pear, kale, and sorrel salad

Last week, I came into the small fortune of 20 perfect seckle pears.  Those pears were so beautiful, we almost missed their ripeness because we were so busy admiring them. The first one spouted a few tragic snowflakes of delicate mold, and then it became clear that we had 24 hours to eat the rest of them. We did it. We rose to the challenge, and at any given moment of that day (and into the night), there was a pear attached to someone's face. There was juice running down arms, and there were pears in everything. 

And so we found this happy combination, well-timed, I think, as we are waiting patiently for our first killing frost. Still, still waiting, and then the plants, and more importantly, the weeds, will wither and keel over, and the site of them will stop making me feel... well, I'll just come out and say it, like a failure.

I know that this is the second post in a row in which I've talked about failing my garden, and I know (or at least I'll go ahead and imagine) that you're saying, "lay off it, Alana! We're all there- we've all given up, the weeds have taken over!" Or, even, "garden! I don't even have a garden! Stop being so hard on yourself!" 

But those who have sat in my "garden" this summer while I try to distract them with cocktails know the truth. I never had a chance this year. My friend, Brandee said it best sometime in early July, as I hacked at the thistle in order to get at the mint for her pimm's cup. 

"Oh, honey. You need some help out here."

But there have been successes.  A proud number of green zebra tomatoes. 3 crimson lee peppers. Very happy jerusalem artichokes (always happy, of course).  Enough tomatillos for a damn fine bowl of salsa. 6 stalks of brussels sprouts that just might be ready by December.  And 4 vigorous kale plants that only have more sweetness ahead of them when the frost comes.

Hooray for kale. It makes me feel like a winner in every way.

Pear, Kale, and Sorrel Salad

1 small bunch curly kale
2 seckel pears (or 1 larger pear)
6 leaves sorrel (You can, of course, leave these out if you don't have them, but they add a delicious tang to the whole dish)
juice of 1 lemon
2 T olive oil
1/4 cup toasted almonds, roughly chopped
peeled parmesan
salt and pepper

Tear the kale off the stem, and chop it finely. Do the same with the sorrel. Cut the pear into 1/2-inch slices and toss with the greens.  Squeeze a lemon directly over the whole thing. Then spoon the olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to combine. Finish off with the toasted almonds and parmesan.  This will serve 4 as a side dish, or you alone if you bring it out to the back yard to watch the sun set as you reflect on the beauty of things. 

why i plant marigolds

The spring of my junior year at St. John's in Santa Fe, I moved into a little house with my friend, Eilen.  We had lived together before in a big house filled with cranky roommates and lots of conflict, and we were eager to set up on our own where we could cook and sing and do anything we pleased.  We found a house on Cortez Street, which was just slightly on the wrong side of the tracks, enough so that there were fireworks exploding in adjacent yards all summer, but not so much that it was too far away from school. The house was a perfect little square with a front stoop, adobe of course, but newly renovated by a St. John's graduate who had stayed in the area, and there was new paint and fresh tile in the bathroom, and the back room had a washer and dryer with a tiled laundry folding table built on top. It was small, which is to say that it was exactly big enough for us, and there was a guest house that shared the property about 20 feet from the back door. That space served as a house and workshop to a crazy old guy named Elliot, and he and his huge and poorly behaved dog made leather goods and drank beer through most of each day.  We would sit in our dusty section of "yard" and he would sit in his, and we would listen to the fireworks explode around us.

I miss Santa Fe.

Diagonally across from the house was one of my favorite restaurants, a greasy green chile spoon called Dave's Not Here. The story, as I remember it, was that the owner, Dave, ended up getting busted on drug charges and going to jail.  The restaurant stayed open, but as an answer to everyone's question when they noticed Dave's absence, they changed the name of the restaurant. The food wasn't particularly good there, but it always tasted good anyway, and the decor reminded me of some kitchen or other from my childhood, and so I always felt so at home there.  Dave's Not Here lived in that space for over 20 years, but now the place houses The Tune-Up Cafe, which I hear from many people is hands down the best restaurant in Santa Fe.

I'm thinking it might be time for a trip back.

Eilen and I lived  happily in that house on Cortez Street. That was the year that she really started writing music, and she had some of her first little shows at the Cowgirl. I met Joey that year too, and even though there was all sorts of drama around the start of us together, enough time has passed that I only remember the happy parts. There was a big plum tree out front, and for some reason we never made it to the fruit on time, but there was a silly satisfaction in stomping all over the rotting fruit on the driveway. Eilen planted tiny tomato plants in the dusty back plot that got munched by the misbehaving dog and never made it to fruition. But in the dry front bed, right between our own section of stone wall and the width of sidewalk, she planted marigolds.

At first I thought that marigolds were not my kind of flower. Spindly and orange, the petals lacked delicacy, and the smell of the plants was acidic and strange. Eilen showed me how to coax the roots out of their ball, and we put compost in each hole and tucked the plants into the bed. It seemed a little mean to put them into such a desert where nothing else seemed to be able to grow. We were in the most extreme level of drought at the time, and we weren't allowed to water.  But Eilen seemed to have faith that they would make it anyway, as long as we gave them what we could from our leftover bath water and water bottles.

They lived all summer, and they filled out the bed with greenery. Every so often, the flowers would get so dry that we'd figure they were done with. but we'd pour our cooled pasta water or some other thing over their parched roots, and they would come back to life. By the end of the summer, I thought they were so beautiful, and I have planted them ever since.

Some marigolds are edible, and others are used for pest management in the garden. If you plant them in the midst of your vegetables, they will protect them from a whole host of bugs.  In Mexico, marigolds are essential for the alter for the day of the dead, and in India, they are considered a holy herb, and festivals are filled with marigold garlands. I love them for their usefulness, but I also just love them for their humble little petals. I love the way the sun seems to shine from them instead of on them.

And with Memorial day weekend comes the green light to plant anything you want, even if you are in New England! Is there any thing you are especially excited to plant this weekend? Tell me! I still have room in one bed...

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roasted baby vegetables

Well, I'm sorry to say... Sadie's been a bit at it again. In the mix with all of her wonderful Sadie things, there are constant demands, and there is foot stomping, and there are more demands. I just don't know how to help that girl out these days.
Last night, after being whisked away from a coming tantrum by a few aunties (thank you Molly, thank you Lissa!) to see some free modern dance in the woods, she returned, and without so much pausing to say hello, it all began again. You see, during her absence, we ran Rosie down to the ice cream shop, just honestly for a mellow treat for Rosie sans the demanding one, and Rosie just couldn't keep in the information. So, then it was hysterics on the lack of ice cream followed by an angry critique of what was for dinner.
What is this! stomp stomp frown frown.
Roasted baby vegetables, from the garden!
"Mom. That is mean and unnatural. These vegetables should be growing until their big. You are hurting mother nature with this dinner."
You see what I'm up against here?

If you find just the right farmer at the farmers market, you might walk away with a little basket of baby vegetables. Maybe little beets, or miniature carrots, or tiny cippolini onions. But honestly, this is reason number 456 to grown these things in your very own yard. Because the truth is, Sadie is right. Like other things that are tastier when they are young (oh, Sadie at 3!), baby vegetables should keep growing so that you can harvest them correctly and have lots of food and preserve them for the winter and all that. But tiny? They are worth the guilt of ending their short lives. I could (and I have been known to) empty my garden before anything is grown--I am that susceptible to the siren call of the baby onion.
And if I were really on top of it, I would have thinned everything beautifully, and I would have writing about baby vegetables earlier in the summer, when you're supposed to have them, and when thinning benefits those that stay to mature to adulthood.
But my garden is a wreck (I plead abdominal surgery), and when finally my friend Molly whisked me out to the garden yesterday before whisking Sadie away a bit later, I finally faced the jungle of thistle and grass and radicchio that I have going out there. And because of the sheer quantity of weeds (more work today!), every time I yanked an offending plant, there was often a perfect little baby veg hanging on to those weedy roots for dear life.
Hurray! Dinner! Although not, as you would imagine, for the big girl, who abstained for humanitarian reasons. And not for the little either, as she was filled with ice cream. And I call myself a mother. Ah well. More work to do. What would I do with my time if I wasn't so so imperfect?

Roasted Baby Vegetables

Combine any number of baby carrots, onions, beets, new potatoes, and peeled garlic cloves. Anything that is bigger than quite little should be cut down to match the size of the smaller vegetables. Toss with a glug of olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Spread on a baking sheet and roast at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes, or until especially the beets and potatoes are tender.

eat the weeds

Before we begin, I just want to say that I absolutely have not forgotten our pie crust adventures! There are certainly a list of things that are going undone at the moment. but the pie crust will not end up along side the sweeping of the stairs and the organizing of the mudroom. Today, I will replenish our dwindled butter supply, and then there is no stopping me. Just so you know what you are in for, I am planning on three posts over the next week or two: pie crust in a mixer, pie crust in a food processor, and pie crust by hand. Like I said before, I'm hoping for some help on this one, and, if you are willing, you can start by letting me know particular frustrations or tricks that you have with pie crust. A few have already come in on the comments, and I'm hoping to address and integrate them in the posts, so that we can all help each other out.

You may have noticed, however, that I've been gearing up a little for this pie party. If you have been cooking with me for the last couple of weeks, you've been warming up your rolling pin. You've been practicing cutting in the butter, and you've been pressing dough into discs. Whether it was the spinach ricotta pie, the pop tarts, or today's little tart, we're already there!

Yes, you heard me right. Today, a tart!
I've been spending a lot of time in the garden this week. I've been spending time that I should be spending doing other things, but I can't help myself. I've been out there until I can't see a thing in the dark, and Joey has been very forgiving when I have had to sing the girls to sleep through their window because I want to stay outside.

We grow a lot less of our own food than people have in the past. And there is a long list of things that I think we have lost in that process, to be sure. But one of them is, and stay with me here, the opportunity to use the garden as a metaphor for, well, everything, and to learn from it.
The garden is just the garden, and that is good enough for me, but it is also hard not to apply the principles that rule there to other arenas.
Lay the groundwork correctly. Don't take yourself too seriously. Know that it will take years to learn. Get dirty. Take out the weeds entirely, as opposed to just the top. Roll up your sleeves and put your hands right into it. Share with your neighbors. The list just goes on and on.

Make use of everything that you can.

Do you have nettles or spiny sowthistle growing in your yard? This is spiny sowthistle, and it can be used similarly to the nettle, which might also be taking over your spring garden. The young spiny sowthistle (thanks Laurel!) looks like this:

Young nettles look similar, but like this. They mostly grown wetter climates, like New England and the Pacific Northwest. In these places, they grow everywhere. In dryer climates, like New Mexico, they actually grown them on purpose, and hungry foodies pay good money for them at the farmer's market. But spiny sowthistles are my weed of plenty.

Both of these delicious weeds are sharp as hell. They will even give you a rash on top of the initial prick. It is hard to imagine putting one in your mouth.

But trust me on this one. Put on your gloves- the thick kind, and pull them out. Keep your gloves on and snip off the root. Soak the tops of the plants. Right now is the best time to eat them, because the top is all there is. Take off the root, and use the rest.

After they've released most of their dirt, throw them in a pot of boiling water for about two minutes. Drain, and then they are safe to touch. Those spikes are nothing now- you have conquered the spiny weed! Give them another rinse now that you can actually touch them.

It is just deeply satisfying to eat a weed, I think.

Chop them up, and set them aside. Now it's time to make the tart.

I have actually written about this tart in a slightly different incarnation before. It is the first time that I've repeated a recipe, but this one is special, and especially good for right now when you might have little bits of herbs starting to poke up. The crust is an olive oil crust, and is maybe the easiest thing to roll out, ever. So get out your rolling pin, and have no fear.

Ricotta Leek Tart with fresh Weeds
adapted from David Lebovitz, who adapted it from Deborah Madison

1 recipe of Clotilde's olive oil crust (with a pinch of dried thyme as the herb)
8 ounces ricotta cheese
1 large egg
1 cup whole milk (you can sub 1/2 cup heavy cream or creme fraiche for added richness)
2 cups chopped leeks
1 tablespoon butter
6-8 ounces nettle tops or spiny sowthistle tops, cleaned, blanched, and chopped as above
3 tablespoons fresh herbs- whatever you've got- I used oregano, tarragon and chives
salt and freshly ground pepper

Prepare the crust, and put it into a rectangular or circular tart pan If you have extra, you can save it for decoration. Refrigerate for 30 minutes. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Poke holes in the tart crust, and bake for 10 minutes. Leave the oven at 400 degrees.
Melt the butter in a medium skillet. Add the leeks, and cook, stirring often, for about 5 minutes. Add the nettles or spiny sowthistle and cook for an additional minute. Season with salt and pepper. Set aside and let cool a bit.
In a medium bowl, combine the ricotta, egg, herbs, and cooled leek mixture. Stir until fairly uniform. Spread into the pre-baked crust and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until slightly puffed and golden. Allow to cool for 15 minutes before serving.

baked salmon with herb butter

I wonder if there will be a time when I am such an experienced gardener that I won't feel compelled to let out an audible yelp when the first herbs emerge again. Someday I'll take it all in stride, and when new gardeners ask me inane questions, I'll coolly answer with only the slightest tinge of a smile.
But that's not now. Now I cheer, and I do a little dance around the yard.
Because the truth is, I still don't believe it. I don't believe that perennials will come back, and I sure as hell don't believe that my seeds will turn into plants.
And sometimes they don't.
But, when they do, it seems nothing short of a miracle.
I am overwhelmed today. There are too many things right now. I'll leave it at that. But when I looked at my list after dinner, and Joey saw my face all pinched up, he said, "Go plant those damn radish seeds you've been talking about." There were other items on that list that were far more pressing, but I went, and before I knew it, I was actually humming, I was so happy. The sun put on the most lovely show for me as it set, and when I was just finished with my four little uneven rows of carrots, beets, and radishes, the sky went and rained for me. Can you believe it? Just out of the blue, like a little hand, patting my back, saying, "Good job, honey, no need to drag out that hose. Go on inside, and we'll finish up here."
Now I'm back with that list, but I feel a little better. Thank you, April.
And the chives? The chives are back, and the tarragon and oregano are on their way too. Glory be. I will be eating many herb butters from here on out, and I hope you will join me.


Baked Salmon with Herb Butter
adapted from Alice Waters, The Art of Simple Food
serves 4

1 pound wild salmon fillet
salt and pepper
olive oil
1/4 cup butter, softened
generous squeeze of a lemon
kosher salt
Herbs of your choice, but chives and dill are especially nice with salmon, about 1 T of each

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
Prepare the herb butter: Combine the butter, herbs, lemon, and a pinch of salt. Mix well.
Cut the salmon into 4 pieces. Arrange on a parchment lined baking dish. Season with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Bake for 7-9 minutes, until just cooked through. Serve with a large dollop of herb butter on top of each piece.

things that are growing

Well, it was the horrible metal cabinets in my kitchen that everyone loves vs. me, and the cabinets won. I got quite a lump on my head and can't seem to think of the words for anything. Don't worry- I went to the doctor and I won't be pulling a Natasha Richardson any time soon, but I just can't count on myself to be witty at the moment, so I thought I'd give you the relatively silent tour of the garden that I've been promising.

This is the new raspberry patch, so lovingly created by my dear friends, Jen and Pete.

Here are the vegetables so far, slowly making their way.

Oh, yes, the compost palace in it's home.



And the orchard, protected by it's lovely fence. My neighbor asked if we've got any POWs over here, but I love my fence.


Because soon (in my ideal world, of course) there will be peas and morning glories climbing up it. I swear there is a pea shoot growing out of here- can you see it?

More Fruit trees...

And the gingko that Molly and Aurel planted before moving to Istanbul.
and miraculous garlic!

I'll check back in again when the words come back later. In the mean time, I'm maybe failing at making ricotta, and I made something else that I'll tell you about if it tastes good. I'll give you a hint.
Until then...