Perennial Firsts

We don't exactly live at the mercy of the seasons anymore when it comes to what we eat - that's the reality of the 24-hour Supermarket and the globalization and industrialization of food. It's actually quite amazing and impressive that, in theory, at any given moment anyone in the world could be eating something from anywhere else in the world with nary a can opener, glass jar, or other preservative in sight. I say "in theory" because it is actually a travesty that so much of the world's population does not have access even to the most basic subsistence nutrients, let alone the diversity of exotic foods that I may take for granted as part of my everyday life.

Perhaps it is for these reasons that I take so much pleasure from cooking seasonally and locally, and especially in making those recipes that mark different parts of the year. And though a sort of restriction, to focus primarily on what's available to me in the place I live, food that is living and growing in the same weather I feel every day, makes me feel that much more present in the current place and time and season. It probably makes sense, then, that the productivity of my kitchen would follow the productivity of the fields and orchards, which really takes off in late spring and early summer.

Three dishes mark my transition to warmer weather, each an illustration of that fleeting overlap between the delicacy of spring produce and the explosion of summer flavour. The first is Salsa, which I featured in an earlier post. This, more than any other dish I make, follows the transition from spring to summer to fall, changing in flavour and texture as time goes on and the first salsa of the year is definitely a milestone. In late spring, when the farmers' markets open, the available flavours are a combination of the earthiness of last years apples and onions from cold storage and the first slightly tart tomatoes and nectarines from inland where it gets hot sooner. The resulting salsa teeters on the edge between rich, deep, and hearty, like a steak, and bright and sharp, like a crisp spring day. Like the place at the red edge of the rainbow where you catch a glimpse of violet that hints at the next rainbow.

Another dish that really heralds the coming warmth and produce explosion of summer is the first rhubarb-basil compote or cobbler. Rhubarb starts a little earlier than basil and in truth both are really summer crops, but the cool thing about living and eating in Seattle is that within 50 miles there are such diverse microclimates that allow the cultivation of all sorts of foods (in some cases different neighborhoods seem to have different weather, but that's a different story.) But the first time that rhubarb and basil show up in adjacent wooden bins at the farmers' market I dive in and make a heap of compote for yogurt, ice cream, sandwiches, and really anywhere else I care to try. It is sweet and savoury and tart all at the same time, and so I keep finding other uses for it.

Another delightfully multipurpose sauce that continues to surprise me is pesto. The first pesto of the season is a momentous occasion in part because it is green. Winter is a lot of colours, from white to scarlet red, brown to rich purple, but one thing that is mostly absent from the menu is green. All that changes when spring rolls around. Many of the early greens - asparagus, kale, lettuces - prefer to stand on their own, lightly dressed so the subtlty and grace of flavour can be best appreciated. Basil, on the other hand, walks straight up to you and says "Hello, I'm delicious and I go with everything." A little egocentric, perhaps, but quite true. My pesto changes colour over the summer, too, depending on the state of the ingredients. The first batch is lighter - using green garlic and shallots instead of garlic cloves and the first basil of the season which is a brighter, sunnier green. The extra moinsture makes it slightly frothy, too. And the taste is fresh, almost like the smell of cut grass - a little sweet and a little sharp at the same time if you mix in the right amount of pepper and pine nuts, too. And it goes on everything. Well, maybe not breakfast cereal and such, but you never know... On Sunday I stuffed a burger with it and that was an incontrovertibly brilliant success!

So go forage. I haven't even begun to talk about some of the seasonal gems, like porcini mushrooms as big as a fist, a raspberry the size of a golf ball but infinitely tastier, and small, wrinkly, amazingly rich strawberries. But you only find if you taste, and you can only taste if you look, and you can only look if you go explore.

Strange Bedfellows

Many of my recent experiments in the kitchen were inspired by a pastry that was, itself, particularly inspired. It was a pear-rosemary tart from the local (fantastic) bakery Le Fournil. What I loved about the tart was the unexpected combination of two so different, yet complimentary flavours. Given my love for both rosemary and pears, (and fantastic pastries,) it is no siurprise that I fell head-over-heels and decided to try my own such unusual combinations, though I had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself.

Rhubarb is one of those plants which I'm surprised humans ever started eating in the first place. Its leaves are poisonous, it is bright red, and it is fibrous and very tart until cooked. Whether for related reasons or not, 'rhubarb' also means 'a fight or argument' and, colloquially, refers to the occasional good-old-fashioned throw-down in baseball. And yet, the peculiar vegetable is pie-maker's gold.

I had never been very interested in rhubarb until I saw a box of it at the farmers' market two weeks ago. It is one of the first edibles to show up in the spring, and it grows explosively. It keeps on growing for basically the entire spring and summer, provided the weather does not get too hot. I was browsing through the market and saw a box full of the stuff, early rhubarb - the beginning of the season, and despite having never before done anything with it, I wanted to buy some. And then, eureka! Next to the box of rhubarb was a box of basil - this stuff definitely the first of the season and also something I buy in massive quantities later in the summer to make pesto, so I was excited to see it starting to appear. And then I thought, 'why not?'

The people who did not think I was completely nuts for attempting a combination of rhubarb and basil at least thought I was momentarily a bit off. But since when has that been a reason not to try a recipe? My mom, who loves rhubarb, told me the basics of making a rhubarb compote to put over yoghurt and the Joy of Cooking gave me the rest of what I needed to know about pies and cobblers so I could start actually making stuff.
I decided to try two different things - a compote and a cobbler, though both start from the same basic mixture so it was very simple. The compote I kept simple - just rhubarb and basil with a squirt of lemon - but the cobbler I spiced up a bit with cinnamon. Odd as they many sound, both were delicious - the rhubarb providing that tart, fruity base and the basil giving it a refresing, summery feel. The cobbler, with the added cinnamon, was rich and savoury, sweet, but with a little spice overlaying the rhubarb and basil combination. The recipes follow. On behalf of my mom, I recommend eating the compote over non-fat, greek-style yoghurt, with or without granola. The cobbler eat hot, or cold, or reheated - I couldn't figure out what would make it not taste good.


RHUBARB-BASIL COMPOTE AND COBBLER
Both of the recipes start from the same base.

2 lbs Rhubarb Stalks, chopped into half-inch lengths (about 6 cups)
¼-½ lb Fresh Basil Leaves, chopped medium (stalks not used for this recipe)
2 C Sugar (more or less to taste)
Squirt Lemon Juice

Mix all together well in non-metal bowl and let sit for at least 20 minutes (the longer it sits, the more juice gets sucked out of the rhubarb.)

If you're making the compote, dump the whole mixture into a saucepan and cook on medium (no boiling) until the rhubarb begins to disintegrate. Taste - if too tart, add more sugar and cook a little longer. Cool, serve however you like, store in the refrigerator. It is perishable so eat it quickly, but that shouldn't be a problem.

If making the cobbler, preheat oven to 375°F and add to the mixing bowl above:
2 T Cinnamon (really up to you)
¼ C Corn Starch
Pinch Salt

You'll also need to mix up a batch of biscuit dough. Any type seems to work - I used the Joy of Cooking's basic recipe.

Mix well and let sit for a few minutes. Pour into a baking dish of some kind that will be filled at least two inches with fruit but also have space left at the top. Top with biscuit dough, either one big sheet that covers the fruit like a crust or a bunch of smaller circles of dough arranged overlapping across the top of the fruit mixture. Brush the biscuit dough with milk and sprinkle with sugar if you want to be really fancy. Bake for 40-60 minutes at 375°F (until the top is brown and lovely and the fruit mixture is bubbling up underneath.)