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.

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.

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.

Summer Rolls

This eating from the garden thing is absolutely the way forward. I have a feeling I will never tire of it. Last night the only ingredients of our venison-with-wild-blueberries-fried-squash-blossoms-and-haricots-verts-with-scallions feast that didn't come from Y.'s land were the wild blueberries, which came from an obliging bush on the side of the road, and the egg and flour the blossoms were dipped in before they met their fate in the frying pan. I didn't do quite as well here, but all the non-white ingredients that went into the rolls I picked myself from the garden.

It is more usual to see cilantro or mint in summer rolls, but we don't have mint and the cilantro bolted while I was being overwhelmed elsewhere in the garden. As I was pinching flowers off the basil Monday morning, I picked a branch of leaves for myself off each plant. I could, I suppose, have made yet another pesto dish, but when I saw the anise hyssop in the the raised bed just outside the cabin, it occurred to me that I could use it along with the basil in summer rolls. Instead of lettuce I chose sugar snap and snow peas to provide the crispy green in the rolls and I was pleased to have a purple carrot ready to pull. (It meant I hadn't weeded all the carrots as they came up.) Tofu provided the protein in my rolls, but chicken or shrimp or even hard-boiled or scrambled eggs would be just as good (or better).

The rolling takes a bit of practice, so try not to get frustrated. Put what will be the pretty side on the bottom as you build your roll and remember there is no need to rush.

Summer Rolls with Peanut Dipping Sauce

• For the rolls:
• 12 spring roll wrappers
• 1/2 package rice vermicelli
• 24 basil leaves
• 24 large anise hyssop leaves
• 24 sugar snap peas
• 24 snow peas
• 1 carrot, cut attractively
• 1 block firm tofu
• blank
• For the dipping sauce:
• (From Martha Stewart)
• 1/2 cup peanut butter
• 1/2 cup warm water
• 1/4 cup lime juice (2 limes)
• 1 Tbs. soy sauce
• 4 scant tsp. sugar
• peanuts for garnish

• To make the rolls: Cut tofu into batons. Chop the carrot any way that appeals to you. Wash (if necessary) and trim the basil and anise hyssop leaves. De-string the sugar snap peas. Cook the rice noodles according to the directions on the packet. Line up your ingredients on a work surface and fill a large shallow dish (pie plate?) with warm water and have ready a damp tea towel to work on. Soak a wrapper in the water for 15-20 seconds. Remove from water and lay flat on the tea towel. Stack your ingredients in the middle of the wrapper, starting and ending with either the basil or anise hyssop, facing the leaves outward. Fold the bottom edge over the stacked ingredients, then fold in the sides, and finally roll the onto the other edge. Set aside and repeat with remaining wrappers.
• For the sauce: Whisk together the peanut butter and water until smooth. Add the lime juice, soy sauce, and sugar, and mix until well incorporated. Garnish with peanuts and an anise hyssop flower.

Serve as soon as possible after making.

I worried (because that's what I do) that the vermicelli would be crunchy or the basil and anise hyssop would compete with each other and/or the peanut sauce or they'd just be bland, but (as usual) my worries were unfounded. I ate two rolls for lunch and they were delicious and extremely refreshing on a hot and humid day. I guess that's why they call them summer rolls.

Beets with Their Greens, Scapes, and Chèvre

The garden is starting to produce! We have been eating broccoli rabe for a month now and chard and lettuces and peas and basil and strawberries and now beets too. And these are only the ones I pulled while thinning the bed, that the rest will get bigger. When they do I'll make this dish as I usually do, with layer upon layer of beet rounds topped with chèvre and chives, reserving the greens for something else. For now, though, this is a delicious alternative.

Beets with Their Greens, Chèvre, and Scapes

• 1 bunch small beets, with greens
• 1 handful garlic scapes
• 1 small round fresh chèvre
• olive oil, salt, pepper

• Cut the beets from their greens, trim, halve or quarter as necessary to make them all about the same size, and boil them until a fork can slide easily into them. Strain and rinse immediately in cold water. Peel beets by simply rubbing them with your thumb and fingers, under cold water if necessary. Set aside.
• Cut scapes into manageable lengths and sautée in olive oil for as long as it takes to chop the greens. Add chopped greens to the pan, cover, reduce heat to low and allow to cook, turning occasionally, until both scapes and greens are tender.
• Transfer greens to an attractive dish, making a bed for your beets. Scatter beets over the bed of greens and top with decent-sized chunks of chèvre (if you crumble it into pieces that are too small you will have all crust and no melt when you put it under the broiler). Drizzle olive oil over the top and season lightly with salt and pepper. Put under the broiler until the cheese is touched with gold.

Serve as part of a garden feast.

A Garden

I've never had a garden before and finding myself part steward of Y.'s this year while he fries bigger fish is, frankly, a bit overwhelming. I don't know what I should put where or when or how close together or how deep or with what companion or in how much sun or during which phase of the moon. At least I know I don't have to take it for twice daily walks. Y. assures me that I can do no harm and the important part is just to be out there doing a bit at time and eventually there will be a garden.

Y. always says there is no time for resting on one's laurels and that seems particularly true in gardening. I was proud of the job I did waking the garden up after the winter. Six hours of clearing pathways and pulling dock and grass and who-knows-what-all left beautiful mounds of soil standing out against the woods. And then I didn't do anything for a good two weeks and the weeds came back as weeds will and I thought, "Right, Em, no resting on your laurels."

I should be out there now weeding and turning soil and planting seeds and telling the plants to grow, although they seem to manage that all by themselves. That is the exciting part. I put seeds in the ground, give them some water, and by some miracle a few days later there are little green shoots coming through the dirt. It's exciting and that's before there's even anything to eat.

It is thrilling to see the asparagus coming up (even though I know we aren't allowed to eat it until next year) or to see flowers on the strawberries that weren't there the day before or to look out the window and be able to make out rows of tiny beets and peas or to eat the first radish of the season. I used to think seeing local produce at the farmers' market was fun, and it is, but seeing it in your own back yard is so much better. I'm still afraid I'm doing things all wrong, but with each new shoot I am gaining confidence that I won't ruin the garden and that we might even have food to put up come fall.