duh, it’s spring. Ramps. For this, I will actually be making a smallish batch of krauted ramps to add to the turnips at canning.  To make a smallish batch of basically any kind of kraut, pile vegetables into a quart canning jar, add 2 tablespoons each of whey and salt and fill with filtered water to the top (for all you “tap water is fine” folk, know that the chlorine messes with the fermentation).  Again, I cover with a cloth to keep everything submerged and then, using a used lid, screw on the cap and leave on the counter for a few days before moving to a cooler place to ferment.

Turnip Kraut is a spring thing, because the turnips are sweeter in Spring than in the Fall.  So, make some now or just come over in the fall and eat mine.


*The world would be a better place if every American who could afford it would find a farmer who is honestly committed to farming sustainably and support them in their efforts to make a living. I have a Make Your Own CSA with Spence Farm and often, the food  I get from this farmer is eye-poppingly expensive. To me, it isn’t about the cost of the food. It is about helping a family farm make a living and honoring myself with honest food grown with good intention.  You could do this too, if you stopped thinking about groceries as household line item and started thinking about it as a vehicle to living an honorable life.

**I am pretty sure this is why, not matter how much I try, I don’t eat leftovers. Which is awesome for chickens because they seem to relish them as though they are gifts from the Gods and so my leftovers no longer languish in the fridge, they get converted to yummy, colorful eggs.