Did you know that nasturtium means "nose-tweaker"? This lovely massing plant produces a rather sharp oil, similar to that of watercress. Tropaleoum, as it's formally known, has showy, brightly-colored flowers and proliferates wildly all summer long in even the most neglected gardens. It's an edible plant, and the flowers are often tossed into salads where they impart a pleasantly peppery bite. The unripe seed pods—which can best be observed by picking up the massing plant and examining its underside—have a rather more intense flavor, almost like horseradish. They can be pickled in a simple brine and used as you would capers, or any spicy pickle. This means they pair well with cheese, or can successfully be tossed into anything eggy or creamy.
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The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, tied it up, helped awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out the picnic basket. The Mole begged to be allowed to unpack it all by himself. He took out all the mysterious packets one by one and arranged their contents, gasping Oh my! Oh my! at each fresh surprise. from "The Wind in the Willows" by Kenneth GrahameWould it shock you to know that the word "picnic" actually derives from the French word "pique-nique"? It dates all the way back to 1692, although I imagine this was a tradition that first began with Joe Caveman gnawing on a wooly mammoth bone while perched in some bucolic spot far from the reach of the saber-tooth tiger. Whether pique-nique is actually based on the verb piquer (to pick or peck), with the rhyming nique meaning "thing of little importance," is in doubt; the Oxford English Dictionary says the word is of unknown provenance. This fresh-air practice reached a new height of popularity after the French Revolution, when royal parks opened to the public for the first time and the newly enfranchised citizens chowed down on hallowed ground. As much as I love to spread a blanket in a meadow, there's also something to be said for staging a picnic at home—on your own lawn, on the living room floor, or even (gasp) in your bed! All you need are a big, beautiful cloth, extraordinary fixings and the right companion.
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The weather upstate has been so strange and variable—an early heat spell, followed by cold, then way too much rain and not enough sun—that there has been disappointingly little progress with the plants. The mint patches are lush, the shiso, sage and lemon balm are doing well, and the first squash blossoms have appeared, but the cucumbers have scarcely put out a few tendrils. New Jersey has been luckier, however, and there were already piles of newly picked Kirbys at the farmers market in Union Square last week. I bought about 8 pounds in preparation for our annual pulled pork fest on the 4th. Pickles are essential for barbecue! They're a traditional counterpoint to all that fatty meat, and really aid in its digestion. You may remember from last year that I make both dill and bread-&-butter chips. The dills are lacto-fermented, which means all you have to do is slice them up and put them in a jar with salt and whatever spices you like and let them sit on the counter for a few days. Nature will do the rest, creating the right natural bacteria to give your pickles their requisite tang.
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I know I'm always droning on about making your own this and growing your own that. My life must seem like some sort of Laura Ingalls Wilder fever dream. The truth is, between one thing and another, things are pretty hectic here, too. Just 'cause I'm a country gal, it don't mean I got all the time in the world. But I do what I can, and I can when I can. Don't be put off by putting up! (OK, I'll stop now.) Seriously, just because you don't have the time or inclination to be canning pint after pint of jams and pickles, doesn't mean you can't throw together a quick batch just to keep in the fridge. Skip the whole "canning" step entirely! Make one jar of chutney or one pint of pickles. Here, for instance is less than half a pound of garlic scapes I picked up at the farmers market. I decided to pickle them and the whole process took about 15 minutes. You can do this.
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I confess to being a little overwhelmed. Wait, did I confess to that already? It doesn't feel like things have eased up much. But I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead, as the saying goes. And I ain't dead yet. But I am a bit behind. So this recipe for pickled ramps is coming at you at a time when the farmers markets are no longer overflowing with wonderful wild leeks. Still, it works just as well with scallions which are now in abundance. One of the best things about these pickles—aside from the pungent, sweet-tart, slightly crisp ramps (or scallions) themselves—is the leftover brine. I have been using mine for salad dressing. Whisked with a bit of mustard and some olive oil, it's perfection. It's also great to dirty up your martini. Ice cold gin, a little pickled ramp brine and maybe even a slim ramp slung over the side of your glass.I love them with cheese! Above, they're arranged on top of ricotta-smeared rye with a few sprouts and a good sprinkling of red sea salt. I chopped up a few and plopped them into my latest quesadilla. It's a good idea. You can also fold them into omelettes, toss them into salads, stir them into mashed potatoes and use them as a garnish for cold soups. I think you get the idea. Pickled ramps are easy, versatile and just one in a series of homemade condiments coming your way.
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I'm excited for the 4th of July! Looking forward to our 3rd annual Pulled Pork Fest. We'll be smoking three Boston butts this year (plus a few kosher chickens) and we always have all the requisite fixings on hand. For North Carolina style, that means cheap white buns (I'll pass), cole slaw (two kinds, with and without mayonnaise), and pickles. Bread-&-butter are my favorites, though we'll also have dills since this is a New York crowd. This year, the pickles are homemade, and I've already gotten started because they're best when they can sit around for a few days, acquiring more flavor. I decided to make the bread-&-butters with alternative ingredients, and then I got all insecure and thought they came out too salty, and not sweet enough, and I got another 4 pounds of kirbys to make a new batch. But two independent taste testers convinced me otherwise, even after a side-by-side tasting with a jar of commercial pickles. Too sweet, they said. Not as interesting as yours. So here you go, bread-&-butter pickles made with a relatively small amount of rapadura sugar, raw cider vinegar and some traditional spices. I'm making the dills today, a lacto-fermented version, so I'll let you know how those turn out.
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This is not about that traditional English dish of fried leftover vegetables. I'm actually referring to the lovely sounds that emerge from the jar when you make your own sauerkraut. More broadly, in fact, I want to tell you about the joys of lacto-fermentation. WTF?! you cry. What is she going on about now?! Yes, it's more of my kooky DIY. But you can't tell me that you don't love pickles. And this is one way to make them that doesn't require all that boiling and canning hassle. This is just you, your vegetables and some free-floating healthy bacteria! Lactobacilli are lurking everywhere, on the surface of all living things, especially anything growing on or near the ground. Put them to your own use and you've got all manner of delectable pickles like kimchi, sauerkraut and half-sour dills. Make no mistake: lacto-fermentation is not the same as pickling in a vinegar brine. I was amazed to see that my sauerkraut was simply salt, caraway seeds and cabbage; a dry mixture that, over a period of days, became juicy and sour and fragrant.
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I've had some positive feedback on my round-ups of ingredients, so here's a new one for you. This time it's vinegar, in some of its many permutations. As children, my sisters and I called each other "Vinegar Pig." This originated from our love of drinking glugs of white vinegar straight from the bottle while dyeing Easter eggs. I've never been one to shy away from sour pickles or throat-scratchingly tart salad dressings, and I'm still known to take a swig from the bottle of balsamic, but I think by now I've learned how to employ vinegar to slightly more subtle effect.
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