beets and leeks

I'm packing.
I have that strange feeling that I get when I'm about to go on a trip. Like everything is different already, exciting and ungrounded at the same time.
I'm going to San Francisco.
First, to be honest, I'm going south of San Francisco, to Carmel, so that I can be there to watch my friends start their marriage. I'm excited for that. Joey will be with me then, and after that he flies back home and basically changes places with my mother. She meets me on Monday in San Francisco.
We'll be there for the week. We have some family business there (that's the short story), and it's been a long time since we've taken a trip together. Since I was little, really. I'm excited for that, too.
It's also been a long time since I've seen that city, and I'm ready to go back. I was born there in a little house on Willard Street, and I've gone back for long stretches a few times in my life. I've somehow felt like I've failed San Francisco in the past. I've lived there at times when I wasn't so happy, and wasn't so...well, the only way I can think to say it is, I wasn't so me, and I've blamed it on the place, on the fog, on so many things. But at the same time, I think so longingly of it, and I can't wait to be there. It's been 10 years since I've been there, and I'm very me now.

I wanted to leave you with a little something, and so we come to beets and leeks. Nice to say, isn't it?
Kind of like as if Dr. Seuss got going about his farm share. 

Years back, I had a friend, Emily, and she was in town and came to cook for us right after Sadie was born. She's an opera singer now. She made us beets and leeks, and many other wonderful things I'm sure, but those beets and leeks had lasting power for for me. I've done it so many times, and it always feels special. It's the leeks, I think. Magical.

This is a roasting the beets recipe, and I know everyone has their own method. As much as I hate using all that tin foil, this is how I do it:

Cut the greens off the beets, leaving about 1 inch of stem. Leave the tail on. Wrap each beet individually in tin foil, putting a touch of olive oil and a dash of salt and pepper on each one before sealing the foil up. Roast in a 375 degree oven for and hour or so for medium sized beets, or more or less for big or small ones. Then take them out of the foil, and let them cool for a bit so that you can touch them. Slide them right out of their skins. Your hands will turn red. But I like that.

Cut the beets in bite-sized pieces and put them into a bowl.

And then, there are the leeks. For a bunch of about 5 beets, I use 2 leeks, but one would do if that's all you have.  Cut the bottom root and the very top off the leek. Slice the whole thing in half lengthwise, and then slice both halves into 1-inch pieces.  Transfer them to a bowl, add a touch of white or apple cider vinegar, and swish them around. This will release the dirt. Lift them out of the water into a colander.

Melt a few tablespoons of butter or olive oil in a skillet.  Add the leeks and cook, stirring often, until they are just starting to brown and your house smells like heaven. Pour the leeks over the beets, and add a glug or two of the best olive oil you've got. Then salt, then lots of pepper. Then it's ready.

I'll keep you with me in my travels, if that's good with you. I've got my camera, and I'll be looking for new things. New things! Aren't they wonderful? I'll let you know what I find.

grilled beets

This was our day.
We woke up to the rain, windows closed the night before in preparation. It was a rainy morning almost like any other, and we sat in our pajamas and watched the rain fall.  The water pooled in both the front and backyards. The basement leaked. The radio talked. The phone rang all morning--were we okay? What was the path of the storm? When would it get bad?

Mid morning, we got a call from friends of ours we hadn't seen in years. They were at a wedding nearby, and although they were supposed to get back to New York that day, there was no way.  Could they come? The house filled with friends, and we all watched the rain. The power stayed on, we waited for it all to come.

When I was six, hurricane Gloria hit. We were living with my mother's boyfriend out in a log cabin in the woods. I don't remember where he was, but she and I played cards all day, declaring War or yelling Spit! and the day is so clear for me. We walked out onto his deck that extended into the trees when the eye came. I think the sky was blue, at least I remember it that way. The air was still and clear and we marveled and looked into the forest. Then the wind came again, and we went back to our card game. I remember that day- I remember that my mother and I were such partners in the world, and we weathered that storm. I don't remember if we lost power or whether that day was more or less dangerous than this day just now, but I remember that, being six, I loved that day, and I loved my mother.

We didn't know what would happen on Sunday. We filled jars of water and we had flashlights and candles ready, and we had plenty of fuel for the grill.  I thought about what we could grill if our power was out for days and days. I thought about what would happen if our whole world changed because of this storm. You never know when the world will change, what event we'll look back on and say that we thought we were solid, and then the power went out and the telephone lines came down and life shifted completely.



We sat through the night in our house while the wind did its best. At one point, something big hit the window, and we admitted that it was better that it was finally dark so that we didn't have to watch the trees bend and sway and lose their limbs. We could stay in the warm room with our dinner and our scrabble board and hope that the walls would hold. I made up couches and beds for our friends, and then we went to sleep.

In the morning, we learned more of what had been happening all around us. The girls and I drove to the next town to buy new school shoes, and each little river we crossed was fuller and more vigorous than the next. One neighborhood along a river had taken in the river itself, and water extended to each house's back door. Even strangers were talking to each other, sharing the same sentiment. We escaped it this time. It could have been worse. I am so thankful.

Thankful, but heartbroken for those whose main streets are filled with water, whose houses are ruined, who lost so much in the storm. Oh, New England. You are strong and beautiful and bursting with life.

There is nothing like a storm to make us stop for a moment, and to think thoughts that don't always make their way in. I could lose all of this, and as long as the kids are okay I wouldn't care. Who of my neighbors needs my help? Yes, it is rough out there. But I will come and save you, if need be. We have enough, and more than enough to share.

Had we lost power, I had beets ready. It would have been sweet, earthy beets on the grill to sustain us through whatever was to come. But as the power stayed on, we cooked on the stove, and saved the beets for a sunny day.

Grilled Beets

Cut the greens from the beets, and trim the tops and tails. If the skins are thick, peel them.
Cut the beets into 1 1/2-inch thick slices. Brush with a bit of olive oil and tamari or soy sauce. Grill the slices for 10 minutes on each side, or until they are sweet and soft inside.

pickled beets

Oy. I'm sitting in a mess of mediocre and semi-failed recipes, and there is flour everywhere. If anyone wants a not-quite twinkie, they should stop by before I eat any more of them. Please, I'm serious. Help.

Sometimes this stuff just works--other times that perfect outcome dances around me, absolutely out of reach. Did I mention that there is flour everywhere? ...and somehow a fair amount of butter in my hair.

Joey and the girls will be back from school in a few minutes, so I'm just here for a minute. I've got to get this place cleaned up so that the ladies don't lick the frosting off the counters (yes, they will). But I wanted to say hello before the weekend, and to talk about something entirely different than twinkies.

Like beets.

I was talking to a friend last week--a friend who cooks at a famous restaurant where they see a lot of beets. He said that no matter what he did, they always tasted like dirt. I kind of like the taste of dirt myself, but I suggested a little yogurt and garlic, and he said he'd give it a try. But the more I though about it afterward, the more I realized that this would be my answer.

You see, beets, like cucumbers, are one of those vegetables that I think calls out to be pickled. I'm sure the call comes in Russian, and it's forceful and persuasive. I thought about making a batch of pickled beets for a month before I actually rolled up my sleeves and got to it. I let those beets sit and yell in the fridge. I could hear them, and I answered, "Give me a minute! Can't you see I'm busy!" I was speaking in Russian too, or at least in a Russian accent.

But when I finally gave in, I knew I was doing something so so right. And this week when I opened the first jar...wham!

These perfect beets are not for the faint of heart. They will kick you in the butt and accessorize your salad like nothing else can. These beets are for you. And the failed-ish twinkies? Well you can have those for dessert.


Pickled Beets
(with help from the Ball Complete Book of Home Preservation)

3 1/2 pounds beets, scrubbed, greens removed (and eaten for dinner!) with 2 inches of stem left intact
4 cups distilled white vinegar
2 cups water
3/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons caraway seeds
2 teaspoons whole black peppercorns

Put the beets in a large pot. Cover with water, cover, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to medium low and cook until tender, about 30 minutes. Drain beets and run them under water. The skins should rub off pretty easily.
Get your canning pot heating right about now if you haven't started it yet. Make sure that you have jars ready-this will fill 4 pints and 1 half-pint, or 9 half-pints.
Combine the vinegar, water, and sugar in a large pot. Bring to a boil, stirring gently to dissolve the sugar. Keep it at a low boil until you are ready to use it.
Trim the beets of roots and stems, and cut them into bite-sized pieces. Fill the jars with the beets and add a pinch of caraway seeds and peppercorns to each jar. Pour the hot brine over the beets, allowing 1/2 inch of headspace. Wipe the rim of the jar, top with lid and band, and process in a water bath for 30 minutes.

yogurt beets

This week is better than last week. This week it's raining once a day, but not all day. This week I harvested broccoli. Joey and I are smiling at each other again. Rosie has convinced someone to take her to the toy store every day. This week I've been drinking more. I had a strange dream about a famous actress who I then saw at the coffee shop the next morning. And tonight after the kids went to sleep, Joey and I made strawberry milkshakes with kirsch. My friend Molly is living down the street this summer. I saw her a lot this week. She taught me about yogurt beets a while back. They are wonderful to eat, and the beauty of the fuschia colored yogurt will just break your heart.

Yogurt Beets

1 large bunch of beets (4-6 beets), peeled and cut into bite sized pieces
6 oz whole milk yogurt
3 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
juice of 1/2 lemon
about 1/8 cup chopped fresh dill, to taste
salt and pepper

Steam the beets for 20-25 minutes, or until tender. Let them cool. In a medium sized bowl, combine the yogurt, lemon, garlic and dill. Add the cooled beets. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve cold or at room temperature.

A Little Weeknight Meal

As I've mentioned, inspiration's been lacking a little bit lately in my kitchen. I spend some time here and there hunched over cookbooks, or better yet, hunched over a blank piece of paper trying to plan out the week a bit. I sit there, muttering to myself about nothing in particular, and I'll think of something, and I'll whisper "chicken soup with dumplings," and Rosie will drift by in her tutu, and will say, "No Mom, I only like squash soup". And I'll curse quietly, and then I'll say, "swiss chard pie!" and Sadie will yell from across the house, "I won't eat it. I hate feta!" and well, you get the idea. And then I just say screw it, you girls won't starve- I'm just making what I want. Sound familiar? Anyway, here's a nice little dinner for you.


Green Frittata with Beet Salad

For the Frittata:
(serves six)

1 large bunch kale, washed, stemmed, and roughly chopped
9 eggs
5 ounces cream cheese
1 3/4 cups milk
4 T olive oil
1 1/2 T white flour
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup grated parmesan
Freshly ground pepper

Put eggs, cream cheese, milk, flour and salt in the blender. Blend until smooth.
Heat 3 T of the olive oil in a heavy oven proof skillet. Add the kale and a splash of water. Cover and cook until wilty, about two minutes. When cooked, use the other 1 T of olive oil to coat the sides of the pan. Pour the egg mixture over the kale. Cook on low to medium heat without stirring until the egg starts to firm up around the edges.
Sprinkle the parmesan on top.
Set a rack in the center of the oven and set your broiler to low. Cook the frittata in the oven under the broiler for about five minutes, watching carefully. It will puff up, turn golden, and be firm to the touch. This may take a while, depending on your broiler, so really keep an eye on it. When it looks ready, stick a butter knife in it, to make sure that there is no runny egg. Season with freshly ground pepper and cut into wedges after it has cooled a bit.

For the Beets:

1 large bunch of beets
About 2 T olive oil
1 T mustard
1 tsp sherry vinegar
a handful of parsley, chopped fine
salt
pepper

Peel the beets and chop into bite sized chunks. Steam them for 20-25 minutes, or until tender. Let cool to room temp.
Combine olive oil, mustard, sherry vinegar, salt and pepper. Whisk together, adjusting to your own tastes. Toss dressing with beets and parsley.