Mussel Mania

Mmmmm, mussel season is here. Although mussels will be getting even larger and plumper over the next couple of months, last night marked my celebration of the first really good mussels of the season. I’d been saving a recipe for Spicy Coconut Mussels with Lemon Grass, just waiting for the mussels to go with it, and a flying visit to Taylor Shellfish put them into my pot. The original recipe as written here is indeed very good, and you can make it just as is for a delicate rendition of Thai-style mussels. I’ve amped it up and adjusted the proportions and flavor balance a bit, because I love Thai flavors, and, in all modesty, I think you should try it my way first.

It’s delicious with an aromatic, dry Riesling. And for me, if I’m only eating mussels, 1 1/2 pounds per person is the right amount. If you’re having something else with the mussels one pound per person is normally considered to be a portion.

Abra’s Adapted Spicy Coconut Mussels

2 T coconut oil
1 large shallot, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 stalks lemon grass, trimmed and finely chopped
2 serrano peppers, seeded and finely chopped
1 cup coconut milk
3 pounds mussels, debearded and rinsed
zest of 1 lime
2 tsp lime juice
1 T fish sauce
3/4 cup whole cilantro leaves

Heat the oil in a large pot with a tight-fitting lid. Sauté the shallot, garlic, lemon grass, and serrano pepper until soft, 3-4 minutes. Add the coconut milk and bring to a simmer. Gently add mussels. Cover and cook over medium-high heat for 4-5 minutes, or until all of the mussels are opened. Scoop the mussels into two shallow bowls, leaving liquid in the pan. Add lime juice, lime zest, fish sauce, and cilantro to the pan and stir until the cilantro is just wilted. Pour the hot sauce over the mussels and serve.

The original recipe has you serve this with toasted croissants, which seems bizarre to me. I suggest that if you do eat carbs, you serve this with jasmine rice. Me, when all the mussels have been eaten, I just drink the remaining sauce right from the bowl like the mussel-loving heathen that I am.

Heavenly Hakurei Hash

Suddenly Hakurei turnips are everywhere, and I’m in love. Probably I’m the last cook in America to discover them, since Internet references to them abound, but I don’t care, I’ve got them now and I’m never letting go. Tender and sweet, pure white, small and perfectly round with appetizing greens, they’re everything a turnip should be. Here’s my way with them.

Cut the turnips into pretty half-moons, chop the greens, and dice up the best pancetta you can find. This one comes from the Hitchcock Deli here on the island and it’s fabulously savory.

Crisp the pancetta and sweat the turnips in the rendered fat with no added liquid.

Toss in the chopped greens and cook just to wilt them. Relish.

Heavenly Hakurei Hash

2 bunches Hakurei turnips, 5 to a bunch, sliced in half-moons
3-4 ounces excellent pancetta, diced
greens from the two bunches of turnips, chopped
1 T olive oil
salt and pepper

Heat the olive oil in a small pan (I use a 7″ skillet, you want the turnips to be crowded so that they’ll steam in their own juices) then add the pancetta and toss and stir over medium heat to render some of the fat and lightly crisp the meat. Add the sliced turnips, a pinch of salt, toss to cover the turnips with the fat, and cover the pan. Cook on low heat for 10 minutes, stirring halfway through. You want the turnips to be tender but not mushy. Add the greens, stir to combine, cover the pan and cook for about 5 minutes. Add another pinch of salt and a grind or two of fresh pepper. And that’s all she wrote, because that’s all you need to do.

Personally I think this makes two servings, and it’s just as good left over the next day as it is at first bite.

Mother’s Day Wingding

A passing flock of cedar waxwings graced my day, the first I’ve ever seen here. Sitting out on the deck on a gorgeous summery evening we noticed that the neighbor’s tree was alive with little birds. The telephoto lens revealed them to be cedar waxwings, a name so poetic that I was thrilled to have them help me celebrate the day.

Graceful in flight, they proved the point that you should always have a camera within reach, as half an hour later they had all flown away. And for once, the disappearance of birds had nothing to do with

petite Zazou, a mighty hunter who is herself normally quite camera-shy. Maybe I’ll try tele-photoing her from now on, since she seems more at ease that way.

It’s interesting to turn a long lens on nearby objects,

like this glass of celebratory Champagne,

or this Lewisia, so splendid in springtime.  But of course what the lens really wants to do is look far afield, which in the case of our deck means out towards Puget Sound

where sailboats caroused and tugboats plied their trade against the backdrop of the Cascades, the tug working even on Mother’s Day

hauling barges into Seattle.

And then, after a couple of additional glasses of Champagne (because when you celebrate you might as well Celebrate) and the Lighting of the Grill to herald approaching summer and the outdoor cooking season, the doorbell rang and our neighbor brought us these beautiful fragrant yellow azaleas to join the Lily of the Valley that had bloomed just in time for Mother’s Day. A wingding of a day, I’d say, all brought to you by the magic of telephoto, instead of Teleflora.

Heads Or Tails?

Sometimes it’s so hard to know what to do. When completely flummoxed, I might have an extra glass of wine. Shel might play an extra game of Solitaire. Beppo likes to bury himself in a pile of clean laundry. Never dirty laundry, although heaven knows he has the opportunity to choose the well-used over the freshly-laundered. But no, the sweet, comforting softness of stuff right out of the dryer appeals to him, and I understand why. I’m blissed out myself when I get to put on fuzzy fleece clothes still dryer-warm, a hangover from my childhood days of popping into warm jammies at bedtime. Snuggle in, zone out, and whatever thorny problems you’re facing recede into the background.

In our case, we’ve been grappling for what seems like eons with the question of when and whether to go back to France. France or America? Somewhere else? We’ve buried our heads in the sands of daily life, thought of everything but this choice, obsessed over the French elections, planted the spring garden, until finally the answer came to us.

And although we were almost ready to just flip a coin, the plan ended up staring me in the face in the dark of a sleepless night, one of many that I passed trying to sort out our future whereabouts. And here it is. Yes, we will go back to France, how could we not? But no, we won’t do it right away.

First, in July and August, we’ll take a fantastical, frozen voyage up to Greenland, Iceland, and other exotic locales that I really never imagined we’d get to see. I’ll spend my birthday in Qaqortoq, Greenland, undoubtedly my most obscure and amazing birthday spot ever. You’ll come too, satellite Internet willing.

Then we’ll spend the rest of the year here on the island, have the holidays here, which we’ve seldom done these last five or six years. And then, back to our beloved France in the new year. Best of all worlds, I’d say. And as soon as Beppo gets out of that pile of laundry heaped on the futon, we’ll plop ourselves down in front of the only TV show we ever watch, a French current affairs debate program, and find out what the rest of the world has been up to whilst we had our heads tucked into our cozy little bubble. World, here we come.

Rhubarb, Ahoy

My rhubarb is taking over its corner of the garden, its leaves hugely extravagant, its stalks brilliant crimson, thick and meaty. This is a problem for a person who doesn’t eat sugar, as rhubarb is one of the sourest things you can put in your mouth and live to tell the tale.

But I remembered reading somewhere that in some culture (guess I didn’t read it very carefully, did I?) they eat sliced raw rhubarb dipped in salt. Hoping against common sense, I tried that, and now I’m here to say: don’t under any circumstances do that yourself. It’s actually a rinse your mouth out right now combination as far as I’m concerned, and that was after just the tiniest nibble.

Undaunted, or at least only partially daunted, I continued to search online for savory rhubarb recipes. And Bingo! I found an Italian recipe for Faraona Brasata con Rabarbero e Cipolle Rosse. Doesn’t that sound mouth-watering? Translated as Braised Guinea Hen with Rhubarb and Red Onions it still sounded good, so I waltzed out to the garden and twisted off a thick stalk of rhubarb. That’s one stalk down, forty to go, but still.

I tweaked the recipe a little to make it even lower carb, and because guinea hen is just plain unavailable in these parts. You can see the original recipe here, and my adaptation follows. It’s a slightly sweet, slightly sour, silky and tender concoction with an intriguing flavor profile. Even Shel, a confirmed rhubarb-hater, thought it was delightful. It’s so good that now that I have discovered this dish I’m going to freeze a lot of my rabarbero so that I can make it all year round. And when I get back to France I’m definitely going to try it with guinea hen, which I find delicious. I can only imagine that made with faraona this dish will be even better than it already is, which is saying quite a lot.

So try it, even if you think it sounds peculiar, surprise yourself.

Chicken With Rhubarb And Red Onion

6 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
1/2 lb diced rhubarb
salt and pepper
4 T olive oil
5 T butter
1 small red onion, chopped
2/3 cup dry white wine

Heat the olive oil in a heavy pan. Generously salt and pepper the chicken. Brown the chicken in the hot oil until golden brown on both sides. Remove the chicken to a plate and drain the oil from the pan. Do not wash pan.

Melt the butter in the pan, then add the red onion and a pinch of salt. Cook the onions over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until the onions are soft. Pour the wine into the pan and scrape to deglaze any brown bits. Return the chicken to the pan along with any juices accumulated on the plate, reduce heat to low, cover pan, and simmer for 25 minutes, turning chicken pieces once or twice during cooking.

Stir in the rhubarb, add another sprinkle of salt and pepper, cover the pan again, and continue to cook for about 20 more minutes, until the chicken is meltingly tender and the rhubarb is tender but still holding its shape. This makes a lot of delightful sauce, so if you do eat carbs, serve it with mashed potatoes or polenta to soak up the sauce. If not, do as I did and just eat the sauce with a spoon. It’s that good.

The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies

I love Shel, and Shel loves chocolate chip cookies. So when I saw these tiny little pecans, labeled Native American Pecans, only about twice as big as a regular chocolate chip and tasting intensely pecan-y, I knew it was time to bake him some cookies. Normally I just use chopped regular pecans, and so can you, unless you happen to see these adorable miniature ones, and then I recommend them just for their extreme cuteness and the fact that you can leave them whole.

If you’re a person who likes to eat cookie dough, you’re going to love this dough, which tastes at least as good unbaked as it does in its more traditional format.

This recipe, based on my tweaks to one I found online about 15 years ago, has a huge chip-and-nut to dough ratio. Don’t be tempted to use less, there’s plenty of dough to hold it all together, even though it might not look like it. Picnic weather is finally here, and these are a perfect take-along. Just don’t forget the milk. These cookies will make you very popular.

The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies

1/2 cup softened butter
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 1/4 tsp vanilla
1 1/2 cups flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
4 1/2 oz chocolate chips
4 1/2 oz toasted pecans

Preheat oven to 350°.

Place the two sugars in the bowl of a stand mixer, add the butter, and beat on medium speed until very creamy, stopping once or twice to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the egg and continue to beat until the mixture is fluffy and light, scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary. Beat in the vanilla.

Turn off the mixer and add the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. I don’t see any need to mix the dry stuff together beforehand, it’ll all mix in evenly and it saves one dirty bowl. Since Shel also does all the dishes, this is a Good Thing. With the mixer on low, blend the dry ingredients into the butter mixture until it just comes together. Remove the bowl from the mixer and stir in the chocolate chips and nuts by hand.

Using a Tablespoon cookie scoop, place the dough on ungreased cookie sheets. If you use a half-sheet pan, you will need two. You should end up with about 27 cookies. Bake for 9-10 minutes, just until the cookies are a light golden color. Do not overbake, on pain of losing the soft melting quality of these cookies.

Calling All Collards

It’s spring, and young, tantalizingly tender greens are finally here! Yesterday at the annual opening of our farmers’ market my sweet farmer Rebecca had a heap of the freshest, most delicate collard greens ever. Considering that I’ve had a gorgeous smoked ham hock in my freezer for a couple of weeks, just waiting, the collards arrived none too soon.

It’s funny, because although Shel is the Southerner in our family, collards leave him cold. But the minute I saw that ham hock, nestled among other farm-fresh pork goodies at my favorite butcher shop, I had a sudden, mad craving for collard greens with ham hocks.

Collards like these, so irresistible that I’ve now eaten them two days in a row and still have enough left for another meal, hallelujah and skip the cornbread. I’m sure that back in the hollers where collards are everyday fare, they’d scoff at my raving about first-of-the-spring greens, and my artisan raised and smoked ham hock. They’d probably laugh their heads off at my recipe, which includes

an excellent sherry vinegar that I brought back from Spain, in place of the usual cider vinegar, and my most favorite hot sauce Secret Aardvark Habanero, in place of Tabasco. Let them scoff. If you use the absolutely best ingredients you can find, this humble dish will surprise you by being transcendentally delicious. You may not have exactly what I had, but seek out the best you can get, and your efforts will be well rewarded.

Abra’s Gentrified Collard Greens

2 lbs tender spring collards
1 large smoked ham hock
3-4 quarts water
1-2  T sherry vinegar, to taste
1-2T Secret Aardvark sauce, or your favorite hot sauce
salt and pepper to taste
2 T butter

Place the ham hock in a large saucepan and cover with the water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium low and simmer, covered, until tender, about 1 1/2 hours. Meanwhile, remove the ribs of the collards by pulling the leaves off, discarding ribs. Slice the collards into a medium chiffonade.

When the ham hock is tender, add the collards to the broth, cover, and simmer. Traditionally you’d cook the collards for a couple of hours, but with these young collards one hour was enough. Towards the end of that hour add the vinegar and hot sauce. When the collards are meltingly tender remove the ham hock from the pan and pull off all the meat. Sliver the ham and return it, along with the bone, to the pot. You want to have lots of the delicious “pot likker” left, but I removed the lid at this point, raised the heat a bit, and simmered it all together for 20 minutes or so to reduce the broth even further. Just before serving stir in the butter and let it melt. You’re good to go.

People who eat cornbread will want to make some and dunk it in the pot likker. People like me, no carbs people, will want to drink it straight from the bowl. It’s almost worth making just for that final moment of slurping up the spring-green nectar at the bottom of the bowl, but luckily for you, you get to eat the ham and collards too. So quick, rush out while the collards are at their finest, treat yourself to this green gift, and slurp away, with my blessing.

Cheese Whizzes

Friends, ovines, cheese lovers, lend me your ears. I’m here to tell you that there’s damned good cheese being made here in Washington State by some 40 artisan cheesemakers, and that endorsement’s coming from a person who has wholeheartedly sworn allegiance to French cheese. My perspective changed on the day before Easter, when we went to the first Washington Artisan Cheese Festival, a benefit for the Cascade Harvest Coalition.

Entering a cavernous room we discovered that the walls were lined with cheesemakers handing out endless samples of their wares. Every cheese was numbered, and later one could (and this one certainly did) buy their favorite cheeses to take home, by the numbers.  There were definitely too many cheeses to remember without a numbering system, probably about 100 different cheeses to sample, with Washington wine, beer, and cider available to help clear the palate between tastes.

Some folks had their cheese samples ready to go, and the visitors just filed past and grabbed tidbits.

Others, like these two ladies from Mountain Lodge Farm practically hand fed you. They were also responsible for transforming Shel into a fiend for fresh chèvre spread on a thin gingersnap. He even went back for seconds, which is very unlike him, so I suggest you give it a try as soon as possible.

You could chat with the cheesemakers, to the extent that your conscience allowed chatting when there was a whole line of impatient tasters behind you, and it was interesting to hear their explanations of how a very small cheesemaking operation does its thing.

There were also a few cheese auxiliary foods like bread, crackers, and jam. The limpa got especially high marks from my group.

I really liked a lot of cheese, but I’d have to say that Tieton Farm impressed me the most. Click the link to take a look at their website, they have a praiseworthy and diverse farming and production process, as well as producing exciting cheeses.Their Sonnet could pass for French, as could their Cendres. Their cider-washed-rind Venus is just delicious. I know I’ll be happily eating and serving their cheeses from now on.

Willapa Hills Big Boy Blue is one of the creamiest and most appealing cow milk blues that I’ve had in a long time

and Pluvius, their aged cow cheese is especially pretty to look at.

Samish Bay Cheese had a lovely lineup, and I wanted to take home some of everything. I did get some of their queso fresco-style Jalapeno cheese, which is stuffed full of juicy bits of fresh pepper and is just crying out for a Mexican salad lunch. I might also have to emulate their Black Mambazo by lightly coating some mild cheese with a mixture of cocoa and ground chipotle. Yum!

There were several spicy offerings but I was especially taken with River Valley Cheese for their awesome pepper jack. Their ale-washed-rind Naughty Nellie sneaked into my sack as well. They give cheesemaking classes in Seattle too – yowza, I am so going to do that.

So all in all, Washington sheep, goats, cows, and their people, good job!

If Pizza Be The Food Of Love

You know that line from Twelfth Night, “If music be the food of love, play on?” Well, if pizza be the food of love, and I’d say that it’s a pretty good candidate, given that making homemade pizza for one’s beloved when one doesn’t even eat a bite oneself ought to be a potent love charm, then we need to play it again, only with a different recipe.

I used this recipe for Super Crispy Thin Crust Pizza, because Shel likes thin crusts and I’ve always preferred a thicker crust, so I didn’t have a tried and true thin crust recipe. This one is simplissimo, no rising, even though it’s a yeast dough, barely any kneading. The dough rolled out super-thin like a dream – those speckles are Italian herbs, which are included in the dough. Then the recipe has you bake it for a few minutes before adding the toppings.

Ack! Evidently the dough needed to be docked before baking, although the recipe doesn’t mention this. Come to think of it, this might be my new pita dough recipe, minus the speckles. In all of my attempts to get pita to puff properly I’ve never had such spectacular puffing as this pizza presented. I had to poke a few little holes in it to deflate it.

Then the recipe has you assemble the pizza upside-down, with the pepperoni first, the cheese next, then the sauce. This is supposed to keep the sauce from sogging into the crust, and it seemed sensible to me. However, Shel complained that the texture was off, having the sauce on top. And he also complained that a) it wasn’t crispy enough, and b) the two separate layers of now-deflated crust made for very weird eating. As to crispiness, I baked it directly on my pizza stone at 500°, and the stone had been heating at temperature for 45 minutes. I don’t think there was any way I could have gotten the dough hotter, and indeed, it cooked in just under 10 minutes total. I wish I could say that it wasn’t perfect but it was still very good, but alas, the uneaten half went into the garbage instead of the fridge, so that pretty much says it all.

So please, if you know the secret to making a truly crispy-crusted pizza in a home oven, do tell. You’ll be doing love a great service.

Upgrade Your Vision

This morning I shot this lovely little ode to a contorted filbert catkin. Last year we were in France at this time of year, and so I’d almost forgotten how appealing the catkins are, and how fleetingly they put in their appearance. A few quick clicks and there I had it, a reasonable reminder of some of the subtler beauties of spring.

Then this afternoon I got an automatic upgrade to my Picasa, which, for those who don’t use it, is a free Google product that does some photoshopping functions and files your photos. I’m normally wary of Picasa upgrades, as they’ve sometimes been buggy, but this one has a couple of neat new features. Here’s that same image, improved/modified with one mouse click per photo.

If that isn’t pretty cool I don’t know what is.  Oh yeah, being a better photographer in the first place, mastering the many tricks of the serious camera that I so under-utilize, that would be cool too.  But really, if you don’t use Picasa, it’s quite a fun little tool, and it’s a free download. It makes up for a certain number of photographic sins quite well and lets me see my photos in a whole new light.