I know, it seems rather over-economical and grandmotherly, doesn’t it? Even though my own grandma mostly baked – I don’t recall any pickles, unless I’ve blotted them from my memory in favour of butter tarts and marmalade cookies.
I’ve been home for 4 days, in the kitchen a lot, but without much to show for it.
I know I told you already that I was in Saskatchewan last week, but I don’t think I showed you this. Doesn’t it make you want to take a drive through the countryside? Perhaps in search of the ultimate peroghy? Seems like a reasonable research topic, don’t you think? I want to lie in this field.
Or maybe frolic through it.
I came home to a wild garden – much of it beaten by hail or ravaged by whatever hungry things live back there. My cabbage was enormous, but had been eaten down to a skeleton – inside, all that was left were the ribs. Had it survived, it could have fed a village. This is not an optical illusion-it was almost big as W.
The weeds did just fine, and escaped any damage. Some were as tall as me.
The chard survived, but there’s a lot of it. August might become Chard Month.
We reached into our first-planted potato condo and brought up a handful of thin-skinned baby spuds.
Which got simmered, then tossed around in a hot cast iron skillet after a flat iron steak had its turn. Then the chard.
We went to the food truck launch on Stephen Avenue on Thursday, along with several thousand other people. Which meant unfortunately there wasn’t any eating at said launch. (For us, anyway.)
We went to the dog park to walk in the river, and brought s’mores from Crave.
We went to check out Aviv’s new Sidewalk Citizen kitchen, which, by the way, is OPEN TO THE PUBLIC on Fridays and Saturdays. And if you go, you’ll find freshly baked things like these nearly two-foot-long breadsticks made from croissant dough, cheese and nigella seeds. Oh my.
There. You’re caught up on the past four days, more or less. There were also plenty of eggs, fried in the cast iron skillet once the wilted chard was pushed aside. With sourdough toast.
And each time I sauteed a batch of chard in a skiff of canola oil with a dab of butter and a few sliced garlic cloves, I kept the stems to pickle. I had these in mind for a certain pickle party that crept past as I was frolicking in the above field, eating fresh lentils straight from their pods.
If you do a lot of pickling, you may not even need directions; just cut your chard stems into lengths slightly smaller than your jar and pour your choice of pickling liquid over them. Pickling is the new jamming, it seems. Not a bad thing – perhaps if I make less jam and more pickles, I won’t eat quite as much bread and butter.
Pickled Chard Stems
Adapted from Gramercy Tavern’s Michael Anthony, by way of Local Kitchen.
1-2 bunches chard stems
1 cup rice vinegar
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup sugar
2 Tbsp pickling salt
1 Tbsp pickling spices
Trim the ends of the chard stems and slice into sticks the height of your jar minus 1/2-inch for head space. Slice larger stems in half, or in thirds, lengthwise, so that each is approximately the same size. Pack them into clean, hot jars.
In a small saucepan, combine the vinegars, water, sugar, salt and spices and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar and salt. Pour over the chard stems, leaving a half inch headspace. Wipe rim, seal and refrigerate for up to a month.
August 14 2011 | preserves | 9 Comments »
This here is my new favourite salad dressing. I feel oh-so virtuous when I skip (yes! skip! sometimes..) out to the garden with my wood salad bowl and pluck green leaves from the garden directly into it, then drizzle my greens with creamy rhubarb dressing, made with rhubarb I’ve also yanked out of my own (or my sister’s) soil. I should probably get myself a Little House on the Prairie-style bonnet.
Tart rhubarb makes a perfect base for a vinaigrette, in place of (or along with) whatever acid you’d normally use, like lemon juice. Simmer chopped rhubarb for a few minutes, then puree it with honey, oil and rice vinegar (which isn’t as harsh as other vinegars) – the fibre in the rhubarb will add body to the dressing, but puree perfectly smooth. The result is a lovely pink vinaigrette reminiscent of pink poppyseed dressing – and if you dribble the canola oil into the blender as it’s running, it will thicken and emulsify, like a creamy ranch dressing or aioli. It’s not like a vinaigrette that separates and you have to re-shake before using – it stays pure and smooth and pink and sweet and tangy. Brilliant.
I started out making this with precise measurements, and have since tossed all that aside and simply simmered rhubarb in water, then pureed it with honey, grainy mustard and rice vinegar, and drizzled in canola oil with the motor running. I made vats of the stuff to serve up at the kitchen theatre at the Stampede. Even people who are generally repelled by rhubarb loved it. (Either that or they were just being nice. Thanks guys!)
Rhubarb Vinaigrette
Adapted (with great thanks!) from vinegartart.com.
1 rhubarb stalk, thinly sliced
2 Tbsp. honey
2 Tbsp. rice vinegar (red wine or raspberry vinegar would work well too)
2 tsp. grainy Dijon mustard (or to taste)
1/4 cup canola or mild olive oil
In a small saucepan, simmer the rhubarb with 1/4 – 1/2 cup water for 5 minutes, or until very soft. Remove from heat and set aside to cool. (I’ve done it warm too, and it’s just fine.)
Put the rhubarb into a blender with the honey, vinegar and mustard. Pulse until smooth. With the motor running, slowly pour in the oil. Makes about a cup.
July 15 2011 | preserves and salads | 15 Comments »
Right. Like I said, every time I bow out and plea too busy to post, I wind up posting more. Go figure.
This bacon jam. I did it for Swerve last week, and then served it to Jim this morning on a grilled burger. (I made the burgers out of half ground sirloin, half Spolumbo’s chorizo sausage, squeezed out of its casing. Shaped the pattie around a thick square slice of old cheddar. Then melted another square of Gouda on top on the barbecue for good measure.
To make the bacon jam, you chop and cook bacon, onions and garlic down with brown sugar and coffee and maple syrup until it turns into jam. Really. You should make this.
Bacon Jam
1 lb good-quality bacon
1 small onion, chopped
4-5 garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup brewed coffee (hot or cold)
1/4 cup maple syrup
1 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar (optional)
1 Tbsp. grainy mustard (optional)
Roughly chop the bacon and cook it in a heavy pot; transfer to a bowl using a slotted spoon, draining off most of the drippings. Saute the onion and garlic cloves in the rest for 5 minutes, until soft and starting to turn golden. Return the bacon to the pan, add the brown sugar, coffee, maple syrup, vinegar and mustard and cook over medium heat for half an hour, or until deep golden and thickened to the consistency of jam. If you like, cool and pulse in the food processor for a finer texture. Serve warm or cold.
June 21 2011 | pork and preserves | 49 Comments »
Remember that 5 lb bag of pink grapefruit I bought, committing myself to either eating them or coming up with something to do with them all? They came to Tofino with us in the back of the car. I haven’t eaten them here, either. So yesterday I grated the rind of a few others, then peeled away the pith, chopped their innards and turned them into marmalade.
Here’s how I did it: I washed and dried 4 pink grapefruits and coarsely grated the rind on the box grater. Then I peeled away the white pith and chopped the fruit. I put it into a pot with 2 cups of water, brought it to a boil, cooked it for 30 minutes, then took it off the heat and set it aside overnight.
The next morning I added 3 cups of sugar and brought it to a boil – without a candy thermometer, I cooked it until it thickened and looked syrupy. You could test a small spoonful on a dish or saucer placed in the freezer to get nice and cold – if it gels and wrinkles with a push of your finger, it’s done. Otherwise wait until it looks light hot marmalade – slightly runnier than what cold marmalade would look like. It made about 3 cups, and is now in the fridge for future visitors here. If I don’t eat it all myself on warm cream scones.
April 03 2011 | preserves | 7 Comments »
I KNOW! Just when I thought my rough mash of fall apples couldn’t be improved upon (not that I ever really tried, beyond adding a cinnamon stick or maple syrup or a vanilla bean or swapping apples for pears) – I stumbled upon this. And I know that applesauce is really a good and healthy thing on its own and there’s no need to add butter to it, but the same can be said for vegetables, and look what a dab of butter does to those. And this is made with browned butter, even. It doesn’t make the sauce greasy or heavy, just gives it that element of je ne sais quoi – a richness you’d never think to credit to butter. And the rosemary! Rosemary loves apples. I’m the sort who loves chunky applesauces and cranberry sauces and plum chutneys and the like with my roast chicken, pork and sausages. Grilled pork tenderloin with rosemary browned butter applesauce. It goes as well with thick plain yogurt or leftover turkey or a big soup spoon. Of course it freezes beautifully, so makes a great preserve to put away for the bleak midwinter without requiring canning and jarring.
This sauce has inspired me to get out there with a rake and whack down the last of the apples on the highest, most unreachable points of our tree, even though I inevitably get apples falling great distances and smacking me in the head or whacking me in the eye. This stuff is totally worth it.
Rosemary Browned Butter Applesauce
Although this did begin as a recipe, I didn’t really follow it. The gist is to toss a couple twigs of rosemary into your apples as they simmer, then finish the lot with a bit of browned butter. But here’s a loose guide.
4 lbs apples, cored and cut into chunks
1-2 cups pure apple cider or good-quality juice
2 rosemary sprigs, bashed with the back of a knife to bruise it
1 cinnamon stick
1/4 cup butter
In a large pot, combine the apples, cider, rosemary and cinnamon and bring to a simmer over medium heat; cook until very soft, stirring once in awhile. When the apples are easily mashed with a potato masher or fork, remove the cinnamon stick and rosemary and mash the rest.
Meanwhile, melt the butter in a small saucepan; continue to cook, swirling the pan often, until it turns deep golden and smells nutty. Stir into the applesauce and serve warm.
October 17 2010 | preserves | 18 Comments »
