the fruit that dare not speak it's name - again

Last time around, I told you how when the kumquats come in, I know that citrus season is on the right hand side of the bell curve. The Citrus Bomb has assured me that as long as she's got, I got, so that's nice to have "in the bag." But while the kumquats are here, let's play.

Now, I still stand by my view that straight men can't say this word. CB's hunky husband can, but I think we have to grant a double exception here. First of all , he's a citrus grower, so DUH. And second, he's from California. Ok, third. He's married to CB. To know CB is to know WHY this is so important to understand.

SO, onto kumquats. Last year, I posted a recipe for candying them. In fact, I posted two. And I like them both. But this year, I learned a new way , that is so much easier, that I want you to have this one. I'm sending it to CB as well.

I found this recipe in one of the Culinary Institute of America's cookbooks. I had gone there for the first time, with the intrepid Kevin (the inspiration for this blog), and his partner Chuck. In the bookstore, I found a coupla books that I "had to have." After all, you can never have enough cookbooks even if you never open them. Most of what I saw in the big cookbook was ho -hum. But wouldn't you know it, the book fell open to this recipe. And I tried it. Now, they're in the fridge, waiting to be put on a dessert when our friend Tobin comes over tomorrow. (NO JOKES about the dessert CB. I KNOW you read this).

Ok, let's candy some kumquats. Cut them in half, lengthwise, and fill a dry measuring cup until you have two cups worth. If you happen to see big ugly seeds jutting out, get rid of them, if you don't, don't start gouging the fruit for seed removal, it ain't worth it. Now, cover the fruit with cold water, and bring it to a boil, for a minute. Then pour off the water, and repeat this with fresh water, two more times.

While that's happening, make a syrup of 2.25 cups of white sugar, and a cup of water. This is heavy syrup. In fact, it is the heavy syrup of those ghastly cling peaches in heavy syrup we all had when we were kids. But ours is gonna be good.

When the fruit has been boiled the three times and the syrup is ready drop in the fruit. Bring it to a bare simmer, and then cook away at that bare simmer for - ready for this - AT LEAST an hour and a half. No joke. do something else, but do this. You'll be glad you did. When you're done, the skin will pierce easily. Let the fruit cool in the syrup.

If you leave the fruit under the syrup, it can stay forever. You will have more than you need though, so this is what I would suggest. I suggest you pour off half of it, and boil it, at a fairly high heat, until it's reduced by half. Now, you have a great dessert syrup for a plain cake, for a panna cotta (which is how I used it, ) or even for a kumquat soda. The candied fruit will continue to leak syrup too, and that's fine.

Now doesn't that sound like a great thing to put over vanilla ice cream, or the torso of your favorite ballet dancer (I know, I know. I never stop).

Lest you think that kumquats are just for decorating dancers, I will repeat my favorite use of them in salad. Cut off the tips on both ends, and then slice them thinly at an angle. You need about 3-4 per person, and a head of endive per person. Slice the endive thin, mix it with the raw kumquats, and make a fairly light, champagne vinegarry type of dressing.

You have a great salad there, that you can "enliven" with some strong bleu type cheese if you like, although it really doesn't need it.

As I said, last year, in May

kumquatkumquatkumquatkumquatkumquat

something easy, by way of Martha

Ciao ragazzi. Yes, I have been delinquent and I apologize. There are many reasons. One is, what I have been cooking, you already know. The seasons are turning, the spring is coming in and we are eating ramps, wild greens, and all of the other goodies. We begin to get ready for the end of the citrus season, and there will be "fun with kumquats" coming up again. (Remember: straight men can't say that word. Try them. You'll see). And some other recipes.
Another reason - now all of you who know Annalena personally, do not faint - is that Annalena has joined a gym. Yes, for many reasons, at the ripe old age of 51, Annalena has gotten over his anxieties from college, and for the first time, in over 30 years, has joined the masses. He has a trainer, named Emily, whom he already adores, and is hopefully on a path to better health, and reducing the odds of being sick and so forth. It will be a new journey, and the journey, not the end, is the goal, they tell me.
Oh well, enough explanation. Now, let's cook. Last week, I was interested enough, in the thought of making my own chicken broth, to actually do so. There were reasons conspiring to do this: my friend Matt L, who has many nicknames, sent us some homemade matzoh ball soup. The stock was homemade. I was intrigued. Chicken has a season, you know. And if you eat locally, chicken this time of year, means hen, or older fowl. The newly hatched eggs are just not old enough to be used as eating chickens yet. Older fowl: stock. And although I have expounded on the joys of good, storebought broth, I will be urging you to try your own, soon.
An advantage of making your own broth, or stock, is you have cooked chicken left over. And when you have leftover chicken, you have dinner. Or lunch. That's what we're making here today, a lunch dish, culled from one of Martha Stewart's publications. I do not subscribe to much of what this woman espouses, but this is a good recipe. It's easy. It's filling. It's delicious. And versatile. Make it. If you don't have left over chicken from making stock, get some cooked chicken. Remember how I told you never roast one chicken if two will fit in your oven? Hmmmm??

Okay , here's what you need. You need a package of tortillas, be they flour, corn, or whole wheat, or whatever. You need at least ten. Sometimes you'll get twelve in a package. You also need the meat (no skin) of a chicken. Don't be fussy. Just pull it off the bones. If you don't have that, what I suggest is that you get four pounds of chicken thighs, put them in a pot with a carrot, some celery and pepper, and cook them at a slow poach for thirty minutes. Take out the chicken and use it for this, and use the broth for rice, or something else. You now have your tortillas, and your roughly broken up chicken meat.
You also need a cup and a half of salsa. Make your own, if you like, but if you have a jarred variety you like, use it. We're going for convenience here. I used some left over habanero sauce, some left over mushroom sauce, and a bunch of cilantro, all whizzed in the food processor. You also need a small can of those green chilis that you find in the mexican food section. The chopped variety. You also need a cup of sour cream, or creme fraiche Finally, shred about two cups of cheese. Smoked cheddar, monterey jack, peppered jack, w hatever you like.

Preheat your oven to 375. Put 1/3 of your tortillas down in an 8x8 or 9x9 glass pan. Toss 1/3 of the chicken over it, together with a QUARTER each of the sauce, peppers, cream, and chilis. (in fact, you can mix them up and make it easier on yourself if you like). Sprinkle a quarter of the cheese over this.

Continue with two more layers. You will have sauce mixture and cheese left over, and pour it all over the last layer. Put the cheese on last. Get this into the oven, and bake for 30-45 minutes. The cheese will get bubbly and brown, and this will smell awfully good.

And you are done. You have a meal for four people with some veggies.

I imagine you could do this with cooked beef, too, or shredded pork, maybe even leftover ham. I like this. I always have jars of savory sauce around, and tortillas in the freezer. Go to town. Make your own variation, and share it with me, the way I shared with you.

Now, I have to go and deal with some very sore muscles . Oi. You gym rats, WATCH OUT

Diving into endives

I can't believe I haven't written about these critters. They are really one of my favorite vegetables.

You have probably seen them, either in their whole form, where they look like little white rockets with green tips, or s liced up, in fancy salads. Endives are, in may ways, the result of the application of science to plants, and the process that is used to grow them, has actually given endive it's name, in Belgium, which is "witloof." It is "the Witloof method" that results in these guys.

Endives grow out of a root. If you leave the root to grow outside, in the wild, you get a bitter green that we call chicory. That confuses things, because endives, radicchio, and a few other vegetables, are known as "chicories." They come into their own in the winter, and there is no question that they are bitter. Endive is, in my opinion, less bitter than radicchio, but it has traces of that bitterness about it. Cooking eliminates it. Some people simply cannot handle the raw bitter taste of the radicchio family members, but endive is often eaten raw, in salads with richer flavors, like bleu cheese, toasted nuts, and so forth. I like it just plain, in a mild vinaigrette.

If you are going to use endive in a salad, and you should, prepare it as close to your meal as possible. The leaves, once cut, will immediately start browning. I get over the problem by covering the cut leaves with another green, and that seems to slow the process. An acid coating doesn't seem to do it for me.

But today, I'm going to write about COOKING endive. It's something we don't think about a lot: if a vegetable is associated with salads, you're not supposed to cook it, are you?
Well, who wrote that rule? Lettuce soup is terrific, as is watercress soup. Grilled radicchio? Yes, please. Endive, braised in butter, is superb. But last night, I tried it another way.

I had a large piece of fresh codfish. Both Guy and I love cod, but this tastes like a white fish: it's firm, it's mild, and it needs help. I was about to make an endive salad and thought "Hmmmm. Why not? Here's what followed.

I had made up my mind to cook the cod "papillote style," that is, wrapped in foil and baked at a high temperature, with other goodies in the foil packet. Those goodies, last night, were butter, salt, pepper, a bit of left over sauvignon blanc, and two finely sliced endives. I wrapped the whole thing in a big p iece of foil, and baked it, at 400, for twenty minutes.

I always love the smell of the vapors when I open a papillote package, and it was no exception last night. The 20 minutes of cooking had softened the endive, and the cut up slices had cooked down almost to a sauerkraut like texture. Baking brings out endive's sweetness. With the butter, it was a wonderful, vegetably sauce that served the fish wonderfully. I cannot tell you what a success this was.

Very easy, very tasty, and ultimately, rather healthy for you. Papillote style fish is a great way for busy people to prepare a fish dinner that takes little time and leaves little mess. The big issue is: what else goes into the packet? SO, now you have another idea. Try it. I think you'll be very happy.

Everything old is new again: hello ramps

Yes, we live and work in cycles, dont' we? My favorite movie is Amacord (well, my favorite ITALIAN movie). It opens with the puffball flowers sending their spores into the air, and ends with that image as well. A year has gone by and a lot has happened. But ultimately, nature does what nature does, and what happened a year ago, happens again.
And here we are, with ramps. Last year, I wrote about ramps on April 11. And now, I got my ramps, man, and I am h appy. Yes I am. I spent part of the weekend making the ramp pesto (I wrote about it last year: go look it up). And it's GOOD. And also making my own riff on a California classic. I made ramp soup.
Ramps remind me, very much of young garlic, or, as we foodies call it "green garlic." This is the garlic that hasn't bulbed yet, and is still very soft and, well, green. And it's good. It is VERY good. We don't have enough of that in the east yet, although they are glorying in it in California (I hate them). But there I was, with a whole bunch of ramps, and began thinking "you know, the soup would probably work. " And it does.
Ramp soup, or g reen garlic soup, or any of the soups that rely on these early, more than slightly pungent greens, have a few things in common: fat - usually butter. It seems to be a very good pairing with them, way better than oil. Starch. Usually potatoes, although I would have loved to have tried this soup with pastina. And also, a few soup veggies. Usually, onions and celery.

Ramps can be expensive. You need a lot of them for this soup, but hey, this is sort of a Buddhist soup: it's transient. In about a month, you won't be able to make it anymore. So enjoy it whilst the moment is here.

You need between 3/4 and a pound of ramps. You will also need half a pound of potatoes. Either use the red boilers, or something like yukon golds. A stick of unsalted butter, please, and two onions, chopped.

The hardest thing you will do for this soup is prepare the ramps. They are dirty, and you'll have to wash them for a while to get all the crud off. And then you'll have to cut off the roots at the base. They're entangled, tough and not edible. Try to be patient and cut as close to where they join the plant as possible. Don't waste too much. Once you've got the roots cut off and the buggers cleaned, YET MORE WORK. Make a cut to separate the leaves from the white stems. You want to do this so that you can cook them properly. The stems take more time than the leaves. Once you've got two piles, cut them coarsely, but no bigger than bite size.

Now, let's make soup. Melt that stick of butter slowly. Then add the onions and some salt. You want to cook the onions until they are translucent, but no more. Add a few stalks of chopped celery if you like, but it's not necessary. After you do that, add the chopped ramp stems. Let them cook for a minute or two, and then add a quart of chicken stock. Add the leaves, and peeled, roughly chopped potatoes to this, and then let it simmer for about twenty minutes , or until the potatoes are soft.

And you know what, YOU ARE DONE. You may find the soup too strong, in which case, you can add some water to dilute it, but you don't have to.

This is a good, substantial soup. It will make you smile. And it's good for you too. It's bright green and it tells you "SPRING IS HERE!!!" And it is . The redbuds are in bloom, as is the forsythia, and the magnolias are just at the edge. The street pear trees are abloom, and I can hear the them from Amacord playing in my head.