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Posts Tagged ‘stew’

Today on Facebook I posted about the times last summer when my buddy would write to me, having just opened his box from his CSA*, and ask what in the name of all that is holy were these short green fuzzy things. He’d include a photo. (They were okra.)

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These are lumpy yellowish-greenish appley pear things. (Quince.)

Another time he told me about a whitish greenish vegetable with ferny things growing out of the top of it. I told him to slice off a tiny bit, then asked if it tasted like licorice. He did, and it did, and he was so excited to report back. (Fennel.)

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Smells a little like mint. (Because it is—wild mint.)

I find this kind of conversation very enjoyable, so today I extended my identifying services to everyone I know on Facebook. More and more people are buying into CSAs and their spectacularly fresh, local vegetables, but don’t always know what they’re looking at, let alone how to prepare it.

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Sort of squishy streaky purplish things. (Figs.)

In the case of the okra, I suggested he fry them, or make a stew and let them goop themselves out. You cannot thwart the okra when it comes to goop. As I must write, and take pictures of broken things I find on the side of the road, so they must goop. Might as well let it thicken your stew.

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Um, they’re long and covered with dirt. (Fresh horseradish.)

For the fennel, I suggested he shave it thinly with a mandoline and use it in salads. If I recall, he found success with both vegetables, though decided not to try the okra on his two young boys. Ate it up himself. I’m still not entirely sold on it myself. Maybe another year.

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Fat zucchini? (Close enough. Summer squash covers it. I used to know the name, but can’t find it!)

As I posted to my friends, I love the prospect of playing Julie McCoy and introducing someone to a new vegetable. I love helping people to give in to curiosity, and a new way to think, and a new way to cook.

But mostly I love feeling as though I’m giving people accessibility to what the earth gives. I’m such a nerd, I know, but I find it incredibly exciting to come across a new fruit or vegetable, especially if it’s local. And I know at least one other person who feels the same. Maybe it’s because we’ve become so jaded, with information powering at us from all sides, all day and night, and feel as though there’s nothing new to see.

I know digital information can and does make our world bigger, but to me…it’s almost always more rewarding to make it bigger not by looking at a screen, but down at the fertile ground.

*CSA: Community-Supported Agriculture—a great idea. People buy shares in a local farm, and get the spoils of that farm, all season long, as ripe and delicious as can be.

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Last week I decided I was going to make hot pepper oil, something I had never made before.

Hot pepper flakes from the supermarket come in a little jar. I shake some into my pan of waiting olive oil and turn on the heat to medium.

The kitchen is at one end of my apartment and my PC is at the other. (This is the part where I blame the arbitrary layout of my apartment to the initial failure of this recipe.) I head down the hall to check how my mutual fund is doing (Okay, it wasn’t so much the mutual fund as email. Actually, it wasn’t so much email as Facebook) and within a few minutes smell a really off, chemical, burning odor. I run down the hallway to pull the pan and its tiny black dots floating in oil off the heat.

Right, now what do I do with this pan of hot oil? I want to try the recipe again, but all of my other pans are in the sink, and I could pretend I want to wash them, but I’m not feeling imaginative.

So the next steps look like this:

1) Congratulate myself for thinking to pour it into the empty cider carton in the trash.

2) Curse myself for having such lousy aim, as 90% of the yuck splashed outside the carton as I poured, hissing like the Kraken after it devoured most of Crete and adding the smell of molten plastic to the already appealing smell of burnt oil.

Sigh. Hot pepper oil recipe, take 2. Here is what worked:

I buy whole dried hot red peppers at a specialty store, which are as long than your thumb and half the width. They don’t give off that bizarre chemical smell; instead they just smell spicy. All right so far. I grind them up, put them in the saucepan and add the oil. The ratio of oil to flakes is up to you, depending on how much you want to end up with and how spicy you like your oil. It takes experimentation (which has been well, and painfully, documented in this blog).

I set the heat to the lowest setting and stay in the kitchen for once. The oil should never boil; the red pepper flakes should instead move around in it like they’re learning Tai Chi, or are doing a fight scene imitation from The Matrix.

Once you smell the pepper, it’s done.

Let the oil cool off the heat—completely. Then take a funnel and sieve and set them over your bottle or jar or whatever you want to use to store your oil. Pour the hot pepper oil carefully through the sieve and funnel. It will be a lovely goldeny orange color.

Attach your nozzle or lid and you’re done. Store it in the fridge if you have a lot or aren’t going to use it right away. The counter top is fine to stash a small amount or if you’re using it right up.

This is my everyday saute oil for vegetables (especially broccoli, cauliflower, greens or sliced butternut squash), for sauteing an onion before making soup or risotto, for drizzling on top of your lentil stew or pasta. Garlic is its best friend; other good acquaintances are toasted Italian bread, sausages and the tomato in any guise.

Of course it loves goofing off with its first cousins, roasted sweet bell peppers or frying peppers. Scrambled eggs cooked in red pepper oil will make morning time far less dreary. It gives brightness and power to almost anything you pair with it. Plain olive oil will become yawnworthy to you.

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