Homework

I feel very fortunate today, for I have had the great good luck to become friends with the kind of people who will greet me with the phrase “I’ve got way too much produce on my hands, I need to get it out of here, take as much as you want.”

And who will then encourage you, as you are filling sacks upon sacks of amazing, beautiful, fresh veggies, to stuff your bags even more full.

My refrigerator is literally crammed, stuffed like a Strasbourg goose, with bags of bok choy and Chinese cabbage, kale, garlic scapes, collards, zucchini, spinach, and rocket.

I’ll be making garlic scape pesto later on, some of which will be tossed with sauteed zucchini.

The bok choy has a date with destiny in the form of mushrooms, garlic, and a hot wok.

The collards are already lined up to be shredded, steamed and put in the bottoms of bowls to have a brothy blend of fava beans and ham hock ladled over it.  Perhaps some browned garlic over the top, little semi-crisp, sweet garlicky, salty chips.  I made the beans and ham hock yesterday, needing to use up the hock, with no idea how I would serve them.  Now I know. Obviously I was just making something to go with the greens.

The rest will fall into place, and by “place” I mean our bellies, by and by.

I am grateful for the kindness of friends.

Goodness, Wednesday dinnertime already?  That was how I felt when I walked into the kitchen tonight, with honestly no idea what to cook.  But I had boiled a batch of chickpeas yesterday, and we had a pound of kale in the fridge.  Beans love greens and greens love beans, but how to make it interesting?

The answer I came up with was to roast the chickpeas in a very hot oven, with lightly smashed whole garlic cloves, olive oil, and some crushed dried Aleppo pepper… and to braise the kale in a bit of water until it was tender… and to make a bit of a ragout that would bridge the two.  The ragout was a quick and dirty one, several onions caramelized with oil, with a handful of oil-packed anchovies, then the leftover half a can of diced tomatoes left over from Monday’s dinner.  Simmered for a while, they made a lovely chunky sauce that went well with both the kale and the chickpeas.

I think I may make it again.  On purpose, next time.

Since what I’m eating for dinner tonight is exactly the same as what I ate for lunch, I figured I’d take y’all on a little tour of the garden instead of subjecting you to yet another photo of my food.

This rose is “Mermaid,” an old, simple rose with a vigorous and sprawling habit, a territorial nature, and exceptionally vicious and numerous thorns.  It blooms prolifically and grows at a gallop… I planted this rose at the back fence just a little over a year ago.  It’s been duking it out with the ornamental grasses I inherited from the previous owners of the house ever since.

Just inside the back gate you can see my Rouge Vif d’Etampes pumpkin vine, beginning to grow, as scheduled, through the bottom of a little tripod built of branches.  Growing up the tripod itself is autumn clematis, a volunteer that appeared when we chopped down some old diseased thujas that were slowly dying on the spot when we bought the house.  The pot holds my “Penelope” rose, past her first bloom already.  She’ll have another in the early fall, though, don’t worry.

In the Forest of Volunteer Herbs, at the corner of the back porch, we have oregano and dill, thyme and lovage and Bavarian sage, purslane, some baby basil that I bunged in down front recently, and a few garlic chives.  I note that this is what happens when you aren’t careful about pinching off the blooms when your herbs start to bolt: the following year you get surprises.  I’m just amazed there isn’t any cilantro.  By rights I should be up to my elbows in it.  Off to the right is some Kentucky Colonel dill I rooted from a bunch some friends gave me, which seems to be doing all right and will doubtless be having turf wars with the sage before summer’s out.

Looking down the side yard, where the raised bed lives.  Most of the day it gets full sun, only after about 5 pm does the back half get shaded.  Down front there are tomatoes — Tula Black, Brandywine, and Green Zebra — and peppers of the “Biscayne,” “Lipstick,” “Chi Chien,” and guajillo varieties.  Further back a bit, Good Mother Stallard beans, Flor di Castilla beans, both of which are shelling varieties, and a couple hills of “Eden” pole beans, a string bean.  Beyond that, there is chard aplenty, a couple varieties of gai lan, some bok choy, broccoli “Belstar,” and Brussels sprouts, along with a few starts of Roma tomatoes tucked into odd corners.  To the right, with the white flower heads, is one of the elderberry bushes.  To the left you can see the rainbarrels.  Yeah, actual barrels.  Actual whiskey barrels, actually.  They still smell of it some.

The baby blueberries are still working on it.  I planted these berries just this year, so any fruit at all is a nice surprise.

Over the fence is my neighbor’s yard.  He likes roses, can you tell?  It’s nice to be able to enjoy all these roses and still have lots of space to concentrate on growing good things to eat.  Speaking of which, do you see my tiger lilies there in the lower right?  Lily buds are good eating… when I can bear to pick them.  I do so love watching them open.

Another view of the raised beds, with chard and broccoli in the foreground, beans and elderberry bushes in the back.

Up front in the mostly-unkempt, once-and-future shade garden, to which I haven’t yet done much, my astilbes are beginning to bloom.  There’s a volunteer black-eyed susan just to the left, too, that I’ve decided to let run riot if it will.

This is a Sea Holly (Eryngium “Blaukappe”) surprise.  I’d started some of these from seed last year, and felt all studly when I planted them out, whereupon they promptly died.  Or seemed to, at least, until a few weeks ago when they reappeared as if nothing had ever happened.  In the background, Echinacea purpura, and more tiger lilies.

Last but not least, here on the front porch, my $2 begonias.  They started out, a month or so ago, as dinky little three-inch pots of completely rootbound begonia for sale cheap at Trader Joe’s.  I purchased their freedom and brought them home and installed them somewhere with a little breathing room, namely a porch planter, and promptly enrolled them in the patented regime of benign neglect to which I treat all my plants.

They seem to like it fine.

The shrimp at the Asian supermarket this morning were nice, and the price was good, so I bought some.  I had been hoping for mussels, but the mussels were not happy.  So shrimp it was, a foundation for what ended up being a shrimp-centric meal.  I shelled the shrimp and stir-fried them, in a riff on a Barbara Tropp recipe, with handfuls of minced ginger and loads of chopped scallion, a little double black soy, and not much else.

For veg, there were a mix of green pea and snow pea sprouts chased through the wok with a fair whack of grated ginger and some minced dried shrimp.  The brownish-red bits are shrimp.  I added a little black vinegar as well.

And there was soup.  It’s one of our favorite Chinese soups, and one that reminds my Belovedary of childhood.  It’s intensely savory and good, though not much to look at.  It can be made with almost any kind of stock, providing that the stock has been made with Chinese seasonings and not, say, thyme and parsley and carrots and bay leaves.

This one was made with a shrimp stock I’d made some while ago.  I pulled it from the freezer earlier today after coming home with the shrimp. To the stock, I added pickled mustard greens and stir-fried ground pork seasoned with garlic and wine, and let it simmer while I fussed with the rest.

Now, because when I have both paid for shrimp and done the work of shelling them I don’t want to waste any of the money or effort or goodness, I have the shrimp shells in a pot on the stove, simmering into another batch of shrimp stock.  Shell stocks are quick, and need to simmer for only about a half an hour, so it’s no big deal to do one after supper.  Particularly if you are, as I am, doing it in small quantity.  I’ll end up with about a quart of stock… exactly the amount I used to make the soup.

The theme for this evening’s cookery turned out to be Dishes That Require Four Ingredients. I didn’t plan it this way, it just turned out like that. Still, it’s nice to have simple good things up your sleeve, isn’t it?

For my actual supper, I was jonesing for greens so I ate a huge bowl of one of the most addictive kale dishes I’ve ever come across. I learned it from a good friend of mine who is, in addition to being a brilliant anthropologist, a phenomenal cook. She in turn cribbed it from a Thai restaurant, because she’s smart like that. Since learning this dish I have become kind of obnoxious about it and push it on everyone I know. They don’t mind, though, because it’s really that good.

Lemon-Sesame Kale

1 pound kale, cleaned, stripped from the stems, and torn into bite-size pieces
julienned or grated zest and juice of 2 lemons
2 Tablespoons Asian sesame oil
2 Tablespoons soy sauce

Steam the kale until it is just tender. Remove from the steamer, giving it a good shake as you do to remove any excess water. Toss with the lemon zest and juice, sesame oil, and soy sauce. Taste and correct the seasonings if needed. Eat.

For most people, this is probably not a complete dinner in and of itself, but then again, most people are unlikely to eat the entire thing in one go. I, on the other hand, am a kaleoholic, and am more than happy, upon occasion, to eat a pound of kale and call it supper.

I also did a little recipe testing tonight that sufficed for a very fine dessert. For the Mother’s Day brunch I’m cooking, I’ll be serving lemon and lime bars, so I wanted to remind myself of the go-to recipes I’ve used in the past for both citrus curd and shortbread, in case I want to change anything between now and the brunch. I may not — these taste pretty good.

Basic Citrus Curd

1 cup strained fresh lemon, lime, or other citrus juice
1 cup granulated sugar
8 egg yolks + 4 whole eggs
8 Tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into chunks

In a double boiler over simmering, but not boiling, water, whisk together the juice, sugar, egg yolks, and eggs until smooth, then stir gently until the mixture thickens to about the consistency of mayonnaise. This will take about 10 minutes.

If the mixture starts to form lumps, whisk ferociously and reduce the heat, and you should be able to save it. These are eggs you’re working with here. Too high a heat and you will have sweet lemon-flavored scrambled eggs. So just relax and take your time and do it over a simmer and you’ll be fine.

When the mixture has thickened, remove the inner part of the double boiler from the outer and place it on a bed of ice cubes. Add several chunks of butter and stir in until melted, at which point add more butter and repeat until all butter is incorporated and the mixture is smooth. Pour out into a scrupulously clean container, cover with plastic wrap (press the plastic wrap down onto the surface of the curd to prevent a skin forming), and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled.

Extra Credit: Strain the curd through a fine sieve before refrigerating. This will remove any of the small bits of chalazae — the membranes that serve as tethers for the yolk, holding it in place inside the shell — that might present as little chewy lumps in your citrus curd. Alternately, pour the uncooked eggs through a sieve before you start, which will do the same thing preemptively.

Simple Shortbread

The ratio for a simple shortbread is this: for each 8 Tablespoons of salted slightly softened butter, use one cup all-purpose flour and one half cup powdered sugar, plus one teaspoon vanilla extract.

The method, and let me tell you up front that you want an electric mixer for this, is to beat the butter until it is reasonably pliable, then add the flour, sugar, and vanilla and beat hell out of it until it comes together as a stiff dough. Trust me, it will happen, even though it doesn’t seem like it will at first. Do not yield to the temptation to add water, we are not making pie crust here.

Turn the dough out onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper (or if you have Silpat liners, this is the time to use them) and roll 1/4 inch thick. Prick all over with a fork, which will release steam as the shortbread bakes.

Bake in a preheated 300F oven until the shortbread is golden brown and lovely. How long this takes will depend on how large a batch of shortbread you have made. Half an hour is probably the minimum, though, and it may take longer if you have made a large batch.

Remove from the oven, let stand 5 minutes, and cut while still warm into pieces of the desired size. Shortbread does not cut gracefully once it has cooled completely so strike while the iron is hot.

To make lemon bars, lime bars, blood orange bars, kumquat bars, grapefruit bars, or whatever other kind of citrus bars you fancy, simply cut the shortbread into bars, let it cool completely, then top each one with a layer of curd made with the relevant sort of juice. Sprinkle with powdered sugar if you like, though it isn’t really necessary.

If you want to get fancy-schmancy, convert your citrus curd into citrus mousse by folding a cup of it into a cup of heavy cream that has been whipped to stiff peaks, and make a lovely plated dessert with a slab of shortbread topped with a heavenly billow of mousse. A sprinkling of berries and perhaps a curl or two of citrus zest would be lovely, no?