My friend Allison confessed that she was becoming a hoarder. Not in the Crazy Reality TV way–thank goodness. More like in the Fill the Pantry with Good Food way. She had been buying big crates of citrus–Cara Cara oranges, and organic lemons—and making batches of marmalades, limoncello, lemon curd, preserved lemons, and the like. And, she still hadn’t made much of a dent in her purchase. So I was very happy to be the recipient of a bag of these luscious fruits, along with a pretty jar of her Cara Cara marmalade.

There’s nothing to match the power and versatility of the mighty lemon, whose juice and fragrant zest elevate all manner of sweet and savory things. And, as my initial foray into 2012 has been marked with a little slump in the kitchen, a gaze at the cooktop and cutting board with a world-weary eye, I recognized Allison’s kind gift as more than a bag of excess citrus trying find a home. No.

It was lemons to the rescue.

Just seeing them in the welcome sunlight this afternoon was a lift alone.
Lemons for Dinner? You bet.

My cousin Cathy and her husband John are both avid cooks. Whenever we get together, we love to share recipes and cook. Last visit, Cathy brought a lemon-based pasta recipe from her collection to prepare. “Capelli d’Angelo Olio e Limone” or Olive Oil and Lemon Angel Hair, from the 1997 cookbook Pastissima! Pasta the Italian Way was simple–deceptively so. There were few ingredients—a sauce comprised of onion cooked in a fair amount of olive oil, mixed with a lot of lemon juice, tossed throughout pasta, and dusted with parmesan.

It took mere minutes to make—and was truly delicious.

The lemons today inspired my to recreate the dish—with a few modifications. Rather than using onion, I substituted a leek. Lemon and leek are terrific together, and the strips of light green tangled throughout the pasta bring welcome color.

Other change-ups include red pepper flakes for bite, over black pepper, and pecorino-romano for pungency, over parmesan.

Without question, this pasta would be a fine foundation for a plank of grilled fish, a tender fillet of trout, even a scatter of lump crabmeat. But solo, it is exceptional, light yet rich, with a pleasant tang. It’s the kind of toss that accentuates the angel hair, rather than masking it with a complex sauce. So use your best here–DeCecco’s Capellini No.9 has been a constant favorite.

This romaine salad is one that I refer to as a “Mock Caesar”—it lacks the depth that anchovies bring to the traditional version, but is just right for the Vegetarian in my household.

Here lemon juice, roasted garlic cloves, and extra virgin olive oil cream up together into a vibrant dressing, generously tossed on chopped romaine leaves mixed with some finely sliced red cabbage.

Again, simple ingredients—simply assembled. It’s more a matter of using your best. Roasting the garlic brings out an inherent sweetness, and the softened cloves act as an emulsifier in the lemon-forward dressing. A crusty piece of ciabatta transforms readily into croutons. Sprinkle some fresh thyme over the cubed bread before toasting for an welcome herbal note.

With this salad and pasta, you can let the lemony sunshine in.

CAPELLINI WITH LEMON, LEEKS, AND OLIVE OIL (adapted from Pastissima! Pasta the Italian Way by Leonardo Castellucci
1 Leek, finely sliced
1/3 cup Olive Oil
Juice of 1 1/2 large Lemons
Sea Salt
Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 cup shedded Pecorino-Romano
6 ounces Capellini (DeCecco is excellent)

Heat olive oil on medium in a skillet or cast-iron pot. Add the leeks, and cook for about 5 minutes, until they become soft. Cook the capellini according to package directions–about 2 minutes in a large pot of salted boiling water. Drain well.

Place pasta in the pot with the leeks and olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt, red pepper flakes (a couple of pinches) and pour lemon juice over all. Add most of the shredded cheese, reserving some to garnish the top of the pasta after it is served. Toss well, so that the lemon, olive oil, and leeks coat all the strands of pasta.

Serve in warm bowls. Dust with more pecorino. Enjoy!

Makes 2 generous servings.

ROMAINE SALAD WITH ROASTED GARLIC-LEMON DRESSING
1 head Romaine lettuce, washed, dried, and chopped
1 cup Red Cabbage, very finely sliced
2 cups homemade Croutons (cubed from a good crusty loaf, tossed in olive oil, seasoned with salt, black pepper, fresh thyme–toasted in a 300 degree oven for 15 minutes, or until lightly browned)
1 cup shredded Pecorino-Romano

Juice from 1/2 large Lemon
3 Garlic Cloves, oven-roasted
1/2 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Sea Salt
Cracked Black Pepper

immersion blender

In a salad bowl, assemble romaine, red cabbage, croutons and shredded pecorino.

In a measuring cup or small mixing bowl, place lemon juice, roasted garlic cloves, salt and pepper. Using the immersion blender, begin mixing. The garlic will cream into the lemon juice. Add the olive oil slowly, and continue blending. Taste for seasoning.

Pour over salad greens and toss well. Serves 4

Serendipity and A Tale of Quinces

I had never seen a quince, let alone eaten one, but the benevolent forces aligned last week…

It started the morning I read Rachel’s latest blogpost, “Quincing My Words.” Her description of this odd but intriguing fruit drew me right in: Illusive. Ancient. Properly Sensual.

Picture, if you will, a bulbous cross between an apple and a pear, with a heady fragrance both floral and citric.

My mind whirled, imagining its heft and scent, a fruit both exotic and seductive. (Perhaps these were the love apples of Venus?) I could envision bowls of quinces perfuming kitchens of antiquity, and prized trees laden with great yellow-green knobs planted outside Persian homes.

Rachel made the quince sound paradisaical, something from a dream. I doubted that I’d ever have the chance to taste this fruit, but enjoyed the read, and went about my day. My cousin Cathy was soon arriving to visit, and speak at the Southern Festival of Books.

That night we went to Anatolia’s, our favorite Turkish restaurant, and Cathy inquired about dessert.

“We have a special tonight,” our waiter said. “Baked quince. It is stuffed with walnuts and pistachios and we top it with cream. It is beautiful dessert, only here for a few weeks.”

Ahhhhhhhhh. Yes!

He presented the confection, half an oblong fruit baked firm but spoon-supple, its center filled with a mixture of finely chopped nuts, cinnamon, and sugar. The pastry chef had garnished it with sweetened whipped cream and a scatter of pomegranate seeds.

The quince was like nothing else I’d ever eaten. Its texture much firmer than apples or pears–but smooth, not grainy–and its sweet-tart taste embodying a bit of both, but with layers of lemon and rose.

The whipped cream indeed gilded the lily, and the pomegranate seeds were little tangy firecracker bursts in each bite. Sublime!

And so was born our mission to seek them out, and recreate the dish.

The next day, Cathy and I began our quince quest. First stop: Whole Foods, as recommended by the waiter at Anatolia’s. No luck. We drove across town to a large global market, again to no avail. And then Cathy made this observation, “This is a Middle Eastern dessert. We need to shop at a Middle Eastern market. Do you have one?”

Of course! We motored from the west side of town to the southside, out Nolensville Road, Nashville’s diverse global corridor for shopping and dining. A sign with distinctive script advertising fruits, vegetables, and Halal meats held promise but its owner had sad news; he had sold out a couple of days ago. “I have a friend. He may have some at his store.” He made the call, turned to us and said, “Only two pieces.”

Sold. Two would be all we needed.

Blocks away, there they were, awaiting us, in a small market that held other delicacies worth exploring.

You’ll notice a light downy fuzz covering the quince that you’ll need to rinse off. And, until cooked, they remain devilishly hard. The yellower the quince, the riper. But, the oven-poach will transform even a green quince into a wondrous thing.

At the Turkish restaurant, they may have baked the quince in some rosewater–a splendid idea. We chose pear nectar and lemon, which imparted lovely notes to the poach, and its resulting caramel-like sauce.

When Cathy visits, she likes to bring recipes for me to try. The wedge you’ve seen plated with our quince is Oat Pudding, a simple rustic dessert from the Friuli region of Italy that Cathy had been making recently. We knew that this pudding would be an ideal accompaniment to the fruit.

OVEN-POACHED QUINCES, STUFFED WITH WALNUTS AND PISTACHIOS
2 Quinces, cut in half, and cored
1/4 c. Pistachios, finely chopped
1/4 c. Walnuts, finely chopped
3 T. Sugar
1/2 t. Cinnamon
2 T. Butter
1 1/2 cups Pear Nectar (or juice)
1 1/2 cups Water
1 Lemon, cut into strips

Optional: Pomegranate seeds (taken from a quarter section)
lightly sweetened Whipped Cream

You’ll need a good sharp knife for this. The quinces are hard-hard, but will remarkably soften and yield their marvelous flavor in a long oven-poach.

Mix water and pear nectar in a deep casserole dish. Add lemon strips.
Mix nuts, sugar, and cinnamon together in a small bowl. Press nut mixture into the center core of each quince half. Dot with butter.

Place each half, facing up, into the pear-water bath. Cover loosely with aluminum foil and bake in a pre-heated 325 degree oven. Bake for an hour and uncover. Baste the quinces. Bake uncovered for another 20-30 minutes.

Serve warm, and drizzle the caramelized juices over the quince.
2 Quince=4 large half-size servings, or 8 nice wedges to eat with Oat Pudding.

OAT PUDDING
adapted from Recipes from an Italian Farmhouse by Valentina Harris
1 1/4 c. Oatmeal
2 1/2 c. Milk
4 Egg Yolks
7 T. Sugar
2 T. Pear Nectar

Spread oatmeal on a baking sheet and toast in a 225 degree oven for 15-20 minutes.

Bring milk to a boil. Sprinkle in oatmeal, lower the heat, and stir constantly for about 10 minutes. Add more milk if the mixture seems too stiff. Remove from heat.
For a smooth pudding: puree oatmeal in a blender. For heartier texture, leave the mixture as is.

Beat egg yolks until fluffy and light lemon colored. Add sugar and beat for at least 5 minutes longer. Fold into oatmeal mixture and cook on low heat for 7 minutes, stirring until thickened and custardy.

Coat the bottom of a small mixing bowl with pear nectar. Pour in oat pudding mixture. Chill for at least 4 hours. Turn out and serve.

Serves 6-8

What good meal could you make for under five dollars?

Slow Food USA initiated this cooking challenge, one which meshed nicely with our Third Thursday Community Potluck this month. In a rough economy, and an ever-widening “food gap,” knowing how to prepare tasty, nutritious food at an affordable price is a crucial survival tool.

Calling it “The $5 Challenge,” Slow Food encouraged potluck gatherings to share “true value meals.” Last Saturday, 30,000 people allover the country came together to dine on these good dishes, all made with fresh ingredients, and costing less, per person, than an Abe Lincoln. Recipes from these events will be amassed and shared.

Informally, our Third-Thursday group did the same, although we kept our potluck on its given day, rather than the Saturday, as suggested by Slow Food. In the quest for community—and tasty affordable food—we didn’t think a couple of days mattered. It’s part of our monthly pursuit anyway.

And, serendipity, we had already chosen a “Breakfast for Dinner” theme. That meal provides plenty of hearty, nutritious, and inexpensive dishes: Omelettes, vegetable frittatas, mock souffles, noodle kugels, cheese grits casseroles, and the like.

We know that cooking seasonally, using of-the-moment produce, is far more cost-effective.

In Nashville, fall is in air. Bushels of apples and potatoes are plentiful at the market. With that in mind, I chose to make a batch of fresh applesauce, and my crispy potato pancakes. Both are ridiculously simple, and “cheap” recipes–short on ingredients, but long on satisfaction.

I hadn’t considered applesauce in a long time, although it’s something that I associate, in a pleasant way, with childhood. It was one of the acceptable things that this super-picky eater would deign to let past her lips.

We always had jars of Mott’s Applesauce on the shelf, something my beleaguered mother could count on to spoon onto my plate, and not be met with eyes of abject horror or disgust.

But nothing could be easier than making a pot a fresh applesauce. Core and rough-chop the apples–leave their peels on. Cook them down with a little lemon, brown sugar, and cinnamon–that’s really it. (This could be adapted to a slow-cooker–throw everything into the pot, and let it go all day, while you work.)

The peels mostly dissolve as the apples soften into a chunky sauce, providing flavor, nutrients, and needed pectin to thicken. If you want a smoother sauce, you can run the cooked mixture through the food mill.

Ginger Gold Apples, with their pale green skins tinged with rosy blush, proved to be a good choice. They have a bright, pleasing balance of sweet and tart.

Pommes-de-terre, Aardappelen, Potatoes are indeed the Apples of the Earth! We love potatoes in all iterations.

My potato pancake, or latkes, recipe is gluten-free. Years ago I would add flour, but learned later that there was no need; there’s enough natural starch in the potato to accommodate. Eggs add a little protein, and help bind the crispy shreds together.

What’s not to love about these little potato nests? Crunchy golden brown goodness, with a hint of sweet onion in the mix…they make terrific accompaniments to any meal, breakfast or not.

What I must note about the $5 challenge: it’s an easier one to meet, if you are cooking for a group. (And, likewise, if that group is sharing dishes, in the potluck spirit!)

My big batch of potato pancakes cost just about $5, and fed a crowd. Making 30, that’s almost 17 cents a cake. The applesauce cost less, around $4, and was delicious in its own right, or dolloped onto the potatoes.

But I think that we would all be hard-pressed to consistently create well-rounded meals for under $5 a person, especially if cooking for one or two. And many today have less than that to work with.

I lead a charmed life, and I am grateful for it. I am generally frugal, but have the where-with-all to buy, cook, and enjoy more expensive foods. And that’s fine. But access to basic, affordable good food should be a right, not a privilege. It’s important to share our knowledge, so that people can cook delicious meals using fresh food for themselves and their families.

Have you got a favorite inexpensive dish to share?

FRESH APPLESAUCE

6 large tart green apples, such as Ginger Golds
1/2 cup Demerara Sugar
1 Cinnamon Stick
1 Lemon, quartered

Core and rough-chop apples. Place into a large saucepan on gentle heat. Add brown sugar, lemon quarters, and cinnamon stick. Cover and allow apples to cook on slow medium heat, for about thirty minutes. Stir occasionally. Covered, the natural juices will release, condense, and fall back into the apple mixture. The peels will mostly dissolve and add their natural pectin.

Remove cinnamon stick, lemon peels. Serve warm or cold.

Makes about 4 cups of applesauce.

POTATO PANCAKES (gluten-free)
4 lbs. Yukon Gold Potatoes
1 large Yellow Onion
4 large Eggs
2 t. Sea Salt
1 t. Cracked Black Pepper
2 t. Paprika

canola oil for frying
1 T. butter to season the oil (optional)

Shred potatoes (I used the food processor with the shredder attachment.) and place into a large mixing bowl. Finely dice the onion and toss in with the potatoes.
In a separate bowl, whip eggs, sea salt, black pepper, and paprika together. Pour over potato-onion mix. Toss well so that everything is well coated.

Heat a skillet and pour in canola oil, about 1/2″. Melt in a tablespoon of butter, if you’d like to flavor this neutral a bit.

With a slotted spoon, scoop up a small mound of shredded potato mix and place in hot oil. Repeat until the skillet is filled but take care not to crowd. (I fit 4 at a time.) Cook for about 3 minutes—look for crispy brown edges. Wait for the right “brown-ness” before flipping with a spatula.

Rotate in the pan, as needed, so that the ‘cakes brown evenly.

Place cooked potato cakes onto a metal grid to drain, (or paper towels).

Note: As the mixture sits, some of the water from the potatoes will release into the mixture. This is not a problem. Continually stir, lifting out each mound with the slotted spoon, leaving some of that liquid behind.

Makes about 30 crispy potato pancakes

Next month, I will be one of several chefs involved in a fundraising dinner for our food bank. To a group of 80 guests, we’ll be serving a multi-coursed Tasting Menu. Much fun, this allows for a wide swath of creativity on diminutive plates. I had been asked to prepare something salad-like, something to follow a soup course.

What to make?

I knew, of course, that it would be a seasonal dish. And, I wanted it to be meatless. Many of the chefs had picked a protein— beef, pork, tuna, duck, lamb, bison–for their centerpiece, so I wanted a departure from that. I also had a sense, with the wealth of good food ideas that I am connected to through blogging, that my inspiration was close at hand.

When I came upon this Pear and Walnut Crema Tart on Joyti’s splendid site Darjeeling Dreams, I got excited. Walnut crema! Her description of its taste and simplicity of execution sold me. Alone, the crema seemed incredible, but her presentation–layered with pears, thyme, mascarpone in a savory crust, would be nothing short of sublime.

I could envision a delectable sliver on a small plate, served alongside a ruffle of arugula, sheerly dressed. A drizzle of floral honey, perhaps, over the tart, or, better yet–a lemon-honey infused vinaigrette.

It was time to get to work, test out the recipe, and see how it would work for a large dinner party.

Following Joyti’s direction, I made the walnut crema first. I didn’t have shallots on hand, as her recipe lists, only garlic, which I cooked in the pot with the walnuts. While the walnuts were simmering to tenderness, I made my pastry dough. Both crema and dough can be made a day in advance—and actually benefit from an overnight stay in the refrigerator.

The crema took on the look and texture of hummus, and the walnut flavor, surprisingly deepened in the simmer, had nothing sharp or acrid. This is the sort of sauce, or pesto, that would be quite delicious tossed over pasta or served over roasted vegetables, like asparagus.

WALNUT CREMA
1 cup Walnuts
2 small cloves Garlic
pinch salt
4 T. Olive Oil

Place ingredients into a 2 qt. saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil, and let simmer for 12-15 minutes. Drain, reserving a little “walnut water.”

Place into a food processor fitted with the swivel blade and pulse until chopped finely. Add olive oil and process until smooth, adding a tablespoon or 2 of the walnut water as well, so that the walnut crema will have the look and texture of hummus. Taste for salt.

Refrigerate tightly wrapped for at least overnight so that flavors will develop well. Keeps about a week, wrapped and refrigerated.

The following day, I gathered my ingredients. I peeled the pears–these were tough-skinned, from the country—but the pears that you use might have a delicate skin that will bake nicely. Use your judgement about that.

I made a few adaptations along the way.

Joyti’s recipe calls for mascarpone or cream cheese. I had a log of mild, tangy goat cheese that I thought could work well. (Use whatcha got!) I had no lemon thyme, but lemon and thyme.

I also compressed her recipe steps, somewhat. She calls for blind-baking the pastry shell, then filling it, and broiling it. For my large dinner group, I decided that it would be better for me to bake the shell and its filling all together.

It didn’t take long to assemble this appealing tart.

Before I placed it in the oven, I brushed some melted butter across the slices, to insure some glazy browning. Happy-Happy with the results.
The tart had a lovely crispened shell–sides and bottom. Walnut bits toasted across the pear-laden top. It cut easily, retaining integrity of layers, even when sliced into delicate pieces.

You’ll notice an inherent sweetness from the pears and bit of lemon, balanced by the tangy chevre, and anchored by the walnut crema.

It’s a simple, beautiful dish in all aspects–you could serve it as appetizer course, a fruit/cheese course in lieu of dessert. And, when paired with winter greens and honey vinaigrette, will be a stunning plate for the special fundraising dinner.

SAVORY PEAR-WALNUT CREMA TART
adapted from Darjeeling Dreams, with thanks to Joyti

1 recipe My Basic Pie Crust (click here )

1 batch of Walnut Crema
4-5 oz Goat Cheese
2-3 ripe Pears (could be Bosc, Anjou, Bartlett–I used a rustic country pear of unknown name from Maggie’s tree!)
Lemon–for zest (1 T.) and Juice (to squeeze over sliced pears)
1 T. melted Butter
a few sprigs fresh Thyme
a few Walnut halves and pieces

10″ pie pan or quiche/tart pan

Roll out pastry dough, place into pan and crimp edges. Spread walnut crema over the bottom, and follow with crumbled goat cheese. Peel and core pears, and slice thinly.

Lay out the slices, one slightly overlapping the other, in concentric circles, pressing the pieces gently into the layer of crema and cheese.

Squeeze a little lemon juice over the slices, and sprinkle the zest. Finish with a sprinkle of thyme leaves and walnut bits.

Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 25 minutes.

Makes 8 generous servings, or 16 cocktail “tasting plate” servings.

When Gigi planted a fig tree on the border of her urban garden four years ago, she had no idea that it would take to the place with such ardor. But the tree settled right in to its new home, rapidly spreading upward and outward: a sprawl of great leafed branches ultimately producing hundreds of honeyed knobs of fruit. “It seems very happy here,” we both observed. “This could be the year of the fig.”

Throughout July and August, I’d get calls from Gigi, field reports you might say, about the status of the figs.

“If these all ripen, well, this is one rockin’ fig tree,” was one update.

“Thousands of figs! I picked two 5lb. baskets in less than an hour.” was another.

Over weeks, and as the summer heat became more severe, Gigi cultivated a relationship with the beloved tree; to me, it was really a reverence:

“It’s unbearably hot, and I keep telling her how wonderful she is, making all this fruit.” She set up a special watering system, “I told her I’d take care of her. I know she’s thirsty.”

To date, She has produced enough figs to make 100 pints of preserves. One hundred pints from a four-year-old tree! It seems unimaginable—

but true! Despite temperatures stuck in the nineties and rainfall spare, Gigi’s mighty fig tree became so laden with plump fruit you could easily pick a basketful in no time at all.

Which, given the intense heat and the sticky milky mess that you get allover your hands and arms from picking, was a very good thing.

Gigi set up a system of ladders and planks within the inner sanctum of the tree, cloaked under the leafy branches. It was with childlike glee that I clambered up and around the limbs, concealed from the outer world, immersed in the heady enclave of fig leaves and fruit.

And, soon, I had picked a large bowlful of figs, most dark purple, some yellow-green with a flush of rouge, all exquisite, ripe, and beautiful.

It was time to try something new with my fig bounty. Last year, I made luscious preserves with Maggie. Gigi had already been playing with different recipes: cutting back on the sugar, adding ginger to some batches, orange juice in another, and white balsamic vinegar in yet another. All methods were cooked on the stovetop. While each batch was delicious, none had the figgy caramel syrup she was seeking.

Then, one afternoon, I got a text: “Roasting is the way.”

Why, of course! But wait, another text followed–

“No olive oil. Sugar and white balsamic vinegar only. 425 degrees.”

A-ha! (Love the economy of a texted recipe.)

After carefully rinsing my figs, I placed them on a baking sheetpan, along with a few wedges of lemon–my addition. Then, I dusted with sugar, sprinkled white balsamic vinegar over the batch, and put them into that hot oven to roast. It didn’t take long—ten minutes or so—and the figs got puffed and charred, coated in a rich caramel created from melting of the sugar, vinegar, and natural fig juices. It was amazing.

After scraping into jars, I processed some in a hot water bath, as I had with Maggie’s figs, but kept one jar in the fridge–ready for this pizza I’ve been dreaming about since we first made it last year, about this time.

Covered with roasted figs, shaved gorgonzola, leeks, and ripples of prosciutto, this is one dreamy pizza. And, don’t forget–A few sprigs of rosemary, and drizzle of the figgy syrup takes the dream to wonderland.

ROASTED FIG-PROSCIUTTO-GORGONZOLA PIZZA

PIZZA DOUGH:
1 pkg. Dry Active Yeast (2 t.)
1 c. warm Water
1 3/4 c. Unbleached All Purpose Flour
1/2 c. Rye Flour
2 t. Sea Salt
1 T. Olive Oil

Sprinkle yeast into bowl of water, stir well, and let stand for 5 minutes to activate the yeast. Combine yeast water in a mixing bowl with flours, salt, olive oil. Mix until it forms into a ball. It will be moist, but not sticky. Cover and allow to rise for one hour.

Transfer dough to lightly floured work surface. Divide into two and form into balls. Cover and refrigerate, if you are not going to use immediately.
Otherwise, let stand out for 30 minutes, then roll out into whatever pizza shape—round, oblong, rectangle—suits you. Use additional flour, as needed, to prevent sticking.

Cover with toppings, and bake in a very hot oven–450 degrees–until browned and bubbly–10 minutes.

TOPPINGS:
Roasted Figs and their syrup
Sliced Prosciutto
Diced Leeks
Shaved (or crumbled) Gorgonzola Cheese
Fresh Rosemary

A couple of weeks ago Gigi called me from her Wedgewood Urban Gardens, positively ecstatic. “You are never going to believe what I found in the garden today. Never!”

Her garden is a vast oasis in an otherwise sketchy part of town, the lower lot filled now with all manner of herbs, blooming flowers, greens, fennel, and fruit trees—the upper acre has rows and rows dedicated to tomatoes, beans, squashes, asparagus, beets. I couldn’t imagine what she had discovered.

Before I could even hazard a guess, her voice boomed,

“Raspberries! American Black Raspberries! I didn’t even know I had these plants. The birds didn’t know either. They are HUGE.”

The next day, I met her at the garden to do some picking. Wow. Rushes of berries were coming in—in addition to her plump black raspberries, she had plants covered with red and, gasp, golden raspberries. Fantastic! I had never seen golden raspberries growing before. Never!

We moved with care from bush to bush, examining the little gems, selecting the ripest–the ones that come off in your hand with the least effort. The sun was hot, the canes a bit prickly, but no matter. We were in raspberry heaven.

With our community pot luck on the horizon, we wanted to be sure to include these precious fruits in some special dishes.

Raspberry cobbler was a given. And Gigi was vying for a Raspberry Barbecue Sauce for grilled chicken. (Sounds strange, but I did make it at the last minute– without a recipe–for our cookout and it turned out really well—that’s another post…)

But I wanted to make something to showcase the raspberries—especially those goldens—so you could actually see them before you ate them.

Gigi also had a nice crop of beets getting fat in the ground, bulging above the soil. I had a vision of a stacked salad: layers of sliced roasted beets on top of frisee, followed by goat cheese, then the red and golden raspberries. I’d make a vinaigrette from the black raspberries and drizzle it over each layer. The colors and flavors would be knock-out.

This raspberry vinaigrette is different from the ones we’ve all seen and tasted for the past 20 plus years. Because it’s made with gently cooked berries and not berry-infused vinegar, the dressing is thick and intensely sweet-tart raspberry.

Honestly, it would be equally delicious spooned over ice cream. In fact, the whole beet-berry salad stack had a spectacular reeling Sundae dessert look to it. Heavenly…

Stacked Roasted Beet-Raspberry Salad
Mixed Greens or Frisee
6 Roasted Beets, sliced
4 oz. Goat Cheese
1 pint Fresh Raspberries
Black Raspberry Vinaigrette (recipe below)

Place a layer of salad greens on the base of platter. Lay out slices of roasted beets in a circle on top of the greens. Sprinkle with goat cheese, then with raspberries. Drizzle with raspberry vinaigrette, and repeat the stack.
serves 6

Black Raspberry Vinaigrette
1 cup Black Raspberries (or red!)
3 T. Sugar
3 T. Red Wine Vinegar
4 T. Balsamic Vinegar
Salt
Black Pepper
1 c. Extra Virgin Olive Oil

In a saucepan, gently cook the raspberries and sugar together, until the berries release their juices and the sugar dissolves. Remove from heat.
Place into a food processor fitted with a swivel blade. Add vinegars, a little salt and coarse ground black pepper, and pulse together. Drizzle in the olive oil while processing until vinaigrette is thickened and emulsified. Taste and adjust for sweetness, acid, salt and pepper.

In Tennessee, fresh strawberries are soon to come, their small white flowers giving way to ripe fruit. They are especially juicy, finger-staining when picked, fleeting in the pleasure they bring.

But, some of that pleasure can be simply preserved.

For our Nashville Earth Day Festival, I demonstrated some basic methods in “Yes We Can Can”—a beginners guide to the seemingly daunting home canning process.

As a novice canner myself, I find that sometimes newcomers to an art are more helpful in Demystifying the Daunting: In other words, if I can do this, so can you!

This recipe for Strawberries in Syrup requires nothing more than ripe berries, sugar, and fresh lemon. There’s no pectin for thickening, as you would use for jellies or jam.

So, it’s a tetch thinner than what you find in the stores, but perfect for spooning over ice cream, shortcake, (or, as seen here, BOTH!) pancakes, and the like. Or spread over a piece of hot buttered sourdough toast…

And the flavor—ahhh—intensely strawberry. Not too sweet: the lemon giving it a nice boost before it disappears into the background.

Now, for preserving: The equipment list isn’t long.
Mason jars, lids, rings,
a big pot for your boiling hot water bath
Tongs to pull out the processed jars,
rack for the big pot’s interior
A wide-mouthed Funnel to guide your pouring
Time involved–about an hour. Really.
Not a bad trade-off when you consider how nice those berries in syrup will be tomorrow, or next November…

Strawberries in Syrup
2 qts. fresh Strawberries, washed, stemmed, hulled
2 1/2 cups Sugar
Juice from 1 Lemon

Quarter strawberries and put into a 3 qt. saucepan on medium heat. Stir in sugar and lemon juice. Cook for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Skim off foam as it accumulates on the surface. You’ll want a nice, clear syrup, and this removes any impurities. Sugar will cook into the juices and thicken somewhat.

Have mason jars washed in hot soapy water, rinsed well, and dried. Have big pot filled with water to cover the jars by about 2 inches. Bring this to a boil.

Fill jars with strawberries and syrup, leaving a half inch gap at the top. Wipe the rims and place the sealing cap on top. Put on the ring bands and tighten.

Lower into the boiling water. Set timer for 10 minutes and process. Remove the jars and let cool. Soon, you will hear the distictive POP sound of the seal being made. Hurray!

Any extra strawberries and syrup can be kept in the refrigerator and enjoyed during the week to come.
Makes 5 half pints (or 2 pints and 1 half pint)

These cakes can be made in a snap, and use ingredients so basic to the pantry. They are rather receptive to the syrupy goodness… and the melting ice cream.

Basic Genoise Cakes
4 Eggs, room temperature
4 T. melted Butter
1/2 cup Sugar
1 cup All Purpose Flour, sifted twice
1/8 t. Salt
1 t. Vanilla

1-9″ round cake pan, greased -or-
4-6 small ramekins or brulee ovals

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Beat eggs with salt, vanilla, sugar until tripled in volume. Fold in melted butter and flour. Pour into greased baking pan(s) and bake for 15 minutes, if using individual ramekins, or 20-25 minutes if using 9″ round cake pan.

When cooled, remove from pans. Serve with vanilla ice cream and strawberries in syrup.

Do you have a favorite apple?

With all the tempting varieties showing up at our farmer’s market this week, I would be hard pressed to give an answer. And, some apples are better suited for baking, others for simple out-of-hand eating. Pairing apple types–say, your sweet Jonah Gold with a tart Honeycrisp in a salad or green Granny Smith with an Arkansas Black layered in a Tarte Tatin–adds surprising complexity to a dish. Maybe it’s better to have Favorites, with the notion that the next best ones have yet to be sampled…

Last week I was in Manchester, Tennessee, talking to the ladies of the garden club about Food. That’s broad, I know. And, I can hold forth on any of the myriad aspects: growing and preserving, cooking techniques and recipes, health concerns and education, community…It’s one of our common denominators; a conversation about food can lead anywhere!

We discussed hunger and food security issues, and the importance of supporting our local food producers when and where we can. Being ladies who have long been cultivating beautiful living things, they well understood what it means to eat seasonally.

Maybe that’s when the topic of apples came up. There’s a wonderful orchard not too far from them in Pikeville, Tennessee. (That’s about 140 miles southeast of Nashville, as the crow flies.) Up on Walden Ridge, the Oren Wooden Apple Farm grows 18 varieties, with the Pink Lady Apples–crisp, sweet beauties that are remarkably versatile–being the most prized.

Serendipity! This led to a quick recipe demonstration I had already planned to give, one that would benefit from being prepared with the prized Pink Lady.

This delicious appetizer requires nothing more than the right ingredients, plus a knife and bowl. I used a Gala and a Jonah Gold. Try the recipe with your favorite crisp “eating” apples and a fruity extra-virgin olive oil. Toasted almonds or walnuts work equally well in the recipe–you make the choice. Mild goat cheese creams and coats the apples as you toss the ingredients. Bright green onion, salt and pepper balance the sweetness, give it edge.

In under fifteen minutes, you’ll have a fall appetizer,
ready to enjoy with a glass of Riesling.

Belgian endive leaves provide totally edible support. And, the floral mandala makes a knock-out presentation. Perfect for my garden club friends.

Update! An email from Manchester just alerted me to the coming Pink Lady harvest at Wooden’s. Fantastic! A box of these lovelies could be coming my way soon.

Belgian Endive stuffed with Honeycrisp Apples, Goat Cheese, and Walnuts
4 firm heads of Belgian Endive
2 Apples, (try Honeycrisp, Gala, Pink Lady)washed, cored, diced into small pieces
4 oz. plain Chèvre log, crumbled
3 Tablespoons Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tablespoon Orange Zest
1 Tablespoon fresh Orange Juice
2 Green Onions, tops included, finely sliced
½ cup Walnuts or Almonds, toasted and coarsely chopped
¼ cup dried cranberries
¼ teaspoon Sea Salt
A few grindings of Black Pepper
Balsamic Vinegar for drizzling

Rinse and dry endives, trim the bottom (root end) to separate leaves. Set aside.
In a bowl, toss diced apples and crumbled goat cheese with extra virgin olive oil and orange juice until lightly coated. Add green onions, nuts, dried cranberries, salt and black pepper. Stir gently until all the ingredients are evenly incorporated in the mixture. The goat cheese will cream slightly and coat the apples. Place a small spoonful at the base of the endive leaf—enough for one bite—and lay the leaf on a plate. Continue, placing each leaf in a circular pattern on the plate. Then, drizzle a small amount of balsamic vinegar onto each mound of apple-goat cheese-nut salad. Serve. Makes about 48 leaves.

There’s an old large pear tree on Maggie’s property that produces abundantly—-we don’t know its proper name—Maggie says she just known it as a country pear, or canning pear. The skin is tough, a bit mottled, blemished; the interior firm, large-celled—very open to accepting and marrying other flavors.

Last fall, which was Maggie’s first year to experience the pear harvest, was (like many fruit harvests of 2008) overwhelming. Pears everywhere! A preponderance of pears.

I went totally overboard, bringing home a hundred and some odd—-making pear butter, pear vinegar, pear coffeecake, pear pie, pear chutney—-and still having pears to spare. They took over the kitchen!

This year, I have vowed to be more balanced. For my first pick, I brought home 20 pears. Now, that’s manageable! These country pears are most amenable to poaching; you can take them in any flavor profile direction you’d like. Try fresh ginger, brown sugar, and star anise. Or red wine, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Or vanilla beans and rum.

I had some local wildflower honey that was intensely floral; I was convinced it would add something unique to a pear dish. It went into my poaching liquid, along with a little white wine and orange zest.

A pleasing result—still very “peary” but with subtle layers of citrus and lavender.

These poached pear slices melded nicely in a brown sugar-walnut-ricotta layered tart using phyllo dough. Simple, crisp, and not-too-sweet—the sort of treat that you can throw together, in a trice, and enjoy with a cup of coffee.

But these same poached pears would be rather elegantly partnered on the savory end, served with roast chicken or pork:all good food for the season.

More pear recipes to come……

peeling pears in Maggie’s kitchen

Honey Poached Pears
4 cups sliced pears
1/2 cup white wine
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup wildflower honey
zest and juice of 1 Orange
2 t. Vanilla

These are “shallow poached.” Place all ingredients into a large skillet, stirring and tossing so that everything is well mixed. Cook on medium heat, covered, stirring occasionally for 40 minutes. Pears and zest will soften. Uncover and reduce heat, allowing liquid to thicken, and poach for another 15 minutes.

Poached Pear-Ricotta-Phyllo Tart
2-3 cups Poached Pears
1 cup Ricotta, whipped until very smooth (immersion blender or food processor)
1 cup ground walnuts
1 stick melted butter
2 T. brown sugar
Phyllo Dough–thawed, so that it is maleable
pastry brush
8×8 baking pan

In a small bowl, mix ground walnuts, brown sugar and melted butter together. Open up roll of phyllo dough and brush it with this butter-walnut mixture and place it into the baking pan. Repeat with successive layerings, about 8 times, until a frilly crust is formed. Don’t worry if it doesn’t look even or pretty.
Layer in smooth ricotta.
Top with poached pears.
Garnish with walnut pieces.
Bake in 325 degree oven for 25-30 minutes, until phyllo crust is golden brown.
Serve warm or room temperature.

With its layers of phyllo, and ground walnuts with brown sugar, it is vaguely reminiscent of baklava. The ricotta adds a nice bridging layer between the crisp phyllo and the fruit.

For some time now, great recipes that pair sweet watermelon with briny feta cheese have been circulating the ‘net. I offer my version, of which I am especially fond, because:

1. The sherry vinaigrette, fresh oregano, and sharp red onion bring sweet and salt together with Spanish-Mediterranean flair. (The clusters of Thai basil growing in my garden make a pretty side garnish, and a chiffonade of a few leaves add a licorice note to the salad—an optional note—but a complementary one.)

2. I use award-winning Bonnie Blue Goat Feta (no old socks pungency here.) So fresh!

3. I am now an official Grower of Delicious Watermelons, and have the misguided sense that my watermelons are the best…

Here’s our watermelon story:
My brother’s graphic design studio is located in a little house in Berry Hill, whose sunny back yard has been the decades-long site of next-door neighbor Hooper’s garden. When Mr. Hooper, alas, moved into assisted living this spring, my brother proposed that Bill and I continue the Hooper tradition. I happily agreed, but was unable to get the garden tilled and planted until late June.

Volunteer plants and seeds donated by friend Maggie comprised our plantings.
Included was a cluster of sprouted watermelon seeds that I snapped up from her compost heap. At one end of our garden, we created four large mounds of dirt, amply spaced, into which Bill placed every sprouted seed.

“Don’t you think we should thin those?” I asked.

“No,” Bill said, packing fistfuls of seedlings into the dirt hills. “This will work out fine.”

Needless to say, in short order, the garden plot became overrun with dogged watermelon vines. They bullied the zucchini, trekked up cornstalks, snaked around sunflowers, venturing past the grassy garden edge and into the driveway. No stopping them!

In watermelon world, it’s a 90 day cycle from germination to ready-to-pick. And, in that time, hidden beneath all the greenery, those vines produced plenty of mighty nice melons. Late in the season, we have begun harvesting the wiley ones..

This beauty weighed in at 17 lbs….

…and was deeply colored and sugared!

Watermelon batons, sliced red onion, and fresh oregano, just before dressing

Sherry vinegar is distinctive and full flavored.

A pinch of coarse grain mustard helps to emulsify to vinaigrette, and gives the dressing a creamy yellow-brown hue.

Sherry Vinaigrette

3 T. Sherry Vinegar
1 t. Fresh Oregano
¼ t. Coarse Grain Mustard
¼ t. Salt
pinch Red Pepper Flakes
9 T. Olive Oil

Mix the first five ingredients in a small bowl. Whisk in the olive oil, one tablespoon at a time, until the vinaigrette emulsifies. Taste for seasonings and adjust if needed.

Watermelon-Feta Salad

3 cups Ripe Watermelon, cut into batons
½ medium Red Onion, sliced paper-thin
½ cup Feta cheese, crumbled
a handful Fresh Oregano leaves, chopped
Fresh Thai Basil (optional) chiffonade and garnish
Salt & Black Pepper

Salad Greens

recipe of Sherry Vinaigrette

Place cut batons of melon with sliced red onion and chopped oregano into a bowl. Sprinkle with a little salt and black pepper. Let it sit for 15 minutes and drain off any excess liquid. Pour sherry vinaigrette over the mix, add crumbled feta, and gently toss.

Place onto a bed of salad greens. Garnish with fresh herbs and serve. Makes 2 large or 4 regular servings.

The feta adheres nicely to the watermelon bites. As the salad sits, there is some pooling of watermelon juice, delicious for sopping.

A fine early fall lunch on Maggie’s back porch