The RAMParts of Spring

There are "harbingers" (I DO love that word) of every season: the things that let you know: ITS HERE!!!! And they change from place to place. Here in NYC, for example, the flowering of the street pear trees is a biggy. So is the flowering of the occasional cherry tree. We DO have them. And my favorite, the magnolia trees. These old birds (magnolias are prehistoric ya know) just sort of strike me as "arboreal flamingos," with their brash pinks and shocking whites. And other places have others. For example, as I began to write this, I heard a very disturbing story. This weekend, there will be an open rattlesnake hunt in a city in Texas. The three people who shoot and kill the most rattlesnakes qualify for a "rattler olympics" later in the year, with an award of a gold, silver and bronze rattle.

Well, I don't know about you, but that rattles me. Whether you love snakes (I do), or don't, doesn't that kind of make you feel sick, and sorry for the people who do it? It's very unkind, but I hope one of them gets bitten. HARD.

Ok, back to food harbingers. Spring is officially here in NY, but the first true "field crops" won't be around for a while. One of the earliest ones is ramps, or wild leeks. These little tiny guys strike me as a cross between a cultivated leek, and a lilly of the valley plant. Their aroma, which is wickedly pungent, and almost fecal, is intoxicating to me. I'm not sure if they grow in the west, although I have eaten them there. I think that this is something that California actually flies in from the East Coast. Like I said, it's a wild food. It does not cultivate, so any that we get are foraged.

Interestingly enough, there is what foragers call a "leek line." The first ones show up in the Carolinas, and then they gradually make their way north. I understand from someone, from whom I just bought a bunch, that the "line" is currently in West Virginia. I think that means probably another two or three weeks before we see the local ones, but with their being available, it's time to use them.

If you find them, you can substitute ramps just about anyway you would use regular leeks. You may want to use a smaller quantity, though, because they are very pungent. They take well to "softening" flavors, like in the recipe I give you here. The one thing you DO have to watch for is the outer skins. Even small, little guys like these have a tough, very indigestable skin. They slip off easily, but you do have to do it. It looks a lot like a tiny onion skin.

This is one of my favorite recipes for leeks, and it gives me a chance to discourse about "pestos" generally. We all know the standard basil pesto, right? Well, when summer is at its peak, I'll teach you how to make it really really well, but right now, I wouldn't pay a penny for the basil in the market. "Pesto", however, simply means "paste." So you can make a pesto out of just about anything. One of my favorites is sage mixed with parsley (sage is too strong to use all on its own). You can also do one with sundried tomatoes, one with mushrooms, oh, there are dozens of possibilities.

This is basically a ramp pesto. Sometimes I add some toasted walnuts to the mix, and sometimes I don't. It comes down to who I'm cooking for. For Guy and myself, there's no need for the walnuts. If you have a more timid group, cut the flavor with walnuts or something else. Here it comes.

You'll need half a pound of leeks. That's a lot of them, at least about 30. Get a big pot of water ready and bring it to a boil, and add some salt. While the water is coming to temperature, slip those outer skins off of your ramps. Then be ready to move fast because you're going to put in the ramps, and cook them... for three seconds.

Why? Okay, I'll tell you. The three seconds breaks up the fibers just enough so that they will puree well, and it also takes just a bit of the edge off of the flavor. You will want that, I promise. So pull them out after three seconds (and with that little bit of time, you can do it in batches), and when you're done, chop them coarsely. Then, dump them into a blender, with some lemon zest that you've grated (I use a lot: maybe the zest of a whole lemon), as well as 1/4 cup of olive oil. Have more of this handy. Take half a cup of the water from the pot, and put that into the blender too. Then puree. You may find this too thick. If you do, add another quarter cup of oil, and if it's still too thick, take some more of the pasta water - up to a cup, and add it gradually until you have the texture you want. If you ultimately decide it's too thin, then you may want to thicken it with some ground walnuts. Taste it. It won't be as strong as you thought it will be, and it will need salt, and perhaps you'll want a splash of lemon juice. Both good.

Now, look at that color. Just like the asparagus soup, it's got that "essence of green" that seems to call out "LOOK MA. IT'S SPRING."

Yes, to me the colors of spring are bright green: the green of asparagus, snap peas, ramps, shelling peas, and the bright, almost shocking pinks of magnolias, peach and cherry blossoms, rhubarb and strawberries. I cannot honestly say that spring is my favorite season - that honor goes to autumn, but the colors of spring are my favorite. It's almost as if Nature is offering you a reward for getting through the greys, the blacks, the whites of winter with a blaze of bright, pure, sensual colors.

Enjoy them. Soon, these sharp, strong pastels will give way to the majestic dark colors of summer, and you'll have to wait another year. Eat em while you got em.