Bear with me as I learn to use G's camera. I prefer to do things I'm already good at (I know that's so wimpy), so this means going beyond my comfort zone. That said, I'm having fun with it and it may ultimately mean more photos of dishes in progress, which might be helpful for you. Now, to artichoke hearts. I love the rich, buttery goodness that lies nestled within all those leathery leaves, the secret heart buried in this armored flower. But I'm not the hugest fan of the canned variety, finding them a bit slimy and strangely acidic, nor of the marinated kind in a jar that often swim in insipid oil. So what's a glutton to do but try to make them from scratch? Believe it or not, I couldn't find a recipe that didn't start with either big globe artichokes or a bag of frozen hearts. And what I had were these little beauties...
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A radish is a beautiful thing, something like a baby turnip with a bite. I'm sure you're already familiar with the classic European way of eating them with slightly softened butter and a sprinkling of coarse sea salt. What could be better? In his seminal cookbook, Nose to Tail Eating, British chef Fergus Henderson suggests that you eat your radishes in this manner and then follow that with a light salad made of their greens tossed with a vinaigrette. Sort of a vegetarian nose-to-tail approach, no? Thin slices of dark bread, buttered and layered with radishes and sea sat, make a fantastic sandwich. And I love an early summer salad of sliced radishes, blanched English peas and chopped preserved lemon, tossed with a couple of tablespoons of creme fraiche and maybe a chiffonade of mint. BUT, perhaps you have an aversion to radishes. Too strong you say; or maybe even too watery or too strange. For those of you in this camp, and any others who would like to branch out in new radish directions, may I recommend the delicious braised radish?
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Spinach plucked fresh from the garden is one of the great joys at this time of year. Thought to have originated in ancient Persia, Arab traders carried spinach into India, from where it was introduced to China. The earliest record of spinach is in Chinese from around 647 AD. When Catherine de’Medici, born in Florence, became queen of France, she insisted that spinach be served at every meal. That’s why, to this day, dishes made with spinach are known as "Florentine."Highly nutritious and full of antioxidants, spinach is a rich source of vitamin A, vitamin C, vitamin E, vitamin K, magnesium, manganese, folate, betaine, iron, vitamin B2, calcium, potassium, vitamin B6, folic acid, copper, protein, phosphorous, zinc, niacin, selenium and omega-3 fatty acids. No wonder it made Popeye so strong! Consider this: a 180 gram serving of boiled spinach contains 6.43 mg of iron, versus the 4.42 mg in a 170 gram ground beef patty. However, spinach contains oxalic acid, which binds with iron and prevents its absorption, so it is best eaten with foods high in vitamin C and calcium that help it be absorbed by the body. These include meat, fish, poultry, dairy, citrus, cantaloupe, strawberries, broccoli, brussels sprouts, tomato, potato, red peppers and white wine. The dark green, crinkly spinach is called Savoy; there is also a kind with flat, smoother leaves; and there is a hybrid type that is somewhere in between. To maximize its nutrients, spinach is best eaten when fresh, lightly steamed or blanched. But I also love it creamed (which means somewhat more cooked down) and raw in salads.
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This cardoon looks a lot like celery after some very hard living, but it’s actually from the artichoke family—Cynara cardunculus. You may recognize its linguistic similarity to Cynar, the Italian artichoke-based bitter aperitivo also produced by Campari. The plant is a perennial with silvery-green leaves and edible stalks that can grow up to 7’ tall. It has some sharp, almost razor-like edges that you don’t really want to brush up against. When the plant flowers, the blossom looks like a large purple thistle. Though it’s often regarded as a nuisance weed in North America, other more civilized cultures have long regarded it as good eating. When the Italians grow it, they bend the young stalks down to the ground and bury them in the earth. This blanches the stalks, reducing bitterness and making them so tender they’re even served raw with bagna cauda or a similar achovy-based sauce. Cardoons are also delicious fried or made in classic Roman style, blanketed with a buttery bechamel sauce, as in my recipe below.
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It’s so wonderful to be able to celebrate with friends. Nothing makes me happier than sitting down to a delicious meal with a group of pals in high spirits. If I have made the meal, so much the better. It’s a way for me to express my love, to share a little bit of myself. We had three weekend guests at our tiny cottage, and two more drove over from Stone Ridge for the evening. Because Stephanie is still watching her fat intake (like a hawk), I had to come up with a menu that was virtually fat-free yet could still satisfy all these gourmands. I don’t think anyone left the table feeling deprived.
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Anecdotal evidence would seem to indicate that they are scarce. Beets are one of the few foods that G will not eat. Perhaps the only food. And during a recent beet-themed recipe competition on Food52, it came out that many other women's husband are also beet-shunners. Most of them, in fact. You may have heard that even the President is in this camp. There are no beets in the White House garden. Sadly, there are rarely beets in my own kitchen—despite the fact that I LOVE THEM. As a child, I was known to eat beets until I peed pink. I can't resist their intensely earthy sweetness. G thinks they taste like dirt. This got me to thinking that maybe there was some sort of Y chromosome thing involved. (Although there are undoubtedly loads of Russian men slurping down their borscht.) Anyway, it's a mystery.Beets are rich in the highly desirable B vitamin folate, plus potassium, manganese and fiber. Purple, golden or candy-striped chioggia, their antioxidant properties are numerous. For a much more thorough nutritional analysis, see here. Beets pair wonderfully with sprightly greens, with goat cheese, walnuts and citrus zest. They are often eaten with horseradish, which cuts through their thick sweetness. I love eating beets just simply roasted and dressed with sherry vinegar and walnut oil. But this recipe for a beet rösti (an Editor's Pick on Food52) is a fun way to try to fool the man in your life into eating them. I used golden beets because they more closely resemble the potatoes used in the classic Swiss rosti, a pancake that's like a crusty slab of hash browns with a slightly creamier center.
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Back in the 80s, I was among the many crazy for The Silver Palate cookbook. That carrot cake! The famed chicken Marbella! I loved how the book was larded with personal stories and little tidbits of miscellany  in the margins (marginalia?). I adore lists. The recipes seemed somehow both cosmopolitan and accessible, perfect for dinner parties in my starter apartment on East Broadway. When I read about author Sheila Lukins' untimely death from brain cancer recently, I was deeply saddened. And I immediately went out and got some eggplant, picked handfuls of fresh basil from the garden and made this dish—one that will remain forever in my repertoire. It's excellent with grilled lamb but since I don't really like lamb, I eat it with grilled fish or tomatoes with feta.
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I can't stand the rain. OK, not true, but it did wreak a lot of havoc this summer. It was not the year for tomatoes, as you may have heard. Ahem. As you can see here, we started out with some very promising plants. They produced tons of big, gorgeous heirloom specimens that had us dreaming of fresh salads and BLTs and even an aspic or two. BUT THEN THE BLIGHT HIT. And wiped us out. That's right. All that compost and pampering amounted to a hill of beans when the torrential rains hit and the fungus came to town. (It's a strain of the very thing that wiped out all those potatoes in Ireland causing the famed famine.) From one day to the next, we went from tomato-rich to tomato-destitute. No love apples for us. One plant of yellow cherry tomatoes survived, bless her feisty little heart. If you've been luckier, then this recipe is for you.
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