Archive for June, 2012

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June 28, 2012

Aprium shortcake

I went to the market last week looking for organic apricots and found them. Sort of. What ended up in my shopping basket were apriums, a mix of apricot and plum that are harvested in early summer.

There was a moment when I realized there weren’t any tried-and-true organic apricots. A moment when I sighed a little inside and thought, it’s things like this that perpetuate the myth of organic food as elitist food (see Mark Bittman’s rebuttal of this claim here). Can’t we dispense with designer fruits and their unfamiliar, hybridized names? Can’t we just be happy growing and eating the regular varieties of fruits and vegetables without trying to find the next hot addition to swanky restaurant menus?

I bought them anyway. When I got home, I looked it up and found that an aprium is about 70% apricot and 30% plum. And its name is patented by Zaiger’s Genetics. Another moment – the company name screams GMO. But it turns out the company, founded decades ago by Floyd Zaiger, is a leading innovator in new varieties of fruit, hand-pollinating thousands of crosses every year (they actually don’t use genetic modification at all) and is, as this article puts it, “the most prolific fruit breeder in the world.”

To bring it down to consumer level, Zaiger’s company is the sole reason you see so many white-fleshed peaches and nectarines on the shelves, and buy more of them, too. And the reason for the existence of the pluot, a fact which gave me pause Another moment. Because in this house we have a love affair with the Dapple Dandy pluot. Hm. Without the creator of the aprium, there would be no Dapple Dandies.

True to the other varieties I read about, and to our Dapple Dandy fetish, the aprium actually isn’t a snobby version of an apricot but an improved version (if you ask me). It has a distinctive apricot flavor without the mealy texture that so often gets in the way of a really great bite. And it helps that it has a sunset-over-the-Pacific blush.

In place of strawberries, I macerated half a dozen apriums with a modest amount of maple sugar and served them over this shortcake with whipping cream on top. Just after I made it, my nuclear and extended family converged at the house and it was the perfect way to gather in the kitchen, people balancing plates and nibbling in the late afternoon.

Aprium Shortcake
adapted from Diana Sturgis‘ recipe in Food & Wine

6 apriums (apricots will do), diced
scant 1/3 cup  + 2 T maple sugar, fine granulated sugar or powdered sugar
1 1/2 c white whole wheat flour*
1/4 c brown rice flour*
2 tsp baking powder
1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
4 T cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
2 c heavy cream, chilled
1 tsp vanilla extract
granulated cane sugar

*I read that the cake flour in the original recipe is the
secret to this shortcake recipe so if you have it, by all
means use it. The above is what I had on hand on a busy
Saturday morning and worked just fine.

Preheat the oven to 425°. Butter an 8-by-1 1/2-inch cake pan.

Place chopped apriums in a large bowl, sprinkle with maple sugar
and toss well. Set aside to macerate for 30 minutes to 1 hour.

Sift the flours, baking powder and salt into a large mixing bowl.
Using a pastry blender cut the butter until thoroughly incorporated.
Stir in 2 tablespoons of the sugar. Pour 2/3 cup of the heavy cream
over the flour mixture and stir with a blunt knife just until the dough
sticks together.

Lightly gather the dough into a ball and pat into a disk. It will
be dry enough that you’ll lose pieces off the edges. No matter.
Just pat them back in. Set the disk in the prepared cake pan and
pat it evenly over the bottom.

Brush the surface of the dough with 1 tablespoon of the cream and
sprinkle with 1/2 tablespoon of the sugar. Bake in the middle of
the oven for 20 minutes, or until the top is golden and feels firm
when pressed lightly in the center. Invert the shortcake onto a rack,
turn it right-side up and let cool for 30 minutes.

In a large bowl, combine the remaining 1 1/3 cups cream with the
vanilla and the remaining 1 tablespoon maple sugar. Beat the cream
until soft peaks form, 2 to 3 minutes.

Serve simply, a wedge of shortcake topped with the apriums
and a dollop of whipping cream.

Posted in Recipes, Summer Fruits | 27 Comments »

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June 21, 2012

Bok choy and radish slaw with shallot ginger dressing

It’s summer and the hours are dripping by.

On the one hand, I love this. Late mornings. Kids in jammies. Spontaneous park dates. Gardening after nine in the evening.

On the other hand, my own projects have to be shelved. I won’t have the luxury of cooking and photographing for an entire morning or long hours to pull weeds (for some reason, I still imagine I’ll have leisurely mornings to do this in the summer).

The truth is, summer is all about the kids. I love all the fun in the sun but a part of me is still mad about it. Those few mornings I’d eeked out for my own pursuits disappear with the final school bell. Poof.

My frustration with losing my free mornings, though incontestably self-absorbed, isn’t all bad. It stems from passion. There are so many things to do in one summer, I don’t have time for them all. I want to write, of course, and practice photography and cook for you. I have about two dozen places on my list of perfect day trips. There are spas to visit too, and friends with whom I want to share a morning and a pot of tea. I want to prune the crazy big plants around the perimeter of our front yard and spend a couple of days a week underneath my sun hat with a weed digger in the flat, hot sunshine.

But summer isn’t just for me. Life isn’t just for me. There is one option: to be with one another. Sometimes there’s more togetherness, sometimes less. The thing is, I don’t get to decide when. Seasons will not take the long way around to avoid me simply because I have all these plans. Best to be gentle with myself and give in to the too-late sunshine and too-long afternoons and too much grit on my skin. Decide to love lazy days at my favorite local beach with a picnic basket next to me on the blanket and kids scrambling over bleached out logs washed up on the shore.

So the sound of summer, I’m determining now, will be this: shhhh. Hush to the squirming nosy thing that keeps tugging at my flowy summer skirt, telling me to get to work. To move on with my agenda.

I’m here now, I’ll say to it. Can you see that? I’m eating coleslaw and strawberries and trying not to get sand in either one. That’s my biggest problem at the moment. Come back when the kids are at camp in a couple of weeks and we’ll talk. Until then, have a little bok choy slaw.

Bok choy and radish slaw with shallot ginger dressing
adapted from Maine Food & Lifestyle and High Altitude Cooking

4 T grapeseed oil
2 T brown rice vinegar
scant T maple syrup
1 T tamari
scant T toasted sesame oil
½ tsp freshly grated ginger
½ – 1 shallot, thinly sliced
1 head fresh bok choy, thinly sliced
3-4 radishes, finely grated
1 mild salad turnip or ¼ of a jicama root, julienned or cubed
toasted sesame seeds

Put oils, vinegar, syrup, tamari, ginger and shallot in a medium bowl. Whisk well to combine and set aside to allow shallot to soften.

Prepare bok choy, radishes and turnip and toss to combine in a large mixing bowl.

Just before serving, give the dressing another whisk and pour over vegetables. Toss well and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Serve immediately and eat in the sun with your eyes closed.

Posted in Recipes, Summer Vegetables | 16 Comments »

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June 14, 2012

Raw kale salad with black quinoa + a nomination

I’m picturing Julia Child’s kitchen right now. I don’t have a good idea of the structural details, if the flooring is wood or linoleum or tile, how the cabinets were configured or what her refrigerator looked like when she was living at their “Roo de Loo” apartment in Paris in the late 1940′s and early ‘50′s.

I’m just imagining a long counter lined with kitchen gadgets, copper pans, sieves and other shiny new cooking supplies bought from E. Dehillerin, her favorite Paris cookery shop.

I’m reading My Life in France as part of the Tea & Cookies Book Club. The book itself, from a local bookstore, is as unappealing as they come (I was looking for a deal). It’s romance-novel sized and the book’s length and page size are out of proportion so it’s too thick – the thing keeps springing closed, especially when I’m trying to hold it open with one hand.

But I’m so glad I didn’t judge it by its size or its Julie and Julia movie tie-in cover. It’s marvelous. It’s almost making me a convert to butter-only cooking. Her descriptions are so clear I was emboldened to make scrambled eggs according to her description of an early lesson she had during her time at Le Cordon Bleu: stirring minimally, sliding into melted butter in a skillet on very low heat and waiting a full three minutes before stirring (I tried but couldn’t stand it – I stirred after about a minute and a half). They were delicious.

I’m missing vegetables, though. She cooks them, sure. But they’re almost always a complement to the beef or pork or bacon (or all three), used as decoration or as a butter-infused bed for something like a cooked partridge. Otherwise, it’s a lot of meat and potatoes.

But I love reading about the start of her career and how she became a careful and dogged cook. Her enthusiasm is contagious – she tastes, experiments, tries again. (When she was testing her mayonnaise recipe, she ended up throwing whole batches down the toilet. Egads! They had more in the refrigerator than they could stand to eat.) I’m seeing how learning to pay attention to technique and flavor as she did will temper my haphazard habits in the kitchen. Don’t assume there’s enough salt. Focus, taste and practice, practice, practice.

Last week our CSA box started up again. I forgot how much I missed fresh greens. The box included an especially beautiful bunch of lacinato kale so I decided to make a salad. I found this one and adapted it to incorporate some orphans in my pantry, namely a half-jar of black quinoa I never seem to get around to cooking. The result is a simple salad with texture, a vinegar punch and the contrasting greens of dark kale and chopped pistachios. No nod-to-Julia butter, but perfect for summer picnics.

Kale Salad with Black Quinoa
adapted from Mountain Mama Cooks

1 large bunch lacinato kale, chopped into bite-sized pieces
3 T fresh lemon juice
1 T rice vinegar
2 T olive oil
1 – 2 teaspoons maple syrup
a pinch of sea salt
½ cup black quinoa, cooked and cooled
small handful chopped pistachios
small handful chopped dried cherries

Place chopped kale in a large bowl.

Add lemon juice, vinegar, olive oil, maple syrup and salt. Massage into the kale and let sit while you prepare the other ingredients.

Add quinoa and all but a few chopped pistachios and dried cherries. Toss to combine, arrange in a serving bowl and and sprinkle remaining pistachios and cherries on top.

— + —

And a bonus today. The fabulous Vinny at Cook Up a Story nominated us for the Food Stories Award. Thank you, Vinny! A flower for you :)

Did you know I’m a sci-fi fan? I am. I’m not a fanatic, but as a teen I watched Star Trek and as an adult I love reading anything written by Ursula K. LeGuin. Watching Battlestar Galactica is on my to-watch list. So, there’s my random fact, something the panel for this award requested from nominees, which is kind-of fun!

As for my own shout-outs, here are five sites I find myself coming back to. We’re grateful for the ways each of them contribute to the vibrant food community online. The blogging experience is richer because of what they do. Bon appetit!

Bob Vivant

Cooking in Sens

Emmy Cooks

In Pursuit of More

Russian Mom Cooks

Posted in Greens, Recipes, Spring Vegetables | 11 Comments »

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June 7, 2012

In-the-moment creamy spinach soup

The other day I watched this TED talk by Penny De Los Santos. She said she’s learned that her success as a food photographer has little to do with her facility with the mechanics of the camera, attributing her ability to capture intimate, beautiful images instead to personal openness, presence and vulnerability; a willingness to observe (and chase down) pinpont-sized moments. You should take 10 minutes to sit down and watch it if, for no other reason, than to familiarize yourself with her work.

At the end of a talk that took the audience halfway around the globe, she ended by saying, “I ask all of you, right here, right now, to see this moment. See it. Really see it.”

Of course there are “be here now” kinds of phrases everywhere. Especially, inexplicably, in places such as the sides of mugs and stitched onto throw pillows. And it’s one thing to see them there. Quite another to hear it from the goddess of food photography.

I happened to be taking a break from photo editing while my kids were at school when I watched this and I thought about taking her advice in the form of a walk around the block with my camera, to capture images of whatever I found. But that felt forced so I started shooting my work space instead, a dusty desk covered with snacks, books, notes, my laptop and the prettiest lamp in the house.

My desk lives on the unheated open landing at the top of our stairs. The space feels cozy or cluttered, depending on my mood and the urgency of my projects. In that moment, it felt comforting, the clutter surrounded by the round, full hold of my family.

I write beneath a portrait of my mother, painted by my grandmother when my mom was about thirteen years old. On the wall to my right we have a small collection of family photos: our own nuclear family when my daughter was a preschooler and my son in the womb, a formal studio shot of my paternal grandparents, a family portrait with my dad and brothers when I was twelve, an informal shot of my mom and brother with their arms around each other.

I don’t have privacy in this space unless no one’s home. But its location also means my work is integrated into the rhythm of the house, vulnerable to the whims of heroes flying past and young artists who need to use the printer, yes, but also a part of everything. It’s a lovely, sometimes inconvenient, dedicated workspace with a high ceiling and fresh air when I crank open the window in the warm months. The perfect place to be, I saw, at that moment. Working. Thinking.

Soon after, I settled on what I’d cook for you with some curly-leaved spinach grown by Left Foot Organics. I decided it’s a good moment for spinach soup because for me the dish is linked, forever and happily, with my mom’s cooking. I ate it around the holidays when I was growing up but as the seasons go, it makes more sense to have it around this time of year when greens are just available and the weather is still chilly enough for a warm meal.

This soup is one my mom learned to make in a cooking class when I was an infant and she was in her early twenties. It’s a bright green combination of simple flavors: spinach, broth, cream, lemon, nutmeg. Enjoy it, preferably in a space that feels good to you at the moment.

Creamy Spinach Soup

1½ pounds spinach
2½ T butter
1 shallot, finely chopped
¼ cup flour
2½ cups broth (vegetable or chicken, not beef)
salt and pepper to taste
1¼ cups milk
grated nutmeg
3-4 T heavy cream
lemon slices

Wash spinach and remove stalks. Cook for 3 minutes in boiling,
salted water. Drain, removing as much water as possible.

Melt butter. Add shallot and cook for 2-3 minutes, until soft.
Blend in flour with a wire whisk. Add stock, then spinach.
Season with salt and pepper and stir until boiling.

Lower the heat. Cover, and simmer for 20 minutes. Purée.
Add the milk and taste for seasoning. Put a lemon slice in each
bowl and spoon soup over the top, or float a lemon slice on top.
Drizzle a bit of heavy cream in the center and add a pinch of nutmeg.

Posted in Greens, Recipes, Spring Vegetables | 12 Comments »

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