Rooibos-Anise Hyssop Sun Tea

It's always nice when delicious things practically make themselves. Sun tea is one of those things. You can put it out to steep in the morning and forget about it most of the day and then when you're in need of a refreshing beverage (because if it's hot enough to make sun tea, it's hot enough to drink a cool glass of something) your tea is ready to be strained and poured over ice.

Rooibos is a wonderful base for sun tea. It gives it a beautiful color and a rich, round flavor from which to build. It readily welcomes other flavors, such as the anise hyssop I used, which gave it a refreshing hint of licorice. I used anise hyssop, because that's what I have, but any of the mints--peppermint, spearmint, chocolate mint, pineapple mint, lemon balm--would work just as well. As always, use what you have, trust your own judgement, and don't panic--it's only tea.

Rooibos-Anise Hyssop Sun Tea

for one half gallon

• 4-5 Tbs. rooibos tea
• several sprigs anise hyssop
• a half-gallon jar with lid
• cold water

• Spoon tea into half-gallon jar. Pick anise hyssop, bruise the leaves by rolling them between your palms, and place in jar. Fill the jar with water and screw on the lid. Place jar outside in a sunny spot that will remain so for several hours. Allow to steep 3-5 hours. Strain into a pitcher and serve over ice. Garnish with a sprig of anise hyssop. Store any leftover tea in the refrigerator.

Any mint can be used in place of the anise hyssop.

Strawberry Jam

I couldn’t let June go by, let all the strawberries ripen, without making at least one batch of strawberry jam. So yesterday I did. It’s not the strawberry-jalapeno jam a customer told me about Tuesday night; it’s not the balsamic strawberry jam I saw in a cookbook at the library on Monday; it’s just plain old strawberry jam made from the recipe in the Sure-Jell box. It’s the kind of strawberry jam you’re happy to take out of the pantry and spread on toast when the snow has long since covered the garden.

Strawberries are on the very, very low end of the pectin spectrum, so as much as I like the idea of just using fruit and sugar and maybe some lemon juice, my fear of the jam not setting is greater. To allay my fears I decided to turn to boxed pectin. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any in the cabin, but with some searching and climbing of ladders Y. was able to find several packages of Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar in the barn.

Inside the Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar box was a sheet of recipes for fruit jams and jellies, both cooked and frozen, and a set of instructions. I understand that in jam making, as in baking, precise measurement is important, but the instructions in the Sure-Jell package make you think that your kitchen might blow up if you add even one granule too much sugar. They use bold type; bold, red type; bold, red, ALL CAPS type; bold, red, ALL CAPS type that they then highlight. It’s enough to put one off jam making altogether, especially when all of one’s (my) measuring cups and spoons are locked safe in a seafaring container at the bottom of the hill. I decided that I wasn’t sending anyone to outer space in my jam, so measuring my sugar in a mason jar and weighing my strawberries by means of a rudimentary scale composed of a bicycle tube box, a piece of wood and a can of scungilli would probably be good enough. Judging by the results—delicious, perfectly set jam—one doesn't have to be quite as EXACT (red, bold, highlighted) as they lead one to believe.

Strawberry Jam

Adapted from the Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar instructions

• 6 cups quartered and crushed strawberries,
• about 3 pounds unprepared fruit
• 4 cups sugar
• 1 box Sure-Jell For Lower Sugar

• Wash and sterilize enough jars to hold 8 cups jam. Pour boiling water over dome lids and allow to soak, off heat, until ready to use.
• Core and quarter strawberries, then mash them with either a fork or potato masher. If some pieces don't get crushed, that's okay--it's nice to have some recognizable pieces of strawberry in the finished jam. Measure out six cups of fruit and place in large, heavy-bottomed, nonreactive pot.
• Measure out sugar. Mix 1/4 cup of it with one package pectin and combine this mixture with fruit. Bring this mixture to a full rolling boil (one that won't stop bubbling when stirred) over high heat, stirring constantly. Add remaining sugar and bring back to a full rolling boil, still stirring constantly. Allow to boil 1 minute. Remove from heat and skim off any foam.
• Give it another stir, then ladle into prepared jars, leaving 1/8-1/4 inch of headroom. Wipe off rims and threads and place lids and rings on jars, tightening only finger tight. Place jars on a rack in a canner, if you have one, or a very large pot, if you don't, and cover by 1-2 inches with water. Bring water to a gentle boil. After 10 minutes remove jars and place on a towel to cool. The lids should make a satisfying pop within minutes, indicating that they've sealed. Store in a cool, dark place; refrigerate after opening.

Sealed, will keep at least a year.

Now that I have preserved a taste of June to open in December or February, when I'll really need it, I might risk trying a batch of Sure-Jell free strawberry jam. Besides, if it doesn't set, it will still taste just as good stirred into yoghurt or spooned over ice cream.

Strawberry Spinach Salad

The strawberries are ripening now and we have eaten at least a quart of them straight from the garden unadorned, unadulterated, unembellished. They're perfect that way in all their red glory, but if you can muster the patience and will power to cut them up and add them to a dish, your efforts will not go unrewarded.

I was all set to have a go at Ovenette biscuits and to macerate some berries in sugar and Cointreau, but when I was weeding the garlic I noticed the spinach was just begging to be picked. Hmm, I thought, how 'bout a spinach and strawberry salad? A crumble of feta, a grind of pepper, a drizzle of olive oil, and a splash of vinegar later my salad was ready.

It is a very simple salad, but too much refinement, I think, would rob it of its charm. Like this, each ingredient shines on its own, while also complimenting the other elements. The crispy green-ness of the spinach remains intact and contrasts well with the juicy sweetness of the strawberries and the salty creaminess of the cheese.

Strawberry Spinach Salad

A delicate late spring salad

• 1 handful spinach per salad
• 3-4 strawberries per salad
• a small piece feta or chèvre per salad
• freshly ground pepper
• coarse salt
• extra virgin olive oil
• vinegar of your choice

• Double, triple, quadruple wash spinach to remove any trace of dirt/sand/grit. If the leaves are small enough, leave them whole, if not you probably shouldn't use them for salad anyway. Cut strawberries in quarters and set aside. Arrange spinach leaves and strawberries on plate in some attractive manner. Crumble cheese, grind pepper, and sprinkle salt over the top. Drizzle oil and splash vinegar over salad, being careful not to drown it, and serve.

Consider serving with a white fish or a nice fluffy omelette.

I ate my salad for lunch with a couple Wasa sesame flatbreads, though I think a nice piece of monkfish would have done it better justice.

June is for Strawberries

This is what hope looks like. This is why I get up in the morning. This is why I dream at night. This is why I leave the shopping on the porch and go for a walk in the garden before I unlock the front door. This is next Wednesday's breakfast. This is frozen strawberry soufflé in waiting. This is the reason I needed to attempt making biscuits in the Ovenette. This is why you stay tuned.

Radishes

I find it difficult to fathom things that are very, very, very old. My mind goes into a sort of warp and I end up feeling small, inconsequential. I didn’t know until this morning that radishes could have this effect on me. Turns out they’re old. Very, very, very old. Nine-millennia-of-human-cultivation old. So old that no one is quite sure of their origins. So old their wild ancestor has disappeared into those proverbial mists.

And yet, every spring they seem brand new. They’re one of the simplest and most gratifying things to grow. They sprout out of the ground after a few days and they’re ready to eat in a matter of weeks. In fact, waiting on radishes is not rewarded. As Waverly Root tells us, “radishes have to be harvested young, as soon as they become edible. An old radish is a worthless radish—woody, usually wormy and frequently hollow in the center.”

Adding to their charm is that radishes require no more preparation than a wash and a trim and a sprinkle of salt. Though I love them in salads, where they add both color and flavor and while they can be cooked or pickled, I have to agree with Alan Davidson when he suggests that “perhaps the most satisfactory way to eat them is to hold what is left of the green stalk between one’s fingers, rub the radish over a piece of butter, dip it in salt (as Evelyn, 1699, remarked, it brings its own pepper!), and eat it with bread and butter.”

I’m not sure that William Wallace Irwin had this in mind when he called radishes “gay and playful,” but carved into mice they’re just too cute and the perfect garnish for a cheese plate.

Radish Mice

Inspired by Y.

• as many radishes as you want mice
• cold water

• Wash radishes and trim off the greens, leaving a bit of a 'nose' behind. Clean the 'tail', removing most of the tendrils coming off the main root. Using a paring knife, make two slits on either side of the radish where a mouse's ears would be. Repeat on remaining radishes. Soak in cold water for an hour or so, or until the ears stick out. When ready to use, cut a strip off the 'belly' of the mouse so that it will stand up instead of rolling on its side.

Use to garnish cheese plates or anything requiring a little whimsy.

Cool as a Cuke: A Cocktail

Now that we can officially wear white shoes again, we can start talking about the official drinks of summer. The classics still stand, of course. I would never say no to a gin and tonic, nor turn down a mojito, nor a Pims No. 1 cup, nor any sort of fruity rum drink. This summer, however, I feel I am going to be drinking a preponderance of vodka-cucumber drinks.

Sometime in April a sparkling cucumber beverage sold in 7-ounce green glass bottles, catchily named Mr. Q Cumber, appeared on the shelves of the discount wing of the Co-op. Y. bought a couple just to try. At 2 for 99¢ the risk was not great and immediately paid off. After the first sip we decided we needed a case of the stuff; once we learned that it normally retails at over two dollars a bottle, we bought three.

Cool as a Cuke

makes one drink

• 1 five-count pour vodka
• 1 7-ounce bottle Mr. Q Cumber
• ice
• cucumber peel or slices for garnish

• Fill a 16-ounce glass with 4-5 cubes of ice. Pour vodka over ice, counting out five seconds as you pour. Fill glass with Mr. Q Cumber (the entire bottle should bring drink to the top of the glass). Garnish with cucumber peel or slices and serve. To make peel into a curl, twist around your finger or a chopstick and hold for a few seconds.

Perfect for a summer afternoon on the porch.

Nothing compares to standing in the garden in the middle of summer eating a cucumber straight off the vine, getting a practical understanding of the expression “cool as a cucumber.” Mr. Q Cumber has, however, come as close as possible to bottling this experience. It’s bubbly and refreshing and not too sweet, containing no HFCS, and actually tastes like cucumbers. Mixed with either gin or preferably vodka (the cucumber flavor is more apparent) it makes the perfect summer cocktail. Cheers!

Planting Tomatoes

Before we get to the tomatoes, I’d like to assure you that although I haven’t posted a recipe here in months, I have been eating as well as ever. This is what I mean by living with a cook better that oneself: wild turkey twice in one month, the breasts stuffed on one occasion with Serrano ham and membrillo, on the other with Serrano ham and dried figs stuffed with roasted almonds; frog’s legs coated in panko, fried, and served with fresh horseradish (from the garden) sauce; seared sea scallops in a butter sauce topped with shavings of truffle chocolate; pitch-perfect cucumber, tomato, cilantro salad; Greek sausage and lobster frittata; fiddlehead and ramp soup; venison (from our woods)…you get the idea. Don’t worry, I will start documenting these meals and sharing them with you.

Now on to the tomatoes. The expression “as above, so below” applies to, well, almost everything, but to tomatoes also and that’s what we’re talking about. For a tomato plant to be healthy and happy above ground it needs to be healthy and happy below ground. That means it needs a robust root system and the teeny, tiny ball of roots that come out of a start pack just isn’t enough.

So what to do? The solution is to plant the tomato start so that it is parallel to the ground, burying the lower portion of the plant. The portion of stalk below ground will root, giving the tomato plant the support it needs to grow and produce to its full potential. Then it can spend its energy on making delicious tomatoes for your salad bowl or sauce pot not on struggling to survive. We’re so used to plants growing perpendicular to the ground that it seems strange, even wrong, to plant one lying down. It really is for the best, though, and within a few hours or a day the tomato plant will point itself up toward the sky, appreciative of the extra care you gave it.

The Bauer is Back

Taking a cue from the garlic and asparagus, the tat soi and the soldier beans, I am finally reemerging after a long winter. A long winter that was not without its struggles, but over the course of which I moved to the mountaintop to live with my wonderful Y., learned that the only thing better than being a good cook is living with a better one, learned to ski, learned to make a fire, learned that hauling water and dishes and personal effects up and down a mountainside on a daily basis isn’t really that bad and a small price to pay to live in paradise—in short became a healthier, happier version of myself.

My geographical relocation means a number of things, but most pertinent to this post is the change in my proximity to the garden. I am now, instead of 20 miles, 20 feet from the garden, which makes keeping on top of the weeds so much easier. I can also check the progress of my seedlings daily (not weekly) and putter before breakfast while the kettle boils for tea.

There are two main things about gardening that will never cease to amaze me. The first is the miracle of putting a hard, dry, seemingly lifeless seed in the ground and several days or weeks later finding two tiny, green leaves in the same spot. You just put them in the ground and food comes up—simple. Simply amazing.

The other is they way time passes when you have your hands in the dirt. There are times when I intend to spend an entire morning in the garden, but the time to shower and go to work still seems to come too soon. There are others when I think I’ll just do a couple things and when I go back inside I find two hours have passed without my noticing. It's kind of like the way time melts away when eating and drinking in good company. So, hello again, I am glad to be rejoining yours.