Enigma On Toast

How is rhubarb like an avocado?

For just one tiny second, avert your thoughts from pies and strawberries and jam and cream, and think about this (just one second, I promise). We all know avocados are fruit, but generally not thought of as anything but a green veggie ideally paired with chips and a salted margarita. In the same way, rhubarb, technically a vegetable, is nestled in with pie pans and jam jars and all the sweet, fruity desserts of spring. A gardener's enigma: in a world of fruit parading as vegetables, is rhubarb the only vegetable playing dress up as fruit?

Just some fruit (or vegetable) for thought. And because disguise or not, it does seem that rhubarb belongs in sweet pie shells rather than salad bowls, lets get back to the sugar.

If you don't have time for cutting butter into pie dough, or you find your store shelves still waiting for summer strawberries...the answer is jam. Its quick, its sweet, and as you will see in a few short scrolls of your mouse, quite versatile in those moments requiring attention to sweet tooth needs (which can be very serious indeed).

From long, lanky stalks, rhubarb cut into little pieces turns to a confetti of pink and green, tart and tasty. Add a little sugar, a little heat, and one (heat resistant) spatula...

Jam baby!

Even if it weren't sweet and drool-inducingly delicious...not that I drooled..., this jam is soft and pink* and cheery. Vegetable? Good disguise indeed. I strongly believe that sometimes you need something lovely like this in your fridge, even just to look at while scanning the options. It is no coincidence then, I should note here too, that this simple recipe comes from a woman who I believe has mastered the art of using sweets to sweeten up more than the dessert hour, my favorite pastry chef Nancy Olson.

We've covered that this fruity vegetable is sneaky, pink, cheery and occasionally inducing of a lip smack or two... but is it all just for toast? Oh no. No my friends. Think ice cream. Stir it into your oatmeal. For a hot-like-summer spring day, just mix in a bit of the syrupy smooth part into a glass of tonic water for rhubarb soda.

And toast works too.

Fruit, vegetable... a little sugar and jam is the word. I suppose you could also call it a compote, but calling it jam makes its something you can eat for breakfast without flirting at dessert. And I think that's grand.

So go think biscuits, ice cream, ricotta, crisp sodas, toast, yogurt, cereal, shortcake...


*The color of your jam will depend on the color of the rhubarb you buy- if its a greener bunch, don't be discouraged if your jam turns out a little brownish. It will still taste great!!

Nancy Olson's Rhubarb Jam

360 grams rhubarb
250 grams sugar

125 grams rhubarb

125 grams rhubarb

1. Over medium-high heat, let a medium sized sauce pan warm up, empty.
2. Once the pot is hot, add the first amount of rhubarb and sugar.
3. Cook, stirring constantly, until the rhubarb cooks down to a thick, jam like consistency. As it get thicker, the sugar will want to start caramelizing; if you see it turning brown on the bottom of the pot, take the pan off the heat, stir some more, and then throw it back on. Make sure you stir constantly! Use the spatula to scrape the bottom and the edges around the pan.
4. Once the rhubarb is thick and you can almost smell it caramelizing, add the second amount of rhubarb.
5. Stir until rhubarb softens, and mixture returns to a boil.
6. Add the last measure, stirring for just a minute or two, until the mixture returns to a boil again.
7. Let cool in a heat resistant bowl...the jam will be really hot when it comes out of the pot!
8. Once cool, refrigerate (or eat).

Yield: a little over half a quart.

It's ALIVE!! A tale of soft shell crabs

I tell you, times as of late have been scary in my kitchen.

First, it was the invasion. Coming out of that on the winning side with bread pudding leftovers for days, the coast seemed clear. At the Greenmarket beautiful piles of greens, towers of asparagus and the first bright pink stalks of rhubarb started to fill in around the ramp mounds. A curvy bunch of baby bok choy stole my heart and with the sun shining, my flip flops flopping the pavement, I headed home, unknowing all the way, to see what Russ had picked up from the fish market.

Part of me feels as though I should stop letting him go. If you recall the last thing he pulled from that brown paper fish bag... Well this time it was worse. Or better. Depending on if you asked me before or after I ate it.

We'd been planning on taking a stab at cooking soft shell crabs for a few weeks and gathering information on how to do it right along the way. Most reliable sources said, "Buy the ones that are still moving. If they don't move, don't bother." This advice was largely why I was responsible for picking up the produce. I'm an adventurous eater but much more so when the breading and batter and heat has been applied. I'm not sure how much movement I expected but when Russ pulled out the first crab, legs squirming violently in the air around his hand what I didn't expect to do was to scream like a girl.

Which I did. In response to my squimish squeeling he replied, "All you have to do is cut off their faces and rip out their gills." Unassumingly charming as he tickled their bellies, I silently wondered if there was an evil side to this man before me. Watching the poor little crabs tapping their frenzied little legs on the cutting board as the knife came down on their soft little shells... So violent.

But. So. Delicious. Once I successfully repressed the image of that one, still-twitching claw, covered in egg wash and cornmeal, not yet fried and not yet dead...I could let myself enjoy the explosively rich, velvety, salty and amazing flavor of the crabs. They were aboslutely as insanely delicious as the scene in my kitchen was perhaps insane during their preparation.

The steamed bok choy was light and good for the heart, but as the crabs sizzled in the pan all I really wanted was a plate piled high exclusively with soft shells. After I took this picture I added another one to my plate on the spot.

If you aren't so lucky to have a fresh fish market around the corner (or aren't so brave or don't have a crazy bearded butcher for a kitchen companion), you can make a delicious soft shell crab meal from fresh, non-moving crabs that have simply died in refrigeration; it happens quickly once the crabs are put on ice (you'll still have to clean them!). Just make sure you know where they came from and when they arrived in your store.

I know I've painted a gruesome picture here. But I promise I did it because I believe you can't make it through the season without having at least...6 crabs. They are highlight-of-your-week, worth-cutting-off-a-crabs-face scrumptious. And sometimes you need to see proof that you can make it through the other side to get there.

Well I'm on the other side. And I'm going back for more.

Cornmeal Battered Fried Soft Shell Crabs

5 Soft shell crabs
2 eggs
Cornmeal to coat
Sea salt to taste
Black pepper to taste
Fresh thyme, to taste

1. Using kitchen shears, snip off the eyes and mouth of the crab. (This will be about 1/8 of an inch behind the eyes, cutting straight across.)
2. Snip around the edge of the body, folding back the top of the shell. A fingerlike structure should be visible inside the body.
3. Either with scissors or with your fingers, remove this structure from both sides.
4. On the belly, pull back the flap, referred to as the apron, and snip it off as well.

For help with cleaning your crabs, check out this video.

5. The yellow gel-like substance you'll see in the crab can be clean out, or left to be eaten. Its edible, but it may make you feel better to clean it out.
6. Rinse crabs thoroughly under water. Pat dry.
7. Dip in egg wash.
8. Mix salt, pepper and thyme into cornmeal. Coat crabs with mixture.
9. Coat the bottom of a frying pan in a thin layer of olive oil. Heat.
10. Over medium heat, place crabs in pan. Cook on both sides until golden brown.

Yield:
5 crabs

Attack of the Ramps

It could be a tag line on an illuminated poster of a B movie, a la horror genre.

"They came out of the fields. They invaded New York. They're green, they're alive, they're..."

Ramps! Horror turns to happy endings. With winter officially behind us, ramps are the earth's way of assuring us its spring. Giving us a pat on the back, saying, "Congratulations! You made it through winter. Now have a snack."

Also known as wild leeks, ramps are a garlicky, oniony, curvy, leafy, beautiful and delicious spring vegetable. Overflowing from every other booth in farmers markets around the city, ramps are here and here in number. Making the city a little greener and significantly more tasty. One of the best things about these little sprigs of tangly-rooted vegetables (aside from their flirty looks and scrumptious flavor), is that you can cook them almost any way you want. Sauteed, grilled, baked...

While it's still cool enough to turn on the oven in our cozy kitchen, we decided to use the bunch of ramps whisked away from the greener side of Union Square Park to make a savory bread pudding. Over lemon sodas we sliced crusty bread, infused sage into whole milk, and sliced our ramps, separating the white stalk from the bright green leaf, but using all parts in the pudding because...well, you can. So why not.

A few eggs, salt, pepper and some Grana Padano, deliciously salty cheese, and the pudding was only an hour at 350 degrees away from our bellies.

Now if you are reading this thinking, bread pudding, ew no thank you, that sounds worse than an alien invasion...I can empathize. There was a period in my life when the thought of squishy, wet bread sounded wholly and completely gross. But when you think of it as a moist, rich, sophisticated cousin to stuffing, soft, comforting, and in this case salty, with pockets of bright ramps... Aren't you tempted to try a bite of this?

I hope so. Once golden and steaming and crispy around the edges, we'll just say I was truly happy (down to the bottom of my stomach) for spring. Plus bread pudding is ideal for warming you up just enough to ward of the spring night chills. Throw ramps in the mix and nearly the whole pan will disappear before you realize it. That is, if your experience is anything similar to mine...

We ate the leftovers with eggs over-easy for lunch the next day. Eggs and ramps will not steer you wrong. I think some sausage added to the mix wouldn't hurt one bit either. Having fully succumbed to the ramp bite, we used a second bunch to saute and lay over pan fried salmon for dinner the next night.

If I sound ramp crazed, well, okay I might just be. But consider it may be an even crazier thing to let spring pass without giving into the ramp invasion. Remember, no matter what it may sound like, they aren't out to get you.

You should go out and get them.

Savory Ramp Bread Pudding

1 large loaf of crusty bread, cut into big pieces (enough to almost fill an 11 x 7 inch baking pan)
1 bunch of ramps
5 cups whole milk
15 leaves of sage
7 eggs
1 1/2 cups grated Grana Padano cheese (or anything hard and salty)
Salt
Pepper

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Grease an 11 x 7 inch baking pan.
2. Heat milk with sage, bringing it almost to a boil. Take it off the heat, cover with plastic wrap and let infuse for 5 min. Remove sage.
3. In a large bowl mix bread and milk. Let soak.
4. Cut roots off ramps. Slice the white part of the ramp into small pieces, cut the leaves into larger chunks. Reserve a few whole leaves for decorating the top of the pudding.
5. In a small bowl, whisk eggs together with white ramp pieces, salt and pepper.
6. Mix egg thoroughly into bread and milk.
7. Stir in 1 cup of grated cheese.
8. Spread pudding into pan.
9. Garnish the top with whole ramp leaves and the remaining 1/2 C cheese.
10. Bake for 1 hr and 10 minutes or until pudding is golden brown on top.

Yield:
approx 15 servings

Spats

The highlight of my eating last week started in a dispute over soup. Gumbo to be specific. I don't recall how soup became the topic of conversation...but then again, why wouldn't it be. Soup is delicious and wonderful and I could muse about it all day long. So maybe I got a little worked up when I was sure gumbo was cooked with rice, and Russ resolute that is was served over it.

Technically speaking, I lost the tussle. But I was decided that gumbo was on for Monday dinner so the loss was of little consequence.

Waiting tables in my college days, I donned a white apron serving up gumbo and crawfish etouffee at a small, spicy little cajun/creole restaurant in Central Pennsylvania. Spats Cafe. What great, funny, delicious memories I have of that restaurant. Filling ice tea pitchers and polishing silverware in the morning, I'd watch the cooks stir big pots of dark roux under the waves of heat spilling off the flatop in the kitchen. Roux, a rich, slowly cooked combination of fat and flour is what makes gumbo gumbo. Up until this past week I'd never actually made it myself. So it wasn't just soup we were talking about for dinner. It was soup and a roux.

And the perfect occasion to try the contents of the peanut butter jar of homemade lard; rendered from pork fat by my genius-in-the-kitchen friend, and farmer, Anna.

It was a what's-in-the-pantry inspired gumbo, so for serious soupers, not your traditional mix. No peppers or okra. But smoked duck breast, red beans and rice (cooked in), carrots, kale, sage and thyme. Ok, the duck breast was an impulse buy at the grocery store. But a delicious addition to be sure.

With the soup simmering on a burner, I stirred the roux. The nutty, rich smell of the flour and fat cooking sent me back to those days of hot sauce and cornbread at Spats. Committing to that roux, stirring for about 30 minutes until it grew a walnut, chocolate brown, the smell and feel of it all sent my thoughts towards what else I could possibly come up with to put roux in...

But once mixed into the stock pot, it was clear that roux was made for gumbo. Gumbo for a roux.

For me, the peppery burn of the brown broth was seasoned with the flavor of Spats lunch breaks, slurping soup at that back table sprinkled with silverware wrapped in mardi gras beads.

For everyone else, it was a flavor that cooked with rice, or served over it, no matter. As long as there was enough for seconds, no arguments to be found.


*Don't forget that the Virtual Great American Bake Sale is still in progress. While your soup's on the stove, check out the recipes and share a little something before chowing down!

Wild Rice and Beans Gumbo

1 cup red beans
1 cup wild rice
6 medium carrots
1 bunch celery
1 large red onion
1 10" andouille sausage
1/2 pound smoked duck breast
1 pound chicken breast
5 large leaves of kale
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 bay leaves
1 rosemary sprig
1 T sage
1 T thyme
1 T sea salt
2 t cayenne pepper
lots of black pepper (50-60 turns of a peppermill)
3 qts chicken stock
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup fat (butter, lard, oil...)

1. Rehydrate beans according to directions on package.
2. Chop celery, carrots, garlic and onion.
3. Cube duck breast and cut andouille sausage into slices, then quarters.
4. Cube chicken. Season with salt, pepper and cayenne.
5. Cut kale into ribbons.
6. In the bottom of a large stockpot, over medium heat, add 1 T olive oil, duck breast, sausage, garlic and spices, and brown for a couple of minutes.
7. Add chicken, brown.
8. Add carrots, celery and onion. Sweat until onions are translucent.
9. Pour in stock.
10. Add rice and beans.
11. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally.
12. Reduce to a simmer, let cook for 1- 1 1/2 hrs. Taste occasionally for seasoning.
13. In a small saucepot over medium heat, mix together flour and fat. Stir constantly to avoid burning; cook until roux is a nice dark brown. Note- use a heat resistant spatula or wooden spoon...mixture is HOT! Let roux cool to room temperature.
14. Very carefully add roux to the stockpot. Stir to incorporate.

Yield
15-20 servings