Beet Candy—Bet You Can’t Eat Just One

It is well documented that I will roast anything that will stand still long enough. So yesterday, when I accidentally harvested some baby beets while pulling weeds, the beets didn’t stand a chance. I’d barely been home for a minute when I turned the oven on to 450°F.

While I’m happy to slow-roast beets at a lower temperature, my very favorite thing to do with them is to slice them thinly and cook them hot and fast. The resulting “chips” are so sweet that I sometimes call them beet candy. I first discovered I could make beet candy when chef George Germon let me concoct a salad for the menu one night at Al Forno restaurant in Providence, RI, where I was a cook. He had some lovely mâche (a delicate leafy green), and I thought beets, goat cheese, and toasted walnuts would complement it. But I didn’t have a lot of time, and the wood-fired ovens at Al Forno are always running super-hot, so I decided to slice the beets really thinly and spread them out on a baking sheet to roast quickly. When they came out of the oven, they were shrivel-y and a bit black around the edges, but incredibly tender and sweet—in that deeply caramelized roasty-toasty kind of way.

I’ve loved these quick-roasted beets ever since. So much so that I keep writing about them. Fine Cooking.  Fast, Fresh & Green.  Now Sixburnersue. You’ll have to forgive me, but here I go again with the recipe—in case you missed it. It’s such a great way to convert beet haters into beet lovers that I don’t want anyone to be without it in beet season.

You can gobble quick-roasted beet slices right off the sheet pan. Or toss them into a citrus marinade (after roasting) and tuck them into salads. Sometimes I like to gussy them up by making little beet and goat cheese sandwiches, which I serve as appetizers. I mix some fresh goat cheese with a small amount of chopped fresh herbs or lemon zest, then dollop some on one beet slice, and top that with another. Yeah, a little fussy, but so darn cute.

Quick-Roasted Beets

This recipe is adapted from the version in Fast, Fresh & Green. The only slightly tricky part is slicing the beets. Start with a sharp, thin-bladed knife (I love my ceramic knife). Then, if your beets are too wobbly or unwieldy to hold straight, slice a very small sliver off the bottom and the beet will stay more stable when slicing. Then just cut round slices that are between 1/8 and ¼-inch thick (3/16 is ideal!). You don’t want paper-thin, or the beets will burn, so there’s no need to get out the mandolin.  Here’s another tip: to prevent your cutting board from getting stained with beet juice, cover it with a piece of parchment paper or part of a brown paper bag before slicing.

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About ½ pound beet roots (1 bunch, about 4 or 5 small or 3 medium, stalks and leaves trimmed), scrubbed but unpeeled, very thinly sliced crosswise

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon coarsely chopped fresh thyme leaves (optional)

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

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Preheat the oven to 450°F. Line a large (18- x 13- x 1-inch) heavy-duty rimmed sheet pan with a piece of parchment paper. Put the beet slices in a mixing bowl and toss thoroughly with the salt, thyme, and olive oil. Arrange the slices, evenly spaced, on the sheet pan (it’s okay if they touch). Roast until the beets are tender, shrunken, wrinkled, and glistening, 16 to 18 minutes. (If your beets are very small, they can roast in as little as 10 to 12 minutes.) The smallest slices will be black around the edges. Let cool for a few minutes and serve warm. Or refrigerate for up to a couple of days.

Serves 2 as a side dish or 4 as an appetizer

The Gold Rush (Or Why We Couldn’t Wait to Dig Up Potatoes)

We cheated. It’s not really time yet to harvest the potatoes, but we just had to check one plant. You know, to make sure there were tubers growing under all that foliage. Besides, it was Friday night and we were looking forward to an all-local dinner. We had just stopped to see Jeff Munroe, the Vineyard’s chicken man, and picked up a freshly slaughtered chicken for the grill. A big salad with our arugula, mizuna, lettuce, and peas was on the menu. All we needed were potatoes, right?

While I butterflied the chicken and cleaned the greens, Roy and Libby ran over to the garden, pitchfork in hand. They came back toting a potato plant—and about a pound and a half of Red Gold potatoes—in the big pink harvest bucket.  I jumped up and down for joy. Everyone giggled. Our own potatoes—how very cool is that? (We are easily amused, I guess.)

I wanted to cook them simply to see what the taste and texture was like. We bought our Red Gold seed potatoes from FedCo’s Moose Tubers catalogue, because they sounded like a fun and flavorful alternative to Yukon Golds, and because they were supposed to yield early and abundantly (we could already agree on that point). So I wound up boiling them until just tender and then frying them, cut-side down, until golden (directions below). I was surprised at how flaky the texture was for a red-skinned potato. It was almost as tender as a baking potato. And that rich yellow flesh was nutty and buttery tasting—perfectly delicious.

We’re trying to restrain ourselves from digging up any more Red Golds right now. The catalogue says about 65 days,  and it’s only been about 56.  The plant we did unearth clearly had a few more tubers forming, so we need to be patient. And then there’s that row of French Fingerlings waiting for us…

In the meantime, I guess we can line up with the rest of the folks who’ve discovered how rewarding potatoes are to grow. Our biggest problem has been keeping up with the ravenous Colorado Potato Beetle, who arrived early and with all of his kinfolk. The best way to dispatch them (in an organic garden) is to simply squish them (or their orange eggs that cluster on the back of leaves) with your fingers. Amazingly, this is an activity that Libby actually enjoys. (How many 7-year-old girls do you know who are fascinated by bugs?) So I’m grateful for that. Not so grateful that nature-loving father and daughter brought me a Garter snake as a present yesterday (to live in the garden!?). But I can hardly complain.

Golden Fried Potatoes

Choose small potatoes that are all about the same size and cut them in half lengthwise. Put them in a saucepan just big enough to hold them in one layer and cover them with cold water by at least an inch.  Add a good bit of kosher salt. (I use 1 ½ teaspoons for a pound of potatoes.)  Bring to a boil, lower to a gentle simmer, and cook until just tender, about 15 minutes for freshly dug potatoes, 20 to 25 for older potatoes.

Drain the potatoes well and let them cool for a bit on a dishcloth. Meanwhile, heat about a tablespoon of olive oil and about a tablespoon of butter in a large frying pan (nonstick works fine if it has a heavy bottom) over medium heat. When the butter is bubbling, sprinkle salt on the cut side of one potato (press an herb leaf on, too, if you like), and put the potato in the fat, cut side down. Repeat with the remaining potato halves. Cook, without turning the potatoes (but occasionally swirling the fat in the pan around them), until they are golden brown on the bottom (check carefully with a thin spatula), about 10 to 12 minutes. Transfer to a serving plate and serve warm, with or without a dollop of sour cream, a smattering of chives, and another sprinkle or two of salt.

Three Reasons to Celebrate: Baby Goats, Sugar Snap Peas, & A Second Printing

I watched a goat give birth this morning. It was maybe the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

I was going to blog about something else today. Actually yesterday. And then yesterday went by and now today has, too. That is how my life goes these days, here in my new world. When I get up, I think there is something so important to do that I must focus entirely on it—be productive, get it done, do my work.  But the universe always has other plans for me. And if I just remember to pay attention to that, I get to experience the most amazing things.

So while Roy and I went over to the farm especially early this morning—ostensibly to water and harvest and be out of there by 8—Basil and Snowflake, two pygmy goats, had other plans (the goat pen is right next to our vegetable garden). By the time we got there, Basil had given birth during the night to two healthy kids, both females (does). One was a little grey and white patchy thing, already cleaned up and awkwardly skipping and hopping around like a tipsy gypsy. She even managed to climb on mama’s back.  The other little girl was black with white ears, and she was much bigger (and less squirmy) than her sister.

Snowflake was in labor. Never having given birth myself, I wasn’t exactly sure by her bleating and writhing what the whole timing scenario was! Fortunately, Randy and Rebecca (the farm owners) soon arrived to check on Snowflake. Randy had been up during the night helping Basil along with the second kid, who needed a small tug to get out. Basil, though, as it turns out, is a veteran Mom. For Snowflake, this was the first time.

Randy talked soothingly to her, but let her push. Two little white hooves followed by two little black legs appeared. And then, as we all stood watching (Snowflake had positioned herself in the breezeway of the shed so we could all see), swoosh!—the kid spilled out in a tidy (wet) bundle. Not a few seconds later it lifted its head and squiggled in the hay. Bravo Snowflake!

The second kid apparently followed not long after. I missed that but came back with my camera a short while later in time to watch Snowflake lick them (a little black doe and a little black buck) clean.  Even though I had emptied the chip in my camera, I still ran out of space after a half-hour or so. I was mesmerized.

Frankly, I was just as excited about the goats (and the appearance of the first sugar snap peas in the garden) as the other news I was going to blog about—that the second printing of Fast, Fresh & Green arrived in warehouses yesterday.

I have to admit, I have very mixed feelings about bragging about my book. I wasn’t brought up to flaunt success, and yet I know two things: One, I didn’t do this book all by myself, and the folks who helped me deserve to share in the good news. I owe it to them (and these are not the people who are logging on to Facebook and Twitter on a regular basis, so they are not going to see the reviews) to keep them updated. Secondly, I know what it feels like to be grateful. In my post midlife-crisis world, not only do I get to be present for a lot of cool stuff, but I also get to know that terrific feeling of gratitude—of knowing you’re the recipient of good karma that you’re not necessarily wholly responsible for.

So to celebrate Fast, Fresh & Green (and those sugar snap peas I’m going to harvest for the farm stand tomorrow!), here’s a quick recipe, Sautéed Sugar Snaps with Salami Crisps. It’s one of my very favorites in the book for its inarguable simplicity.  And for anyone with lots of time on their hands (that’s you, Mom and Dad!!) who would like to see some of the recent coverage of FFG, there’s a list of links after the recipe. I’m particularly grateful to the articulate Tom Philpott of Grist.org for acknowledging my primary goal—to encourage people to cook at home more.  To me, there’s no better way to practice being present—and grateful—than spending time cooking (and eating) at home every day with friends and family.

Sautéed Sugar Snaps with Salami Crisps

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1 ounce very thinly sliced Genoa salami

1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil

½ pound sugar snap peas, tails removed

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

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Stack the salami slices and cut them across into ¼-inch wide strips. Pull the strips apart and spread them in one layer on the cutting board; they are much easier to add to the pan when they are not clumped together.

In a large (12-inch) nonstick skillet, heat the 1 teaspoon olive oil over medium heat. When the oil is hot (it will loosen up and spread out), add the sugar snap peas and season them with the 1/8 teaspoon salt. Toss well. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the peas turn bright green, blister, and begin to turn a very light golden brown in spots, about 3 minutes. Add the salami strips and toss well.

Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the peas are browned in spots on both sides and the salami strips have shrunken, turned a darker brown color, and feel crisp, 3 to 4 minutes. (The salami will probably be crisp on the edges but still somewhat pliable after 3 minutes. You can stop at that point if you do not want to cook the peas further, but I like the texture of the fully crisp salami, and the peas stay crisp even when cooked more.) Transfer to a serving platter or dinner plates.

Serves 3

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Here are links to some recent reviews of Fast, Fresh & Green.This is only a partial list and my thanks go to the many bloggers who have taken FFG for a test spin and enjoyed the ride!

How to Be Fast, Fresh & Green in the Kitchen (Grist)

To Market, To Market: 10 Top Summer Cookbooks (NPR)

Book Report: We Pick 11 New Cookbooks (Washington Post)

Ideas For What to Do With Summer’s Bounty (Associated Press)

Favorite Cookbooks: Fast, Fresh & Green (Eat Well, Eat Cheap blog)

Oh What A Week–In the Garden, and the Kitchen, Too

Maybe it’s a cheap shot to blame it on the stars, but when I heard there was a rare planetary alignment going on this week, I felt relieved. Apparently this is the kind of event that makes everyone feel a little crazy, a tad more pressed and stressed. Now we had our excuse for running around like chickens with our heads cut off all week.

We were dog sitting and house sitting. Still working madly on building structures in the garden, still harvesting greens and herbs for the farm stand every morning (photos above), still watering, weeding, and bug-picking. Amen. Roy was working on three different jobs, and I was developing recipes and taking pictures for a new book proposal.

Yesterday I spent a couple hours on my belly crawling around a hoop house clearing out nasty weeds. (This was pretty fun, actually. At least hot air rises, so it was cooler on the floor.) This morning we got up early to go rake up some hay from a friend’s field, still needing more for our garden pathways and for mulch.  (And this, I have to tell you, wasn’t just fun but incredibly calming. When the planets are conspiring to drive you crazy, grab a pitchfork and head for a golden rolling field dotted with apple trees and pines, cows grazing in the distance. All will be right with the world.)

So no complaining. Absolutely not. It’s all good stuff, and productive, too. Here’s a look at what emerged from our crazy week. And for this we thank our lucky stars.

Over in the kitchen of the lovely house we were camping out in, I spent some time salvaging tiny bok choy and kale leaves from thinnings I’d plucked in the garden (above left). Once I got the roots off  and washed them well, I had just enough leaves for a side dish— the fastest and simplest of sautés with slivered garlic. One morning I roasted and sauteéd a bunch of summer vegetables (yeah, a little ahead of the season) for a main-dish salad I’m developing. My doggy friend Wally (right) got pretty interested when I put the dish on the floor to photograph.

Back in the garden, Roy built a trellis for our pole beans (left) and a cool support structure for our tomatoes (center), both from bamboo that we had also gone on safari to retrieve. (Well, not really, but it felt like that. If you’ve ever been in a forest of bamboo–and tried to cut some down without a power tool, you’ll know what I mean. We got out the power tool.)  We also prepared the squash and eggplant beds and planted both. We  weeded the new lettuce bed and laid down a thicker layer of hay than we’d originally thought was necessary. Darn weeds.

Meanwhile, I lopped off several heads of Tat soi (left) and dinner-plate sized lettuces (right) every day for the farm stand. The next crop of baby lettuces and more arugula are not far behind, planted a few weeks ago. (It may be getting too hot for arugula now, though. It’s pretty spicy.)

Lots of other veggies are making progress, and I’m most excited about the peas which have started to emerge from a flourish of little white flowers. It’s hard for me not to eat the shoots and flowers right now, but I know I need to leave them alone to produce more actual peas.

I’m also ridiculously excited about the carrot bed, which I have been weeding and thinning meticulously. (And photographing–those boots of mine wind up in more garden shots than I can count!). We’re growing three kinds of carrots including Little Finger and Scarlet Nantes. We planted Sunburst Hybrid summer squash (the little Patty Pan shape) and Wee-B-Little pumpkins, among other squashes (middle). And under the row cover, more chard and bok choy are on the way.

Tonight we’re going to transplant the Brussels sprouts. Did I mention I love vegetables?

Desperately Seeking Strawberries for Susie (and Ice Cream)

One of my favorite parts about the CSA I belonged to last year was the weekly strawberry picking in June. This year, with my own market garden, I knew I couldn’t join the CSA, but I was resting easy thinking the strawberry patch would be open to the public like it was last year.

Never assume anything.

Naturally, due to weather conditions causing blossom drop, the strawberry crop wasn’t large enough to share with non-CSAers. Big bummer, as there aren’t any other pick-your-own strawberry patches on Martha’s Vineyard.  Years ago I lived on Aquidneck Island (home to Newport, Rhode Island) and every June we’d head over to Quonset View Farms, high up in the middle of the island where the cold fog off the ocean just kisses the plants and fades away in time for daily sun baths. The soil must be pretty special there, too, as I swear I’ve never tasted strawberries so sweet and juicy. At Quonset View, it was hard to get out of the field without eating most of your berries.

Ever since then, I haven’t really been able to eat much in the way of commercial strawberries, which tend to be hard and white in the middle and short on flavor. I wait 11 months for the real deal. It’s kind of torturous, but pretty blissful when the local berries ripen. I try to pick enough to freeze some for later months, too, but they never last very long.

My longing was made even worse this year by the fact that Rebecca has been selling strawberry plants at the farm stand where my garden is. Every day that I pass by these beauties, another berry ripens on one of the plants, red and juicy and drooping seductively on its green stem, just begging to be eaten.

I finally broke down and bought a couple of the plants (and plunked them in the garden), mostly because my 7-year-old gardening (and cooking) companion Libby insisted. I tried to explain that strawberries are perennial and also that just a couple plants wouldn’t yield much, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So we have been ritually sharing each single berry on these two plants as they ripen.

I also finally got myself in the car and went down-Island to visit two farms that I thought might be selling their strawberries. It wouldn’t be quite the same as picking my own, but time was running out. I struck gold at both Norton Farm and Morning Glory Farm, and I finally had enough strawberries to do what I’ve been waiting a year for—to make ice cream.

Last year, the June-July issue of Fine Cooking magazine arrived just before strawberry-picking time, and it had in it the most amazing article on creating your own custom-flavored ice cream.  The recipe came from pastry wizard David Lebovitz, and the step by step “create your own” approach is a regular Fine Cooking feature. I thought the format was a brilliant choice for an ice cream recipe, because it allows you to flavor your custard with whatever infusions, add-ins, and/or mix-ins you like to make practically anything—from Hazelnut Chocolate Chunk and Double Ginger to Irish Coffee or Rocky Road.

For my first go-round, I knew I wanted something fruity. I have strong memories of home made fresh Delaware white peach ice cream. My father used to make it in a big old fashioned ice-cream maker on the front porch of our beach cottage in August when I was a little girl. Profoundly comforting. I knew peaches weren’t in season yet (and sadly, not nearly so good up here), but that strawberry patch was beckoning. So to test out the recipe, I chose pureed strawberries and vanilla extract for my flavor add-ins.

Wow. The ice cream was to die-for, rich and silky from the egg yolks and cream, and packed with true strawberry flavor. I fell in love with it. And I’ve waited a whole year to make it again.

Late last week, I got out my little hand-cranked Donvier ice-cream freezer and made sure the cannister was chilling in the freezer. I made the strawberry puree on Thursday (photo at left), and the custard Friday morning. I chilled both and waited for my friend Libby to arrive. Friday night, after a chicken kabob barbeque (with a salad of all our own salad greens and radishes, of course), we sat down to play Sorry and to freeze the custard, each one of us taking a turn at the crank as we went around the game board. When it was about the texture of soft-serve, we couldn’t wait any longer and spooned it into sugar cones. For a moment there wasn’t a sound but for a little slurping and crunching. And then, from Libby, “When can we make more?”

Here’s the recipe, adapted and collapsed from the “make your own” format. If strawberry ice cream isn’t your thing, or you simply want to try other flavor combos,  visit the cool interactive feature on Fine Cooking’s website.

Strawberry-Vanilla Ice Cream

Adapted from Fine Cooking magazine article by David Lebovitz; for more ice cream recipes, visit finecooking.com.

1 pound ripe strawberries, washed and hulled

1 1/4 cups granulated sugar

2 cups heavy cream

5 large egg yolks

1 cup whole milk

table salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Make the strawberry puree: In a blender, puree the strawberries until completely smooth. Strain the berry puree through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl or glass measure. (Press on the solids to be sure to extract all of the juice.) Stir in 1/2 cup of the granulated sugar. Refrigerate the puree until ready to use. (Can be done 24 hours ahead.)

Prepare an ice bath: Fill a large bowl with several inches of ice water (half ice, half water). Set a smaller metal bowl (such as a stainless steel mixing bowl, at least a 6-cup capacity), in the ice water. Pour 1 cup of the heavy cream into the inner bowl. (This will help the custard cool more quickly when you pour it in later). Set a fine-mesh strainer on top.

Make the custard: Whisk the egg yolks in a medium bowl and set aside. In a medium saucepan, mix the remaining 1 cup of the cream with the milk, the remaining ¾ cup sugar, and a pinch of salt. Heat the mixture over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar dissolves and tiny bubbles begin to form around the edge of the pan, 3 to 4 minutes. In a steady stream, pour half of the warm cream mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly to prevent the eggs from curdling. (This is called “tempering” – a good step when making any kind of custard. Be sure to pay close attention during this.)

Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan and cook over low heat (or medium low if your stove is electric!), stirring constantly and scraping the bottom with a heatproof cooking spoon or spatula until the custard thickens slightly and measures 175°F to 180°F on an instant-read thermometer, anywhere from 4 to 10 minutes. (The custard will be a bit more viscous and thick enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon, holding a line drawn through it with a finger.) Don’t let the sauce overheat or boil or it will curdle.

Immediately strain the custard into the cold cream in the ice bath.

Cool the custard: Stir the custard frequently over the ice bath until an instant-read thermometer measures 70°F. Add the vanilla extract and stir. Add all of the strawberry puree and mix well. (This is one of the totally fun parts—watching the pink and cream swirls come together!).

Chill and freeze the custard: Chill the strawberry-vanilla custard mixture in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours (or overnight—in fact, it holds for two days.) Freeze the ice cream in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

Note: This recipe yields about 1 quart. My small ice cream maker only makes one pint at a time. If you’re in that boat, simply keep the remaining custard chilled and use it in the next day or two.


Here at Lettuce Central, We Love Our Vinaigrette

As if it weren’t bad enough to live with 400 seedlings in our tiny apartment all winter, now we have a LPU (lettuce processing unit) in the kitchen. This is not an official piece of equipment, but rather a collection of big stainless steel bowls, salad spinners, dish towels, and assorted plastic bags, trays, and coolers that I use to wash, dry and pack the lettuce and greens we’re harvesting from the garden in order to sell them at the farm stand.

There comes a point every evening and every morning when pretty much every surface is covered with lettuce or greens of some sort. I don’t yet have my system worked out perfectly, so my partner, Roy, is finding this chaos all very amusing. Only yesterday did I realize he’d written “Lettuce Central” on our blackboard next to the kitchen door a few days ago. I’d been so distracted, I hadn’t even seen it.

It’s all pretty swell though, as I am totally enchanted with the lettuces and greens, and with our success in growing them, despite their wobbly start as spindly seedlings in the apartment. And the best perk is the killer salads we are having every night for dinner.

But you don’t have to grow your own lettuce to make a really good green salad—just keep things simple. Stick with mostly greens (forget the big hulking cherry tomatoes and chunks of raw bell pepper—they’re distracting), and try a combination of tender lettuces and a little bit less of something assertive (I love Bibb lettuce with a bit of arugula or mizuna). You can even toss in a few baby herb leaves or finely sliced fresh herbs like mint, parsley or basil for a tiny surprise hit of flavor.

Take the extra time to buy individual heads of lettuce and bunches of greens—they’re much fresher and tastier than bagged lettuce. Wash them well, and be sure to spin them dry as dressing won’t cling to wet leaves. Lastly, make your own tasty house vinaigrette. Bottled salad dressings are full of things you don’t want to be consuming. Plus they taste, well, bottled.

A vinaigrette in its simplest form is 3 parts oil to 1 part acid (vinegar, or a combination of vinegar and citrus juice). With a pinch of salt or a dab of mustard to emulsify the two, you can make a vinaigrette in seconds. Or add an extra flavor or two—fresh pepper, minced garlic, lemon zest, chopped herbs—and you’ve got a custom dressing with only a few more minutes of work. Make a decent-sized batch, and you’ll have homemade vinaigrette in the fridge for a couple weeks of dinner salads.

Here’s a recipe for our favorite house vinaigrette.

Lemon-Sherry Vinaigrette for Summer Salads

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7 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons sherry vinegar

½ teaspoon freshly grated lemon zest

½ teaspoon fresh lemon juice

½ teaspoon honey

½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

¼ teaspoon minced fresh garlic

several grinds of fresh pepper

½ to 1 teaspoon thinly sliced fresh mint (optional)

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Combine all the ingredients in a bowl or glass measure and whisk until emulsified. Or combine in a glass jar with a lid and shake the jar until the ingredients are emulsified. Store covered in the fridge for two weeks.

Yields about 2/3 cup

Lettuce for Sale! Get your Greens! We’re in business!

There is so much happening over at the vegetable garden that I haven’t even had time to write about it. After two years of trotting around this Island from farm to farm, getting to know farmers and watching how hard they work, you’d a thought I would have anticipated this. But no, I thought doing a “part time” production garden would tuck right into my schedule. A little cooking, a little writing, a little gardening. Ha! (Many “Ha!s,” in fact.)

The really tricky part is finding time to market your product when transplanting, weeding, and watering are calling. All of a sudden I have lovely lettuce on my hands—Royal Oakleaf, Lollo di Vino, Red Sails, Tom Thumb Bibb, Salad Bowl, Butterblush Cos—that needs to be harvested, and now! With this unusually hot weather we’ve been having, it is getting almost too hot for the poor things. All the hearty greens (Red Russian kale, Cavalo Nero, Mustard, Tat Soi) we transplanted several weeks ago are also ready to be harvested. The young leaves are just the right size for stir-fries and sautés, but the two of us can only eat so much of this stuff. And the gorgeous purple pak choi we grew is looking just perfect right now (except for a few little holes from the flea beetles).

Since it’s early in the season here on Martha’s Vineyard, we don’t really have the traffic up at the Native Earth farm stand on North Road to sell much volume, but I’ve decided to keep a cooler of greens and lettuce out there every day nonetheless, just in case folks stopping in to get some of Rebecca Gilbert’s tomato plants might be tempted by a bargain. Also, I convinced our kind land lady, Rhonda, (who also manages Alley’s General Store) to take a basket of baby lettuces today for the Alley’s farm stand. So we are officially in business. Now I’m off to buy more soaker hoses. I said we were in business, not in profit-mode!

P.S. The pygmy goats at Native Earth are due to give birth any day now! Can’t wait to see those little kids.

Chop Chop! Don’t Forget the Stems in a Swiss Chard Sauté

The second coolest thing about Swiss chard is that it cooks so darn fast. (The first coolest thing being its amazing neon color—especially the Bright Lights and Rainbow varieties.) So I hate to spoil the party, but I’m going to. My recipe takes a bit longer than the standard sauté.

That’s because most recipes tell you to discard the chard stems and “use them for vegetable stock” or something else. (I know how many of you are busying yourselves making vegetable stock.) This is so you can then wilt the leaves like spinach and have a side dish in seconds. But if you have a few extra seconds (okay, minutes), you can simply slice up those stems and cook them until crisp-tender before adding the leaves to the pan. The stems add nice texture and make the side dish feel a little more substantial, too.

I’m a big fan of sweet and sour combinations with greens. Swiss chard has an especially mineral-y flavor, so I love to smooth out its rough spots with a flavor combo like maple and balsamic (in this recipe, along with ginger) or honey and sherry vinegar (or lemon). You can also use a caramelized aromatic (like sautéed shallots) to stand in for the sweetness and to add body. And garlic always plays well with greens. So fiddle around with flavors once you get your prep and technique down for this easy weeknight chard sauté.

(P.S. We just harvested our first Swiss chard, as well as Russian Kale, Lacinato, Tat Soi, Purple Pak Choi, Royal Oakleaf Lettuce, Tom Thumb Bibb Lettuce, and Lollo di Vino lettuce. We’re stocking a cooler out at Native Earth Farm stand with goodies, so stop by if you’re driving up-island. More details soon!)

Swiss Chard with Balsamic, Maple Syrup and Fresh Ginger

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1 ½ teaspoons maple syrup

½ teaspoon balsamic vinegar

1 bunch (12 to 13 oz.) Swiss chard, unstemmed, rinsed and dried

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

kosher salt

1 ½ teaspoons minced, peeled fresh ginger

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

2 tablespoons chopped or sliced toasted almonds

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In a small bowl, whisk together the maple syrup and the balsamic vinegar.

Pull or cut away the stems from the chard leaves. Cut or rip the leaves into large (2- to 3-inch pieces) and wash and dry them well. Rinse the stems and slice them crosswise into thin (1/4-inch) pieces.

Heat the olive oil in a large (11- to 12-inch) nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chard stems and a pinch of kosher salt, and cook, stirring occasionally, until shrunken and beginning to brown lightly, 7 to 8 minutes. (They will begin to crackle in the pan as moisture evaporates.) Add the fresh ginger, stir, and cook just until fragrant, a few seconds. Add all of the chard leaves and ¼ teaspoon kosher salt and toss until just wilted (45 seconds to 1 minute). Scrape the balsamic-maple mixture into the pan, stir, and remove from the heat. Add the butter and toss and stir until it is melted. Serve warm, garnished with toasted sliced or chopped almonds if desired.

Serves 2 to 3

A Potato Salad to Celebrate the Unofficial Start of Summer

I realize that this is Memorial Day weekend, not Fourth of July, so I may be jumping the gun a little by posting a potato salad recipe. But it’s been such a warm spring, and it’s looking like it will be a hot weekend all over the country, so I figured folks might be thinking about potato salad for picnics and barbeques.

Truthfully, this thought got me a little worried, as visions of store-bought, factory-made, gloppy potato salad came to mind.  There is nothing I hate worse than bad potato salad.

But then I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that many of you all will be making your own delicious potato salads. In fact, you might even be scanning the web, looking for a lighter, brighter take on the classic American-style recipe. So I thought I’d post a favorite from Fast, Fresh & Green that’s got all the fresh flavors of spring, but that’s also assertive enough to pair with the grilled fare of summer—a  perfect season-bridger.

I made some of this New Potato Salad with Fresh Peas, Lime & Mint this morning and added a few slivers of baby radishes we pulled up from the garden yesterday. The lime zest and juice are the ingredients that really make this salad feel fresh, but lightening the mayonnaise with Greek yogurt helps a lot, too. In fact, these are two good tricks to remember when making any kind of mayonnaise dressing for a salad: Lighten the mayo with yogurt or whisked cream for a silkier texture, and always add extra lemon or lime for bright flavor. And don’t forget to salt the potatoes while you’re cooking them!

This salad is great with grilled lamb and grilled shrimp, but it’s also good as a main dish for lunch with some Bibb lettuce or as part of a vegetarian supper or picnic.

New Potato Salad with Fresh Peas, Lime & Mint

This recipe yields just enough to serve 4. You can easily double it, but you may find you want just slightly more dressing if you do. You can always whisk together just a bit more mayo, yogurt and lime and fold it in, or  you can start out by doubling all the ingredients, but only increasing the potatoes to 1 3/4 pounds instead of 2.

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1 pound baby Yukon gold or Red Bliss potatoes, quartered or cut into sixths for similar-sized pieces

2 ½ teaspoons kosher salt, more for seasoning

1 pound fresh peas in the pod, shelled to yield 1 cup peas (frozen peas are fine, too)

1/3 cup mayonnaise

¼ cup thick Greek yogurt (whole or 2%)

1 teaspoon (loosely packed) freshly grated lime zest (from about 1 lime)

½ teasoon fresh lime juice

¼ cup sliced scallions

2 to 3 tablespoons finely sliced fresh mint leaves

freshly ground black pepper

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Put the potatoes and 2 teaspoons of the salt in a large saucepan and cover with plenty of water. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook until almost tender, about 10 minutes. Add the fresh peas (if using) and cook for 2 to 3 minutes more. (If using frozen peas, simply submerge them in a little tap water to defrost; then drain and dry.) Drain the potatoes and peas carefully in a colander and rinse them gently with cool water for a few minutes. Spread the potatoes and peas out on a small rimmed sheet pan and let cool. If you are in a hurry, you can refrigerate the potatoes like this and they will cool in about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, whisk together the mayonnaise, the yogurt, the lime zest and the lime juice in a medium mixing bowl. Add the cooled potatoes and peas, the scallions, 2 tablespoons of the mint, ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and several grinds of fresh pepper. Mix gently but thoroughly with a silicone spatula. Taste and add a little more salt if desired. Garnish with the remaining mint .

Serves 4

Fruit or veg? Crisp or chutney? Rhubarb Does Double Duty

Technically, I said I was going to write about fruit as well as vegetables when I started this blog. So I could give myself permission to write about rhubarb—if it were a fruit. Which it’s not. (Technically it’s a vegetable).

And technically I could have given you a crisp recipe, but I usually use Karen Barker’s great Rhubarb Brown Sugar Crumble recipe over on the Fine Cooking website. So instead I’m offering up my favorite savory concoction, Rhubarb-Dried Cherry Chutney.  (It’s quick and easy to make and would be really great if you’re grilling pork tenderloin or even chicken this weekend).

And technically (sorry, but I’m lacking in a diverse vocabulary today) I should have blogged about rhubarb when it first poked out of the ground here in late April. But I didn’t. Time slips, you know. Or skids. Or something.

Fortunately, judging by the picture I took at our farmers’ market last year (stalks, above right), rhubarb is still thriving in June.

I took the other photos in April a couple years ago when I first got to the Island. (Not technically, but actually.) I was so fascinated by these bushy plants, which I sometimes found growing near old farmhouses, that I often stuck my camera down beneath their leafy canopies to capture the luminous underworld below, a forest of pink and pale green stalks writhing in dappled sunlight. The flowers (not edible) were a surprise to me, too.

If I had ever snatched any of this farmhouse rhubarb (which I didn’t), I would’ve been sure to trim all the leaves away before cooking. It annoys me to no end when I see rhubarb stalks for sale with the (toxic) leaves still attached. Do not eat the leaves. Period.  And know that the stalks themselves are quite tart. Delicious, but tart. They must be cooked with something sweet, and preferably lots of it.

Sure, sweet strawberries are the classic partner for rhubarb. But in reality, rhubarb appears on the scene so many weeks ahead of fresh (local) strawberries, that it’s nice to have a recipe or two on hand that showcases rhubarb alone. A crisp maybe, or a chutney.

Rhubarb & Dried-Cherry Chutney

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1 cup medium-diced fresh rhubarb

½ cup small-diced onion

1⁄4 cup coarsely chopped dried cherries

1⁄4 cup granulated sugar

1⁄4 cup sherry vinegar

1 Tbs. honey

1⁄2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest

1⁄4 tsp. kosher salt

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Combine all the ingredients in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, cover, and simmer over medium to medium-low heat until the onions are mostly translucent and the juices are beginning to thicken, about 5 minutes. Uncover and simmer, stirring frequently with a heatproof spatula, until very thick, another 6 to 8 minutes. Let cool completely in the pan before storing in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.

Yields about 1 cup.

Vegetables, flowers, and serenity with Susie Middleton