Wild Oregon Salmon and Fiddlehead Ferns
First of the spring wild Oregon salmon.
Fiddlehead ferns fresh at the Hillsdale Farmer's Market in Portland.
No energy to write now, as I’m still recovering from an early a.m. flight back from my first (and likely last) trip to Vegas. Somehow a meal of foraged and native Oregon ingredients seemed the perfect antidote to Sin City’s tawdriness. So I mustered all the strength I had to get to the Hillsdale Farmers’ Market after the flight landed in Portland. Friend Rebecka from Gathering Together Farm was there and co-host Miriam met me at the market, there in her neighborhood. The fiery coral, first-of-spring salmon called to me, and the freshly foraged fiddlehead ferns and mushrooms. The salmon I rubbed with cracked juniper berries (listening to The Splendid Table inspired me), and then sealed with creme fraiche a la Molly Wizenberg. For the side dish, I sauteed delicate yellow foot winter chanterelle and shitake mushrooms in my home-cured guanicale with onions and garlic, then added the blanched ferns. A simple antidote to a place of excess. Something about being in Vegas makes one want to fast, maybe with one of those lemon juice cleanses. We’ll see if I have the will-power.
Corned Beef
My corned beef: a less appetizing shade of grey, but still just as delicious.
I need to get my bloggy self back into gear! Please excuse the hiatus! I’ve been churning out stories for KLCC in Eugene and preparing to teach community college again.
Thankfully, today I got to return to my passion for food with a KBOO special St. Paddy’s Day episode on corned beef. Two excellent guests joined us for the discussion. Ken Gordon, of Kenny & Zuke’s Delicatessen, joined us in-studio, and food writer (and Portland native) Matthew Amster-Burton called in from Seattle. His new Spilled Milk podcast recently addressed this topic. We even got to indulge in luscious corned beef and rye sandwiches on-air. We’ll post the audio soon.
To prepare for the show, I brined my own brisket to make my first corned beef ever. I got a small 2lb. brisket from Deck Family Farms through Corvallis Local Foods. For the brine, I used the recipe Matthew Amster-Burton recommended. But I didn’t have the hours to slow-braise he called for. So I boiled it in stout and then added tons of root vegetables (potatoes, parsnips, carrots, celeriac and rutabaga) and cabbage and onions, as The Oregonian recommended. The tender sliced brisket was delicious with Weinsteiger horseradish mustard and the freshly ground prepared horseradish my friend Rebecka made. I hope corning my own brisket becomes an annual tradition. I love how effortless curing and fermenting is. Maximum taste from just slathering on a salt/spice rub and letting it sit.
Nitrates, or curing salts, keep the meat pink. (courtesy of seriouslygood.kdweeks.com/2006/01/corned-beef.html /Flickr Creative Commons)
False Spring
The shocking pink flowering quince have blossomed.
This shaggy shrub needs pruning.
Just when we thought spring had sprung, near freezing temperatures plunge us back down again. But apparently that’s typical for Oregon in March. I’m finally learning the rhythm of her seasons.
We had balmy weather this past month, making it hard to fathom the snowpocalypse that descended on our loved ones back East. But then snap! it turns cold here and Mom’s on the phone from Virginia, talking about her beautiful, seems like the upper 60s, spring day.
It’s hard to figure out how unpredictable spring affects one’s garden. Survival of the fittest, right? I was concerned about the rhubarb and strawberries and peas growing most vigorously, so I threw some plastic bags over them. Maybe I’ll build a plastic hoophouse for protection, oh, one of these days. For now, I’m a laissez-faire gardener. So I fitfully sowed tiny carrot, radish, lettuce and spinach seeds, allowing them to come up where they like. With them and the onions, I tend to oversow seeds too tightly together. It’s just so hard to fathom each will become a full-size vegetable. I’ll just have to remember to thin when they sprout. Now if that cold would only kill off those ubiquitous garden slugs I tend to murder almost daily.
The window treatment.
Speaking of cold, we finally got some much-needed weatherization work done on our 1939 house today. I’m most excited about scrapping the drafty aluminum sliding basement windows, which were replaced with much more insulated (and easier to climb out of in case of fire) vinyl ones. We care because we sleep in the room. We also had insulation blown into the attic. I have only kind words so far about Total Comfort Weatherization, which is also supposed to help us with paperwork for all the state and federal tax credits once the work is done.
Lucky to live next to master gardeners.
Delicate Jersusalem Artichoke-Meyer Lemon-Dungeness Crab Soup
The sunchoke soup, garnished with crab, sourdough breadcrumbs, roasted meyer lemons and chives.
Roasted Meyer Lemon: The Citrus I Still Don't Quite Love.
This sunny, citrusy soup caught my attention in the excellent newsletter (chock full of recipes) the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market organizers in San Fran put out. I had nutty knobs of local Jersusalem artichokes (or sunchokes) in the fridge, I wanted to sneak in some crab once more this season, and I’m always game to give Meyer lemons another chance.
The soup was subtle yet refreshing. The puree didn’t complete with the sweet, mellow crab meat. I still don’t love Meyer lemons (they have some faint mustiness, kind of like kumquats, that’s off-putting). But they caramelized upon roasting, giving the soup a welcome tang. I didn’t quite understand the recipe (was I supposed to strain the cooking water off…I didn’t) but it still came out well. I fitfully added some mustard, capers, tarragon vinegar, white wine, little dribs and drabs of things, to punch up the broth.
We got quite a deal on the one cooked crab Dan shelled for the meat. Gotta love Richey’s Market-we’ll be sad to see it go when/if Market of Choice comes in. $5 a pound seemed like a good deal. Fortunately, it only takes a few times for me to have my crab fill until next season.
Yes, Virginia, There is Soul Food in Oregon
Not bad for cafeteria food: barbecued brisket, biscuits, jambalaya, smoky greens and mac 'n' cheese.
I’ll admit I probably like the idea of soul food more than the actual greasy, stick-to-your-thighs dishes. Still, I sought it out at Amy Ruth’s and Manna’s while reporting on Harlem, and I bemoaned the surprising dearth of restaurants serving it up in Baltimore. And in this lily white land of culinary plenty, I’ve often said the one cuisine we lack is Southern-style soul food.
Yet this week, all those staples–fried chicken and barbecued brisket, potato salad, mac ‘n’ cheese, stewed greens, fried catfish–were served up at a place you wouldn’t normally praise for its food. A college cafeteria. We’ve been more than pleased by the special fare prepared by OSU’s Dining Services, such as the Taste of Southeast Asia banquet we enjoyed for $7 last year. This week, their $8 Black History Month feast was even better. The only thing I didn’t like was the “tofu creole.” I should have known. Sounds wrong, doesn’t it? Even dessert–mini sweet potato and pecan pies and bananas foster–was delicious. Dan said the food was better than anything he had at Yale.
Speaking of Black History Month, check out our recent KBOO Food Show on the discrimination faced by black farmers here and nationwide. We had lots of folks call in and are quite proud of the show. And I’d welcome any recommendations of soul food to try here. We still need to get to Portland’s acclaimed Podnah’s Pit BBQ. And then there’s Papa’s Soul Food Kitchen in Eugene. But it’s tragic that Ted “Papa” Lee himself died unexpectedly before we go to go. I’m thankful we at least got to see Papa play the blues once right here in Corvallis, at Block 15.
Speaking of soul food: the local pork jowl I'm curing in the fridge. Too bad I don't feel like eating it anymore!
Stinging Nettles: Yes, You Can Eat Them
These vivid green common nettles are easy to spot, with their two oppositional leaves.
What a difference it makes to actually forage for nettles at the start of the season, as opposed to last spring when they were starting to undesirably go to seed. Foraging with Chef Intaba by the river in Willamette Park last Saturday, I was also much more confident in identifying the green stalks and didn’t confuse them with young blackberry leaves. I also came prepared with my tough purple kitchen gloves and thick rubber boots, the better to wade into the brambles. We snapped off just the young top nettle leaves, so hopefully they will replenish themselves over the next month. The picked raw leaves, which when blanched or steamed are like a sweet, more fibrous spinach, smelled like chlorophyll-laden green pepper in my bag. And when you steam them up, you can drink the remaining detoxifying green-black tea, supposedly good for your complexion and urinary tract. It’s vegetal and slightly sweet.
A good nettle patch: the green really stands out against the backdrop of brown leaves.
With the blanched, chopped leaves, I made a quinoa and bulgur greek salad and a spanikopita-like lasagna, with feta, ricotta, chopped nettle and dill for the filling. See other nettle recipe suggestions here and on Culinate here. I hear they make a good soup, with potatoes. Deborah Madison has a recipe that looks nice. But I think I’ll only get the urge to forage for nettles about once a season. I still prefer domestically-cultivated greens, such as kale and spinach. But foraging is a lot easier, and in some ways more rewarding, than gardening. Here’s to next year, Intaba!
Master forager Chef Intaba picked bagfuls.
Rhubarb Season’s A Comin’
Back from the Dead: Ruby-Red Rhubarb Stalks Emerging in the Garden.
I realized it was finally time to use that gallon-size bag of sliced rhubarb I had frozen when I saw the ruby-red stalks poking up through the mulch in the garden. I couldn’t get enough rhubarb last spring. I think I o.d.-ed on the stuff last April and May, returning home with big bunches of it every time I visited the farmers market. But I never touched that frozen bag of it last fall or winter. I think, as with asparagus and blackberries, and of course, fresh tomatoes, I just prefer to eat my heart out when it’s in season and then abstain until the fresh crop emerges the following spring or summer. That first fresh bite never tastes as good as their frozen counterpart from last season.
So before rhubarb arrives, I’m trying to use up the frozen stuff. I made a soupy strawberry-rhubarb crisp last night, with the frozen local strawberries I also ignored this winter. I might make rhubarb compote/syrup with the remaining chunks. The rhubarb crop should be early this year, if my garden is any indication. It’s amazing how the perennial plant completely dies back, disappears, when it gets cold, only to reappear again, through its mulchy mound, come February. But I might not crave the tart pie plant as much this spring, since I’m indulging in the frozen stuff now.
What will you make with it once rhubarb season begins? On second thought, maybe you should freeze some so once cherries are in season, you’ll have enough on hand to make this fabulous Bing cherry-rhubarb brown betty I discovered last season.
Neglected All Winter: My Frozen Local Rhubarb and Strawberries.
More Fermentation Fun: Kombucha
I had no idea brewing my own kombucha tea, that fizzy tonic that you shell out $3 bucks for at the health foods store, would be so easy. Brew up a gallon of tea, add a cup of sugar, some spices such as ginger and cardamom, and a 1/4 cup vinegar (thanks Dave Love) for extra mold control. Then add the squid-like culture (a symbiotic puck of yeast and beneficial bacteria) and let it ferment for a week. It gets increasingly fizzy and tangy as it matures. Kombucha has been associated with various health benefits, but also some risks, so brew it in a sterile environment and drink in moderation. For whatever reason, the age-old beverage really quenches the thirst, and to me, is highly addictive. Hey, making your own is becoming mainstream enough for the Chicago Tribune to blog about.
I first tasted that GT’s/Synergy kombucha in Baltimore and have since fallen for Kombucha Wonder Drink’s Asian Pear Ginger. There’s a lovely local kombucha brewed in oak barrels right here in Eugene. I tried it at a recent fermentation festival there. But nothing beats the convenience, thrift and satisfaction of brewing your own. Sally Fallon of the Nourishing Traditions cookbook and the Weston A. Price Foundation is a recommended source on how to brew your own.
Sample in a Jar: The Culture that Ferments the Kombucha.
Eugene-based Oak Barrel Kombucha: the Pineapple Flavor is Best
Homemade Kombucha: Good Enough to Drink from the Jar
Fungal Feast, Take Two
Chef Jack Czarnecki's famous white truffle oil: made with real wild Oregon ones, not the chemical lab-produced stuff.
It’s comforting to experience and blog about events we’re having the fortune to experience for the second time in 2010, as we’re well into our second year here. Like with the recent Oregon Truffle Festival and tonight’s Fungal Feast, also in Eugene, which we again attended this year with our mycologist neighbors, Joyce and Dan. The meal (except for the appetizer) was even better this year. Feel free to compare with last year’s review. I was especially excited since the guest chef staging the feast with the Lane Community College culinary students was none other than mushroom specialist Jack Czarnecki, owner of the world-famous Joel Palmer House (where my parents graciously took us for my birthday last year).
Followed by a truffle-infused cheese and salami salad.
A hedgehog mushroom and Yellowfoot winter Chanterelle soup
The meal began with rosemary ciabatta bread dipped in Czarnecki’s glorious white truffle oil, purportedly the only all-natural one manufactured with domestic truffles here in the U.S. Delicious as it was, we couldn’t bring ourselves to pay $30 to bring a small bottle of the oil home. I prefer to enjoy my truffles on rare special occasions. I wouldn’t want to get too used to these things, like the son of the Mycological mushroom distributor at our table who wrinkled his nose at truffles, complaining of “truffle breath” and the way they made him burp. That’s a burp that smells good to me. But when they’re past ripe, a rotting one, such as a rare Oregon Brown (Calapooia) truffle specimen I sniffed tonight, can smell putrid.
The entree: roasted pork loin with dried morels, with winter chanterelle-studded wild rice and an unusual sauerkraut-split pea-porcini mushroom puree on the side.
Buttermilk panna cotta with mapley candy cap mushroom syrup for dessert.
Though last year’s black truffle and gnocchi appetizer was more memorable, it was incredible in the salad tonight how refrigerating the salami and cheese with truffles allows the oils in the fat of the meat and cheese to absorb the fungi’s pungent aroma over a period of weeks. That’s the same process folks use to infuse butter or even eggs (through the shell!) with a truffle’s essence.
The entree was stellar; the Polish-influenced side dishes particularly unique. Dried morel mushrooms floated in a caraway-and-sweet pepper cream sauce bathing the perfectly-braised pork loin. Note to self: go foraging for morels when they appear in April. I fell in love with the creamy Polish kapusta, the humble sauerkraut and split peas dish Czarnecki gussied up with porcini mushrooms. The sweet peas temper the bracing brine of the kraut. I should make some with the jars of homemade kraut sitting in the fridge. This dish was sure new to me. And for dessert: panna cotta (like creamy Jello) topped with a candy cap mushroom syrup. I bid on some of these surprisingly maple syrup-flavored dried mushrooms (only when dried is that sweet aroma revealed). Neighbor Dan said mycologists think candy caps contain the same chemical compounds used in artificial maple syrup. But I did have a winning bid–only $3– for a small bag of hedgehog mushrooms. They’ll make a nice sauce for Valentine’s Day steak.
Pizza Science
PRI's Chef's Choice Mandala: Carmelized Eggplant, Curried Cauliflower, Peaches, Roasted New Potatoes...You Name It!
I finally branched out from our standby Poppi’s Anatolia and had myself an ethereal pizza experience for lunch (and leftovers for dinner) in Eugene today. For months friends have said we had to try the legendary, vegan-friendly Pizza Research Institute. My meal today confirmed the hype. Since it was no more expensive I sprang for the Chef’s Choice, a colorful mandala-like collage of 12-14 fresh toppings arranged on your pie. Today, this taste sensation included curried cauliflower, sweet carmelized eggplant, preserved peaches, grilled zucchini and piped florettes of ricotta. The zesty crust was flecked with herbs. Unusual homemade condiments–a coconut curry habanero sauce, a honey chipotle lime hot sauce–were on hand to dip your crust handles into. I started with a small simple salad, studded with toasted sunflower and black sesame seeds, dressed with a garlicky buttermilk poppy seed dressing recipe I’d love to obtain.
Especially revelatory was the candied eggplant topping. I mistook it for some type of piquant dried fruit. It made me want to try out a recipe for eggplant jam, such as the one Linda Ziedrich includes The Joy of Jams, Jellies. I’ll also definitely have eggplant the next time I’m at PRI. The chef recommended the chevre, marinated eggplant & carmelized onions pizza for next time. Next time indeed!
BaltimOregon to Maine 