Spring Has Sprung

I’m not a very patient person. It’s what makes me infinitely more suited to the farmers market than the garden. I’m working on it, but it’s admittedly harder to get inspired by something that won’t come to fruition, literally, for months.

That being said I think I’ve achieved a good balance this year. Saturday was the second farmer’s market, I stocked up on enough asparagus to make a super easy vibrant green soup to chase away Sunday’s blustery early spring feel and more rhubarb and strawberries to start stockpiling batches of my new favorite compote. (thanks Shea).

I also managed to spend upwards of 30 dollars on seedlings for our much improved communal garden, despite exhibiting an unusual level of self control buying herbs to plant. Managed to contain myself to just buying lavender, lemon balm, spearmint, tarragon, African blue basil and thyme to join the thriving rosemary and parsley in the herb bed.

I think the herbs are the best way to combat my impatience with gardening. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited for tomatoes. I love tomatoes. But after last year’s blight plague on the east coast stunted our success I don’t know if I can take the heartbreak again. I needed a solid plan b. Or multiples.

That’s why I love our farmers market and the proximity of DC to farm country. This year 1660 also joined a CSA that involves visiting a farm once a week. (As a Vermonter who's dwelled in cities for the last decade I find this part especially exciting.) The farm share we have includes pick your own opportunities on top of a weekly share. Plus the farm does some really neat work to keep their program accessible for those with no disposable income. I’m sure I’ll wax on about the CSA quite a bit this summer. Our first pick up is next weekend, and I’ll miss it due to a family obligation but I can’t wait to see what we get.

I think the balance of surprises from the CSA and what comes out of the yard, with the support of the far more dependable offerings from the farmers market should make for a delicious summer. Asparagus soup recipe below--it's kept me a happy eater all week. Keep in mind I don’t really measure when I cook…. Consider all these numbers in the “ish” range.

Herbed Asparagus Soup

(heavily improvised and adapted from Eating Well to match existing refrigerator contents)

NOTE: this makes a large quantity of soup. I appear to have inherited a family gene that makes it impossible for me to cook for less than an army. The skill serves me well on Hobart, but obviously adjust measurements according to quantity and taste.

2 medium leeks or onion, chopped

2-4 cloves garlic, minced

2lbs asparagus (trimmed and cut into inch long pieces)

1 and 1/3 cups green peas (frozen or fresh)

4 cups chicken broth

4 small to medium sized potatoes (peeled and diced)

4-5 T finely chopped herbs: dill, parsley, chives (any combo you like, i went heavy on the dill).

½ C crème fraiche

S&P to taste

T or 2 of lemon juice

Saute leeks/onion in olive oil until tender but not browned. Add garlic and sauté, stirring, until fragrant 1 minute or so. Add chicken broth and potatoes, simmer until potatoes are tender. Add asparagus and peas and cook until just tender but still bright green. Remove from heat, stir in herbs, salt and pepper to taste. Puree soup (I used an immersion blender which if you don’t own you really should. Fantastic kitchen toy.) Add crème fraiche and incorporate well using immersion blender. Bring soup back up to temperature. Just before serving add lemon. Top with herbs and Greek yogurt or more crème fraiche if you like.

Loads of Lemons

I'm having a citrus moment. Ok, it might border more on an obsessive compulsion these days. It started with my discovery that these Meyer lemons I'd been reading about for years that all the lucky food types in warmer climes waxed on about were available for a very reasonable price in the P Street Whole Foods.

I've come late to the Meyer lemon party, but for anyone who hasn't seen them they are both delicious and truly lovely looking. They're smaller than a regular lemon and smoother and they glow with the most intense yellow lemon-ness. They also smell and taste divine-like a cross between a lemon and a clementine or tangerine, lemon but sweet enough to eat alone. You get the picture.

I bought them by the dozen for as long as I could find them. Then friends started buying them for me and delivering them to me. They're irresistible.

I made good use of the bounty of Meyer lemons that came my way. In salad dressing,in intensely lemony shortbread, as a marinade with oranges and parsley for fantastic grilled chicken. I froze juice, I candied lemon peels. I even made some preserved lemons despite never having cooked with them before. I had Meyer lemon fever, which gave way to a very citrusy winter/spring in general when the Meyer lemons were no more.

When forced to move on to more pedestrian citrus the results were still pretty great. The roast chicken we served for a part of passover seder this year was heavenly, basted in a combo of lemon and orange juice. And you've already heard about the grapefruit marmalade which we just ran out of sadly.

It's nice to have something bright and fresh to tide you over these last few weeks before growing season really hits. Washington's season starts earlier than the brief summers in VT, but not early enough for me. I'm positively itching for the neighborhood (producer only) farmers' market to start and our CSA kicks in at the end of the month. The citrus filled the hole admirably, but despite my inclination to buy local whenever possible I'm not ready to give up on lemony recipes. The pasta with tuna, capers, basil and lemon zest that I made for a recent barbecue served as a good reminder of lemon uses in summer. Mmmmmm.

Bacon Cake

Appropriately, albeit accidentally, we observed National Pig Day early this year. (Yes there is a National Pig Day and it happens to be today.) Bacon cake actually had another name. It's something along the lines of bocconcini stuffed Mediterranean bacon pull apart bread. But it should be called Bacon Cake.

It is every bit as decadent as it sounds. Herb bread rolled and sealed around tiny balls of fresh mozzarella, rolled in butter, bacon fat and parmesan cheese and baked in layers, in a bundt pan, with a mixture of bacon, green onions, olives and sundried tomatoes sprinkled between layers.

"Bacon cake" sounds appropriately decadent and just a little bit dirty. As it should. This is a naughty cake. You feel just a little bit dirty eating it. This is a cake you pretend not to like, because you shouldn't. This is a cake that looks sweet but is in reality salty, tart and indulgent. It's a surprise, this cake. It's nuanced, with just the right dash of naughtiness.

This is a cake you should make. But a word of caution. It is not to be trifled with. It is also a cake that should be made when it can be easily disposed of on willing guests. Otherwise you're likely to wake up in the middle of the night dreaming about sneaking down for just one more bite. It's hard to resist, this cake. You'll want to eat the whole thing. And really, no one needs to be that naughty....not whole bacon cake naughty.

The illicit thrill fades when you over indulge. And really, the fatty, salty, slightly dirty bacon-ness of it all should be savored--good behavior be damned.

Here's the recipe. And I'm linking to it rather than retyping the recipe so you can see the flights of obsession it inspires in others. Namely the author of the blog that kindly supplied us with the recipe. So you'll know I'm not crazy.

The inaugural bacon cake was consumed as part of a Foodie Films night featuring "Mostly Martha," which I am at this very moment watching. Again. The movie is also indulgent and a little bit decadent. It's fabulous. And it's a movie that I suspect would totally get bacon cake, seeing as it's a movie all about the naughty, slightly-dirty-in-the-best-way, sensual appreciation of food and what that can do for people. I recommend it (just ignore the dated sax music and focus on the food. And the bursts of Louis Prima.). And clearly I also recommend the bacon cake.

Canned Sunshine

In flipping through past posts it's clear we're deep into winter. It seems as though there was so much more to write about in the summer and fall. The seasonal proclivities of FFHC seem to follow the seasonal trends of crops as well. Bountiful in the fall....lacking in the winter months. We still cook a lot but like the crops my creativity seems to be fallow these days. Unfortunate really since writing is the perfect cold weather activity.

Tonight we're having the second of what hopefully will be a regularly occurring dinner and a movie night focused on food themed films. The first featured "Chocolat." Following a dinner of grass fed beef and simply prepared veggies (including my new favorite quick braised cabbage) we had a dessert of chocolate fondue, naturally.

Tonight's dinner and movie are less closely aligned out of sheer laziness on my part. Watching "Mostly Martha" and eating pasta. Pasta's just such an easy way to feed a large crowd with ingredients that are on hand. I'm dreaming about farmer's markets and gardens but even in my more southern location these days that's months away.

The one sunny bright spot of the culinary landscape? The multiple cases of citrus fruit that arrived courtesy of a fundraiser for a local choir. The sunny bursts of citrus scents and color in the house might just help me survive until the weather turns. To that end...trying my first canning experiment under the tutelage of KF. Grapefruit marmalade is percolating away on the stove as I type. It smells wonderfully sunshiney. I'll let you know how it turns out, this is a multiple day project.

A Fish in Favor

Anchovies appear to be having their moment. Evidenced here and here. Which bodes very well for the multiple cans of anchovies in my cupboard. I accidentally overbought them in a fit of overexcitement over a recipe for a romanesco cauliflower pasta dish this fall when it was in season. So pretty. And oddly, the first time I had actually cooked with anchovies. I had a hard to shake suspicion of canned fish for a long time. No more.

Hibernation

I had time to ponder the affects of snOMG 2010 (insert favorite snowism here, there were many) on my wintery trek to work today. Secretly the Northerner in me takes a small amount of smug joy in all this snow paralyzing the city.

I should probably be more understanding of the panic that gripped the city, given that this region is entirely unprepared for any significant amount of snow. The large number of flat roofs alone indicates just how unprepared. Don’t worry, I got my comeuppance yesterday when the skylight in my house succumbed to the large mound of snow on it and started leaking like a sieve. Smug Northern revelry officially stifled.

It will take DC a long time to dig out from under this one, but despite all the memorable images, inch counts and snow drifts still in evidence, the memory of the storm is largely fading for me into a pleasant blur of social gatherings. Specifically comfort food driven social gatherings. We clearly survived the storms by eating our way through them. (And maybe drinking a little way through as well.)The first round of snow over the weekend fueled some great impromptu neighborly feasts. Nothing like a fabulous, remarkably well coordinated, last minute Indian feast to beat the cold. Lots of heat. Yum.

Saturday morning IAG treated us to panko crusted deep fried soft boiled eggs with sriracha remoulade. And yes it was every bit as decadent, delicious and artery clogging as it sounds. Justifiable winter fuel in my mind and an experiment worth repeating.

I also learned how to cook polenta this weekend, and found myself wondering why it took me so long to get around to it. So easy. So delicious. And so very useful. We followed Bittman's recipe in "How to Cook Everything." It made a wonderful base for two slow cooked beef dishes on Saturday and Sunday. Nothing says “winter” in my mind like a slow cooker or dutch oven meal. Both were delicious-one winier than the other, but aside from that not terribly different preparations in the end. Also delicious: the chili WM and BO’G served for their Superbowl gathering. Great game.

Sunday morning JB whipped together some great sweetpotato hashbrowns with diced local bacon. Lovely with an egg on top. Not one of IAG’s super stylin deep fried kind, but an egg nonetheless.

The second round of snow Tuesday into Wednesday produced an avalance of baked goods. A yummy, sticky, chocolatey assortment of goodness that came with the added bonus of being largely delivered to our door by stir crazy friends. Hooray for intrepid neighbors!

I Brought a Hand Grenade to the Potluck

Food is love. I've read about this concept in various places over the years. The gathering of people and ingredients, the sharing of cooking talents, making and eating. I think they said it best in the wonderful documentary "I Like Killing Flies", "Making food is about as intimate as it gets, I mean, they're going to put it in their mouth."

However if making food for friends and family is a way of bonding, a way of loving, making food for the public is War. Yes, I try to put Love into everything I make. I'm not joking. I think it tastes better that way. But working behind a sushi bar, where horde upon horde comes flooding through the door. There's an overwhelming feeling that we are out-manned and out gunned. How can these people still be hungry? Where are they coming from? Didn't we feed everyone in town already?

Prep time, before we open is all about getting ourselves ready. What are we preparing? Food sure, but more accurately: Ammunition. We want to make sure you never run out of bullets. So we stack our ammo, our tuna, our avocado, our rice, our sauce; we stack it high. On a busy weekend we'll go through 200 pounds of fish and 300 pounds of cooked rice. When we run out, things begin to spiral out of control, that foreign army gets a little closer, a little more irate, a little more unpredictable and we start to lose the battle.

Sometimes the noise level in the restaurant rises to the point that I have to use hand signals, two fingers pointed to my eyes and then at a table to let the waitress know from across the room to look at them. I found myself shouting out at customers mere feet from me because if I didn't they wouldn't understand. I turn my head to hear their response directly into my ear and nod, as if we're all hunched under a chopper that's about to take off.

While our bar works best in it's U shape, to maximize seating capacity, it's hard not to think that we've dug a trench and are now surrounded. When you leave the trench, to go to cash register, to help the helpless at the door, you feel as though your exposed, somehow in danger of being taken to floor and beaten for what little sushi you might have left.

To top this, more than half the time I have an extremely sharp knife in my hand, that I have, on at least one occasion, threatened a customer with and on many more occasions secretly thought of stabbing someone with. Think I'm crazy? Try not to think of it as a weapon when someone is yelling at you.

This brings me to final point. You see the face of Evil working in a restaurant. The way humans treat other humans can be both amazing and horrifying around meal times. I've seen the most disfunctional of dysfunctional families. I've see food thrown as live ammo. I've seen spitting indoors. I've seen grown men puff out there chests over who was on the list to sit down first. I've heard parents tell their kids that they're too fat to have any more. I heard jeaous wives ask their husbands if they wanted to just "fuck the waitress and get it over with".

And yet, like some kind of adrenaline junkie, I keep coming back to work. Because every night I get that rush, like I just might not make it out alive this time, but somehow at the end, they all go home and I live to fight another day.