Hello, friends.
You know what's tasty? Eggs and potatoes and onions, that's what. For this reason, I'm delighted to share with you a wonderful recipe from my dear friend, Gabriella. Gabriella's family comes from Argentina, where she learned to make tortillas. Not flat frisbees of flour or corn, but delicious, gluten-free egg dishes that are both simple and sublime. From my first bite, this tortilla had me rapt (pun absolutely intended).
Spanish Tortilla
Ingredients
olive oil
3 small-medium potatoes, thinly sliced
1 small onion, thinly sliced
8 eggs
salt and pepper
cheese to top
Instructions
1. Preheat over to 325˚.
2. Beat eggs and season with salt and pepper; set aside.
3. In oven-safe, 10-inch frying pan, sautée potatoes and onion in a splash of olive oil until soft, stirring often.
4. Pour eggs over potato mixture and bake for 10 minutes.
5. Flip on to plate.
6. Garnish as you wish--with tomatoes, cheese or herbs--or serve plain; it's delicious either way.
7. Enjoy.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Bodacious Broccoli
Well, winter is coming early to Colorado. Today, the slopes opened at Loveland, with A-Basin scheduled to follow on Friday. It's the earliest opening in 40 years, a sure sign that this is going to be a tough winter (right on the heels of a sub-par summer; we Coloradans definitely didn't get our 300 days of sunshine this year).
In spite of our recent hard freeze, I still have broccoli going in my garden, which is a good thing, because, when I'm missing the sun, or just feeling a little under the weather, I often turn to this delicious vegetable to cheer me and make me feel in good health.
Why broccoli? Well, it's outrageously good for you (rich in desirables like fiber, vitamins A, C, and K, calcium, and the cancer-fighting compounds cruiciferous veggies are famous for); moreover, I happen to find it delicious. I often stir fry it with ginger, carrots, and garlic, finishing it with a bit of lemon juice. But recently I tried something new, and it was so unbelievably tasty I had to share it with you.
Based on a recipe by the Barefoot Contessa, this roasted broccoli is sure to change the minds of broccoli balkers.
Festive Broccoli Florets
You'll need:
1-2 bunches of broccoli, cut into florets
Olive oil
Salt & pepper
2-4 cloves garlic, sliced or minced
Zest of one lemon
Juice of one lemon
Handful of pinenuts
Pecorino Romano (or any sharp Italian cheese, such as Parmesan) to taste, grated
1. Preheat your oven to 425˚
2. Arrange florets and garlic in a single layer in roasting pan.
3. Salt and pepper to taste.
4. Toss with olive oil to coat.
5. Roast for about 20 minutes, until broccoli is just beginning to brown.
6. Shift to serving dish and dress with remaining ingredients.
7. Serve immediately.
8. Devour with alacrity (but save some for me).
In spite of our recent hard freeze, I still have broccoli going in my garden, which is a good thing, because, when I'm missing the sun, or just feeling a little under the weather, I often turn to this delicious vegetable to cheer me and make me feel in good health.
Why broccoli? Well, it's outrageously good for you (rich in desirables like fiber, vitamins A, C, and K, calcium, and the cancer-fighting compounds cruiciferous veggies are famous for); moreover, I happen to find it delicious. I often stir fry it with ginger, carrots, and garlic, finishing it with a bit of lemon juice. But recently I tried something new, and it was so unbelievably tasty I had to share it with you.
Based on a recipe by the Barefoot Contessa, this roasted broccoli is sure to change the minds of broccoli balkers.
Festive Broccoli Florets
You'll need:
1-2 bunches of broccoli, cut into florets
Olive oil
Salt & pepper
2-4 cloves garlic, sliced or minced
Zest of one lemon
Juice of one lemon
Handful of pinenuts
Pecorino Romano (or any sharp Italian cheese, such as Parmesan) to taste, grated
1. Preheat your oven to 425˚
2. Arrange florets and garlic in a single layer in roasting pan.
3. Salt and pepper to taste.
4. Toss with olive oil to coat.
5. Roast for about 20 minutes, until broccoli is just beginning to brown.
6. Shift to serving dish and dress with remaining ingredients.
7. Serve immediately.
8. Devour with alacrity (but save some for me).
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Fantastic Fennel
Happy fall, my friends.
Today I wanted to share a new, favorite recipe that is guaranteed to make your house smell like heaven. Or perhaps much, much better. I'm serious. If real estate agents knew about this, they'd never make cookies or brownies again. This recipe could sell a house in an instant.
Let's start by getting to know our featured vegetable: fennel. You may know fennel from its frondy, dilly leaves, which sit atop celery-like stalks and are used for their powerful anise flavor. You may have also encountered fennel seeds, which are typically dried and show up as breath fresheners in Indian restaurants—or as flavor bombs in Italian sausage.
But fennel has been keeping a secret. Buried treasure, if you like. Just beneath the showy stalks, you'll find a white, fist-sized root that is at once sweet and savory. Mild and delicious, the fennel's bulb is a vegetable of the first order.
If you hate the taste of anise (think black licorice or Nyquil), fear not. Fennel has pleased the taste buds of many an anise-skeptic (myself included). Where anise is over the top, fennel is under the radar, a subtle flavor that sneaks its way into your nose, your mouth, and your heart. In a matter of a few minutes, you'll go from "What is this?" to "Wow, is this good."
I found this outrageously delicious recipe at Epicurious and made a few modifications, including cutting the size down for my smaller family. Enjoy it!
Pecorino-Roasted Fennel and Carrots
Today I wanted to share a new, favorite recipe that is guaranteed to make your house smell like heaven. Or perhaps much, much better. I'm serious. If real estate agents knew about this, they'd never make cookies or brownies again. This recipe could sell a house in an instant.
Let's start by getting to know our featured vegetable: fennel. You may know fennel from its frondy, dilly leaves, which sit atop celery-like stalks and are used for their powerful anise flavor. You may have also encountered fennel seeds, which are typically dried and show up as breath fresheners in Indian restaurants—or as flavor bombs in Italian sausage.
But fennel has been keeping a secret. Buried treasure, if you like. Just beneath the showy stalks, you'll find a white, fist-sized root that is at once sweet and savory. Mild and delicious, the fennel's bulb is a vegetable of the first order.
If you hate the taste of anise (think black licorice or Nyquil), fear not. Fennel has pleased the taste buds of many an anise-skeptic (myself included). Where anise is over the top, fennel is under the radar, a subtle flavor that sneaks its way into your nose, your mouth, and your heart. In a matter of a few minutes, you'll go from "What is this?" to "Wow, is this good."
I found this outrageously delicious recipe at Epicurious and made a few modifications, including cutting the size down for my smaller family. Enjoy it!
Pecorino-Roasted Fennel and Carrots
- 2 large or 3 small fennel bulbs, sliced
- 2 teaspoons fennel fronds, chopped
- 2 medium carrots, sliced
- 2 teaspoons garden thyme
- 1/4 cup Pecorino Romano, grated
(substitute with Parmesan or another hard Italian cheese, if you like) - 1/4-1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
If your fennel is a little dried out, toss it with a bit of oil. Layer fennel and carrots in well-oiled, 13x9x2-inch glass or ceramic dish, sprinkling with salt and pepper as you layer. Top with thyme, then cheese. Drizzle with additional oil. Bake at 375˚ until vegetables are tender and top is golden brown, about 1 hour. Sprinkle with fronds.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Horiatiki (The Real Greek Salad)
Hello friends.
Our rainy summer has made for a very slow growing season, so I'm just now beginning to get tomatoes trickling in from the garden. I have 12 or so heirloom varieties this year, including some old favorites (Black Krim, Cherokee Purple, Yellow Pear, Sungold, etc.) and some that are new to me (White Cherry and Old German, for example).
So far, the blue ribbon goes to the burgundy and dark green Black Krim. What a tomato. Dense, meaty, sweet, gorgeous and complex. It's the best fruit I've had this summer (forgive me, Western Slope Bing Cherries; you're a close second).
Now I know that fresh tomatoes make most people dream of Caprese, and why not? This layered meeting of tomato, basil and mozzarella fresca is a dreamy mouthful of summer. But if you're looking for a different way to feature your garden tomatoes this year (or would love to get another vegetable into your salad) may I suggest Horiatiki (ho-ree-AH-tee-key)?
I discovered Horiatiki when I spent several months studying history, art history and archaeology in Greece in 1989 and 1990. This is the true Greek salad, marked by the absence of salad greens, olives, peppers and other such nonsense. In Greece, most Horiatikis (country salads) consist of a simple blend of sliced tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, feta cheese, olive oil and salt and pepper (see my recipe below).
The combination makes sense. Though the industrial food machine would have us think that fresh salad greens are a year round affair, gardeners know that arugula, mesclun blend and the like can't handle the heat of the summer; they're really a delicacy of spring—and sometimes fall. The Horiatiki takes full advantage of two of summer's best producers: tomatoes and cukes. (Now, if only we could figure out a way to add zucchini!)
Before I share my recipe, let me add just one note on behalf of the poor, misunderstood tomato: please, my friends, never refrigerate this fine fruit. Chilling ruins the texture and takes the flavor right out. If your tomatoes are as good as mine, set them in the fruit bowl or in a shady spot on the counter, and they'll disappear long before they have the slightest chance of rotting.
These days, I make my Horiatiki this way:
Horiatiki
Combine equal parts cut up tomato (with juice) and cucumber pieces.
Top with crumbled feta cheese.
Drizzle with olive oil.
Season with sea salt and fresh ground pepper.
Our rainy summer has made for a very slow growing season, so I'm just now beginning to get tomatoes trickling in from the garden. I have 12 or so heirloom varieties this year, including some old favorites (Black Krim, Cherokee Purple, Yellow Pear, Sungold, etc.) and some that are new to me (White Cherry and Old German, for example).
So far, the blue ribbon goes to the burgundy and dark green Black Krim. What a tomato. Dense, meaty, sweet, gorgeous and complex. It's the best fruit I've had this summer (forgive me, Western Slope Bing Cherries; you're a close second).
Now I know that fresh tomatoes make most people dream of Caprese, and why not? This layered meeting of tomato, basil and mozzarella fresca is a dreamy mouthful of summer. But if you're looking for a different way to feature your garden tomatoes this year (or would love to get another vegetable into your salad) may I suggest Horiatiki (ho-ree-AH-tee-key)?
I discovered Horiatiki when I spent several months studying history, art history and archaeology in Greece in 1989 and 1990. This is the true Greek salad, marked by the absence of salad greens, olives, peppers and other such nonsense. In Greece, most Horiatikis (country salads) consist of a simple blend of sliced tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, feta cheese, olive oil and salt and pepper (see my recipe below).
The combination makes sense. Though the industrial food machine would have us think that fresh salad greens are a year round affair, gardeners know that arugula, mesclun blend and the like can't handle the heat of the summer; they're really a delicacy of spring—and sometimes fall. The Horiatiki takes full advantage of two of summer's best producers: tomatoes and cukes. (Now, if only we could figure out a way to add zucchini!)
Before I share my recipe, let me add just one note on behalf of the poor, misunderstood tomato: please, my friends, never refrigerate this fine fruit. Chilling ruins the texture and takes the flavor right out. If your tomatoes are as good as mine, set them in the fruit bowl or in a shady spot on the counter, and they'll disappear long before they have the slightest chance of rotting.
These days, I make my Horiatiki this way:
Horiatiki
Combine equal parts cut up tomato (with juice) and cucumber pieces.
Top with crumbled feta cheese.
Drizzle with olive oil.
Season with sea salt and fresh ground pepper.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Asparagus Season
Happy May, my locavores!
As you may know, it's asparagus season, and to celebrate, I had the pleasure of picking several pounds of sweet green stalks out at the farm last weekend (the farm is now looking for a few working members, so contact them immediately if you're interested). Asparagus makes that same delicious snap when you pick it as you may have experienced upon cleaning it. Place your hand as close to the ground as possible, break the stalk at the base, give it a rinse, and it's ready to eat.
Contrary to popular mythology, the thinner stalks are not less woody. In fact, they can be more woody if they are too immature. Any spears that are thicker than a pencil should be delicious, no matter how intimidating their girth, as long as they have not begun to branch out and go to seed. And if you're growing your own asparagus, don't pick from the same plant for longer than a few weeks. It needs the opportunity to strengthen its roots, and it can only do so by passing through its branching and seeding stages.
To wash asparagus, bend a few stalks at a time, letting them break naturally toward the bottom of the stalk, then rinse thoroughly. Just-picked asparagus can simply be rinsed and cooked, or eaten raw. Yum!
If you're not lucky enough to have garden or u-pick asparagus farm in your area, don't despair. It grows wild all over the U.S.; we've seen it from Colorado's highline canal to roadsides across Western Illinois. There's probably some growing wild near you. And if not, now's a great time to buy it at your local farmers' market (Cherry Creek just opened May 1) or grocery store.
I recently developed a new roasted asparagus recipe that knocked my socks off, thanks to the simple addition of a little bacon grease. Here it is, along with classic grilling instructions:
Asparagus Two Ways:
Roasted Asparagus
In a roasting pan, place clean asparagus in a single layer
Toss spears with a small amount of bacon grease
Drizzle with lemon juice or lemon-infused olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Roast at 400˚ for 8-10 minutes
Grilled Asparagus
Place clean asparagus in ziplock bag
Add 2-3 glugs of olive oil, two splashes of balsamic vinegar, and salt and pepper to taste
Grill judiciously (fresher asparagus should be ready more quickly)
As you may know, it's asparagus season, and to celebrate, I had the pleasure of picking several pounds of sweet green stalks out at the farm last weekend (the farm is now looking for a few working members, so contact them immediately if you're interested). Asparagus makes that same delicious snap when you pick it as you may have experienced upon cleaning it. Place your hand as close to the ground as possible, break the stalk at the base, give it a rinse, and it's ready to eat.
Contrary to popular mythology, the thinner stalks are not less woody. In fact, they can be more woody if they are too immature. Any spears that are thicker than a pencil should be delicious, no matter how intimidating their girth, as long as they have not begun to branch out and go to seed. And if you're growing your own asparagus, don't pick from the same plant for longer than a few weeks. It needs the opportunity to strengthen its roots, and it can only do so by passing through its branching and seeding stages.
To wash asparagus, bend a few stalks at a time, letting them break naturally toward the bottom of the stalk, then rinse thoroughly. Just-picked asparagus can simply be rinsed and cooked, or eaten raw. Yum!
If you're not lucky enough to have garden or u-pick asparagus farm in your area, don't despair. It grows wild all over the U.S.; we've seen it from Colorado's highline canal to roadsides across Western Illinois. There's probably some growing wild near you. And if not, now's a great time to buy it at your local farmers' market (Cherry Creek just opened May 1) or grocery store.
I recently developed a new roasted asparagus recipe that knocked my socks off, thanks to the simple addition of a little bacon grease. Here it is, along with classic grilling instructions:
Asparagus Two Ways:
Roasted Asparagus
In a roasting pan, place clean asparagus in a single layer
Toss spears with a small amount of bacon grease
Drizzle with lemon juice or lemon-infused olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Roast at 400˚ for 8-10 minutes
Grilled Asparagus
Place clean asparagus in ziplock bag
Add 2-3 glugs of olive oil, two splashes of balsamic vinegar, and salt and pepper to taste
Grill judiciously (fresher asparagus should be ready more quickly)
Monday, March 23, 2009
Hipster Brunch
Yesterday, a good friend turned us on to Root Down, a great new restaurant with a fabulous, retro vibe and great views near 20th and I-25. Though their menu doesn't go into Potager-style detail about the sources of their many delightful ingredients, the restaurant vows it "prefers to stay as organic, natural and local as possible," and based on the flavorful meal we shared there, I get the sense they mean it.
Joel and I shared an outrageously good and generously-sized roasted beet and shaved fennel salad, which featured mizuna, goat cheese, spiced nuts and a blood-orange spiked dressing. The tasty Parmesan quiche that followed was served with a perfectly-dressed, orange-infused arugula salad and a splash of pesto. To my mind, the quiche needed one more thing, and it wasn't pesto. Maybe sun-dried tomatoes? Still, the custard was beautifully textured and the nuanced tang of the cheese was splendid. Probably the best quiche I've had in a restaurant (my quiche is the best, sorry restaurants!) since that charming bistro on Evans near DU closed about nine years ago. Wonder what that wonderful chef is up to these days...
Anyway, speaking of quiche, here's my take on it. First of all, if you make the best pie crust in the world—if crust is your point of pride—go ahead and make your own crust. More power to you. However, to me, making my own crust seems like a real waste of time, particularly since, as a wheat-avoider, it means trying to make a gluten-free crust. Why bother? The frozen crusts at Whole Foods (or anywhere, for that matter) are just fine. And having one in the freezer means I can grab it and make quiche (or pie, or whatever) in an hour instead of an afternoon.
To my mind, when it comes to quiche, it's the custard that separates the winners from the weanines. So listen—experiment with your custard. Let's start with the pint of cream. Trying to cut back on fat? Don't use all cream—do a cup of cream or half-and-half and a cup of whole or 2% milk. Dairy issues? Try 2 cups soy cream or soy half-and-half instead. Or perhaps a combination of soy cream and rice milk. What you're after is 2 cups of creamy, milkish liquid. Try it a few ways, and see what you come up with. The worst thing that can happen is your custard won't set right, and even that's not much of a disaster. You'll have a slouchy quiche, but it will still taste great.
Finally, what are you going to put into your quiche to define it? To me, the perfect quiche ingredients are bacon, goat cheese and rosemerry. But I also love basil and goat cheese quiche. Not to mention feta, sun-dried tomato and basil quiche. My advice here is to keep it simple. No more than three "flavoring" ingredients, nothing too wet (it will make your custard soggy) and nothing too overpowering (a little asparagus goes a long way, for example). Whatever you add to your quiche, make it smaller-than-bite-sized, so it doesn't disrupt cutting—and forking. If you're new to quiches, start by thinking about what you like to add to scrambled eggs or omelettes. You'll be sure to like these same ingredients in—or on—your quiche.
Kathryn's Perfect Quiche
4 eggs beaten
1 pint heavy cream (or 1 cup cream + 1 cup milk)
5 slices bacon, cooked until crisp
about 1/3 small log goat cheese
1 stem fresh rosemary (a little goes a long way)
1 pie shell, frozen or handmade
Mix together eggs and cream (or cream and milk) to make custard.
Crumble bacon, goat cheese and rosemary evenly into empty pie shell.
Gently pour custard over bacon, goat cheese and rosemary to nearly fill shell.
Bake @ 425˚ for 15 minutes. Then, reduce temperature to 350˚ and cook until done (give it 40 minutes to an hour at this temperature). To test for doneness, shake quiche gently from side-to-side. The middle of the quiche shoule jiggle slightly, but not ripple.
Variations: Replace bacon, goat cheese and rosemary with feta, sundried tomatoes and basil—or any other combinaiton of ingredients that appeals to you!
Joel and I shared an outrageously good and generously-sized roasted beet and shaved fennel salad, which featured mizuna, goat cheese, spiced nuts and a blood-orange spiked dressing. The tasty Parmesan quiche that followed was served with a perfectly-dressed, orange-infused arugula salad and a splash of pesto. To my mind, the quiche needed one more thing, and it wasn't pesto. Maybe sun-dried tomatoes? Still, the custard was beautifully textured and the nuanced tang of the cheese was splendid. Probably the best quiche I've had in a restaurant (my quiche is the best, sorry restaurants!) since that charming bistro on Evans near DU closed about nine years ago. Wonder what that wonderful chef is up to these days...
Anyway, speaking of quiche, here's my take on it. First of all, if you make the best pie crust in the world—if crust is your point of pride—go ahead and make your own crust. More power to you. However, to me, making my own crust seems like a real waste of time, particularly since, as a wheat-avoider, it means trying to make a gluten-free crust. Why bother? The frozen crusts at Whole Foods (or anywhere, for that matter) are just fine. And having one in the freezer means I can grab it and make quiche (or pie, or whatever) in an hour instead of an afternoon.
To my mind, when it comes to quiche, it's the custard that separates the winners from the weanines. So listen—experiment with your custard. Let's start with the pint of cream. Trying to cut back on fat? Don't use all cream—do a cup of cream or half-and-half and a cup of whole or 2% milk. Dairy issues? Try 2 cups soy cream or soy half-and-half instead. Or perhaps a combination of soy cream and rice milk. What you're after is 2 cups of creamy, milkish liquid. Try it a few ways, and see what you come up with. The worst thing that can happen is your custard won't set right, and even that's not much of a disaster. You'll have a slouchy quiche, but it will still taste great.
Finally, what are you going to put into your quiche to define it? To me, the perfect quiche ingredients are bacon, goat cheese and rosemerry. But I also love basil and goat cheese quiche. Not to mention feta, sun-dried tomato and basil quiche. My advice here is to keep it simple. No more than three "flavoring" ingredients, nothing too wet (it will make your custard soggy) and nothing too overpowering (a little asparagus goes a long way, for example). Whatever you add to your quiche, make it smaller-than-bite-sized, so it doesn't disrupt cutting—and forking. If you're new to quiches, start by thinking about what you like to add to scrambled eggs or omelettes. You'll be sure to like these same ingredients in—or on—your quiche.
Kathryn's Perfect Quiche
4 eggs beaten
1 pint heavy cream (or 1 cup cream + 1 cup milk)
5 slices bacon, cooked until crisp
about 1/3 small log goat cheese
1 stem fresh rosemary (a little goes a long way)
1 pie shell, frozen or handmade
Mix together eggs and cream (or cream and milk) to make custard.
Crumble bacon, goat cheese and rosemary evenly into empty pie shell.
Gently pour custard over bacon, goat cheese and rosemary to nearly fill shell.
Bake @ 425˚ for 15 minutes. Then, reduce temperature to 350˚ and cook until done (give it 40 minutes to an hour at this temperature). To test for doneness, shake quiche gently from side-to-side. The middle of the quiche shoule jiggle slightly, but not ripple.
Variations: Replace bacon, goat cheese and rosemary with feta, sundried tomatoes and basil—or any other combinaiton of ingredients that appeals to you!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Going Local in Utah
Last week I spent a few days visiting family and skiing in Utah. First of all, let me say that Solitude is a well-named and well-heeled ski resort. I loved the quiet on the mountain and the comfort of the Inn. I would definitely revisit that bunny hill!
Since I'm always on the prowl for new local tastes, I was delighted when our cheese plate at the Inn's fine restaurant, St. Bernards, included an offering from Utah's own Beehive Cheese Company.
The cheese in question, "Barely Buzzed" was awarded back-to-back 1st Places for flavored cheddar at the American Cheese Society Annual Competition in 2007 and 2008. And I'm not surprised. It's a fantastic cheese.
When I heard the cheese described, I had my doubts. A cheddar rubbed with espresso grounds? Okay, the website makes it sound better: "A labor-intensive cheese that’s hand-rubbed with a blend of Colorado Legacy Coffee (roasted by the Cheesemaker's brother) and French lavender buds."
Still, I worried the coffee flavor would be overpowering (I'm a tea drinker, friends). No need. The cheese and rub blended perfectly, creating a complex, subtle and sweet flavor with an easy finish. The cheese was a standout, though it shared the plate with Italian Parmaggianno, St. Andre, Danish Blue and a host of other tasty treats.
It was a nice reminder. Wherever you are, eat local!
Since I'm always on the prowl for new local tastes, I was delighted when our cheese plate at the Inn's fine restaurant, St. Bernards, included an offering from Utah's own Beehive Cheese Company.
The cheese in question, "Barely Buzzed" was awarded back-to-back 1st Places for flavored cheddar at the American Cheese Society Annual Competition in 2007 and 2008. And I'm not surprised. It's a fantastic cheese.
When I heard the cheese described, I had my doubts. A cheddar rubbed with espresso grounds? Okay, the website makes it sound better: "A labor-intensive cheese that’s hand-rubbed with a blend of Colorado Legacy Coffee (roasted by the Cheesemaker's brother) and French lavender buds."
Still, I worried the coffee flavor would be overpowering (I'm a tea drinker, friends). No need. The cheese and rub blended perfectly, creating a complex, subtle and sweet flavor with an easy finish. The cheese was a standout, though it shared the plate with Italian Parmaggianno, St. Andre, Danish Blue and a host of other tasty treats.
It was a nice reminder. Wherever you are, eat local!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The Spring of Discontent, Tempered by Duck Eggs
Our final CSA pick up was last week, so I'm savoring the last of the goodies. In this bundle: potatoes, onions, garlic, leeks, cabbage, celery root (supposedly good for soups, but I haven't tried it yet), squash, carrots and parsnips.
Now, it's the long wait until asparagus picking, perhaps in April or May. In spite of the greening and warming all around us, this is when local food shares dwindle and new growth hesitates. In the natural order of things, it's a hungry time. If it weren't for the approach of planting season (I'll probably put broccoli and greens in the garden in two scant weeks), I'd hardly know what to do with myself.
Yesterday, I had my friend Maria over for lunch after a lovely walk on the High Line Canal. She helped me pull together a pot of potato leek soup in no time flat -- and as a treat, we each had a fried duck egg (the first I've tried from my Eastern Plains Natural Foods share).
The duck egg's white was a little rubbery, I'll admit, but the yolk was heaven: a rich, weighty, upright, orange-hued jewel of just the right viscosity. It reminded me of some spectacular turkey eggs I enjoyed for my birthday last spring, thanks to the Santa Fe Farmers' Market.
Whether you're a potato leek fan -- or have never had it -- you might like to give my recipe a try. It started with a recipe I found online, which turned out to be a little too strong (onion-wise) for me. I think I've got it about perfect now, and would gladly eat it days on end. It brings back my time spent in London during grad school, when I had this soup (served in a bread boule) after seeing a matinee of Measure for Measure at the Old Vic. Yum.
Potato Leek Soup
1. In stock pot, saute 1/2 - 1 chopped onion and 1 thinly sliced leek (only the white and light green parts) on medium heat in 3T butter until they begin to brown.
2. Add 5-7 thinly sliced, palm-sized yukon gold or red potatoes.
3. Cover potatoes and onion mixture with 32 oz. chicken stock/broth.
4. Simmer at medium until potatoes are fork tender (20-30 minutes).
5. Lower temperature and use potato masher to reduce soup to desired consistency.
6. Add 1/2 - 1 cup cream.
7. Continue cooking at low for a few minutes, stirring often.
8. Serve alone or with rustic bread, and enjoy.
Now, it's the long wait until asparagus picking, perhaps in April or May. In spite of the greening and warming all around us, this is when local food shares dwindle and new growth hesitates. In the natural order of things, it's a hungry time. If it weren't for the approach of planting season (I'll probably put broccoli and greens in the garden in two scant weeks), I'd hardly know what to do with myself.
Yesterday, I had my friend Maria over for lunch after a lovely walk on the High Line Canal. She helped me pull together a pot of potato leek soup in no time flat -- and as a treat, we each had a fried duck egg (the first I've tried from my Eastern Plains Natural Foods share).
The duck egg's white was a little rubbery, I'll admit, but the yolk was heaven: a rich, weighty, upright, orange-hued jewel of just the right viscosity. It reminded me of some spectacular turkey eggs I enjoyed for my birthday last spring, thanks to the Santa Fe Farmers' Market.
Whether you're a potato leek fan -- or have never had it -- you might like to give my recipe a try. It started with a recipe I found online, which turned out to be a little too strong (onion-wise) for me. I think I've got it about perfect now, and would gladly eat it days on end. It brings back my time spent in London during grad school, when I had this soup (served in a bread boule) after seeing a matinee of Measure for Measure at the Old Vic. Yum.
Potato Leek Soup
1. In stock pot, saute 1/2 - 1 chopped onion and 1 thinly sliced leek (only the white and light green parts) on medium heat in 3T butter until they begin to brown.
2. Add 5-7 thinly sliced, palm-sized yukon gold or red potatoes.
3. Cover potatoes and onion mixture with 32 oz. chicken stock/broth.
4. Simmer at medium until potatoes are fork tender (20-30 minutes).
5. Lower temperature and use potato masher to reduce soup to desired consistency.
6. Add 1/2 - 1 cup cream.
7. Continue cooking at low for a few minutes, stirring often.
8. Serve alone or with rustic bread, and enjoy.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sign-Up Season
Hi, Friends. I'm back after a lovely but hectic hiatus. I spent January in an artist residency— teaching poetry to 4th, 5th and 6th graders in Golden, Co. Phew!
Now I'm back in the swing and delighted that my CSA and Co-op sign ups are coming through the mail. Have you joined one yet? It's a great way to get really connected with local agriculture.
My CSA is Monroe Organic Farms, the self-proclaimed oldest organic farm in Colorado. I've signed up for Summer produce, a Western Slope fruit share, a Winter share, honey and eggs. I'm still receiveing eggs, potatoes, beets, carrots, onlions, garlic, cabbage, leeks and squashes, thanks to my current Winter share, which will end this month. Once I've plowed through the last of the those goodies, I'll be jonesing for farm fresh produce until May, when asparagus picking kicks off the summer produce season!
I hear from Jackie at Monroe that new members need to get on the waiting list NOW. The shares are all spoken for, so only a few new members are invited to join each year. Some may have to wait three years or more to join up.
Today, I joined Eastern Plains Natural Foods, a co-op I've had my eye on for almost a year. They raise natural, pastured poultry -- heritage and commercial chickens, heritage turkeys, geese, and ducks. They also offer both chicken and duck eggs and a variety of other products through partnerships with other local growers/ranchers (lamb, beef, bison, etc.). For $85, you get a membership and a choice of one of several poultry or meat products. Once you've joined, you get great rates on all of their other products. I put in my order now for whole turkeys and chickens, assorted cutlets and thighs, and several dozen duck eggs. Join now for best selection!
Yesterday, I cooked up a delicious grass-fed bison pot roast sourced by my friend Monique. It was so easy. Here's the recipe, in case you're interested:
Kathryn's Bison Pot Roast:
1.5 lb. bison chuck roast
2-3 T olive oil
Salt and pepper
1-2 onions, sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
.5 bottle leftover wine (white or red)
1-2 cups water
Handful fresh rosemary, chopped
Handful fresh thyme, removed from twig
1. Heat the oil in a dutch oven (I used my beautiful Le Crueset buffet)
2. Pat roast dry and sprinkle with salt and pepper
3. Brown roast on all sides
4. Set roast aside (you can use the cover of your pan as a resting place for the roast)
5. Sauté onions in remaining oil until soft
6. Add garlic and herbs and cook a bit longer
7. Add roast back in and pour in wine and water (not to cover, but to make a layer of liquid about 1.5-2 inches deep)
8. Cover and place in a 350˚oven for 3.5-5 hours (the longer the better), checking occasionally and adding water if liquid gets too low.
9. Serve over rice, pasta, mashed potatoes or roasted root vegetables.
Enjoy!
Now I'm back in the swing and delighted that my CSA and Co-op sign ups are coming through the mail. Have you joined one yet? It's a great way to get really connected with local agriculture.
My CSA is Monroe Organic Farms, the self-proclaimed oldest organic farm in Colorado. I've signed up for Summer produce, a Western Slope fruit share, a Winter share, honey and eggs. I'm still receiveing eggs, potatoes, beets, carrots, onlions, garlic, cabbage, leeks and squashes, thanks to my current Winter share, which will end this month. Once I've plowed through the last of the those goodies, I'll be jonesing for farm fresh produce until May, when asparagus picking kicks off the summer produce season!
I hear from Jackie at Monroe that new members need to get on the waiting list NOW. The shares are all spoken for, so only a few new members are invited to join each year. Some may have to wait three years or more to join up.
Today, I joined Eastern Plains Natural Foods, a co-op I've had my eye on for almost a year. They raise natural, pastured poultry -- heritage and commercial chickens, heritage turkeys, geese, and ducks. They also offer both chicken and duck eggs and a variety of other products through partnerships with other local growers/ranchers (lamb, beef, bison, etc.). For $85, you get a membership and a choice of one of several poultry or meat products. Once you've joined, you get great rates on all of their other products. I put in my order now for whole turkeys and chickens, assorted cutlets and thighs, and several dozen duck eggs. Join now for best selection!
Yesterday, I cooked up a delicious grass-fed bison pot roast sourced by my friend Monique. It was so easy. Here's the recipe, in case you're interested:
Kathryn's Bison Pot Roast:
1.5 lb. bison chuck roast
2-3 T olive oil
Salt and pepper
1-2 onions, sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
.5 bottle leftover wine (white or red)
1-2 cups water
Handful fresh rosemary, chopped
Handful fresh thyme, removed from twig
1. Heat the oil in a dutch oven (I used my beautiful Le Crueset buffet)
2. Pat roast dry and sprinkle with salt and pepper
3. Brown roast on all sides
4. Set roast aside (you can use the cover of your pan as a resting place for the roast)
5. Sauté onions in remaining oil until soft
6. Add garlic and herbs and cook a bit longer
7. Add roast back in and pour in wine and water (not to cover, but to make a layer of liquid about 1.5-2 inches deep)
8. Cover and place in a 350˚oven for 3.5-5 hours (the longer the better), checking occasionally and adding water if liquid gets too low.
9. Serve over rice, pasta, mashed potatoes or roasted root vegetables.
Enjoy!
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